Elegance Means Elimination
Leo Sentou
“I feel I’m a contemporary classicist — if such a term can be employed — and find inspiration in both old and new. Eighteenth-century furniture is something that I’ve gravitated toward since a very young age; the elegance of the shapes and proportions has always appealed to me. It’s also a period of great societal change and upheaval — the notion of comfort in the home became increasingly important.” — Leo Sentou
A voracious and obsessive collector, Marie-Antoinette (1755-1793) would become the most famous French queen of all time, with her profligacy and frivolous excess contributing to the eventual downfall of the French monarchy. Since then she has become something of a pop culture icon — in the same vein as Marilyn Monroe (1926-1962), Jackie Kennedy (1929-1994) and Elizabeth Taylor (1932-2011) — a pastiche, part historical detail, part cinematic influence, used as shorthand for the evils of fashion, excess and luxury. Even during her own lifetime, the queen’s image was coded with political meaning, circulated both to assert and undermine the power of the royal family. Whilst we all know her negatives, one often overlooked attribute, unique to Marie-Antoinette, was that she was the only queen to influence the French Court with her own personal taste. Indeed more accurately speaking the “Louis XVI style” should be known as the “Marie-Antoinette style”, which was entirely reflective of her penchant for pastoral and antique motifs, and for elegant geometric lines. A patron of the arts, she spent enormous sums of money commissioning furniture “in the very latest taste”, employing the most avant-garde artists and craftsmen of the time, those such as Georges Jacob (1739 -1814) and Jean-Baptiste-Claude Sené (1748-1803), who dreamt up shapes and styles that came to define “luxury” for generations to come. Even the greats of twentieth-century design — the likes of Jacques-Émile Ruhlmann (1879-1933), Marc du Plantier (1901-1975), André Arbus (1903-1969) and Jean-Michel Frank (1895-1941) — produced neo-classical furniture inspired by eighteenth-century precedents, that in terms of design, remain equally relevant today. However, if one looks beyond the superficial glitz and glamour, what’s particularly remarkable, is not the extravagance of the queen’s lifestyle, but the finesse and refinement she displayed in choosing pieces that pushed the boundaries of French taste; for example, the extraordinary Bureau à cylindre (roll top desk) in gilt bronze, silver and mother of pearl, made by her favourite cabinetmaker Jean-Henri Riesener (1734-1806) in 1786 for the Boudoir de la Reine (also known as the “silver room”) at Fontainebleau, or a suite of eight side chairs and eight armchairs made by François Toussaint Foliot (1748-1839) in 1780 for one of Marie-Antoinette’s most personal retreats, the Pavilion du Belvédère in the “Jardin Anglais” of the Petit Trianon. Somewhat unusually, the chairs were designed with elegantly curved backrests so that they hugged the walls of this exquisitely feminine and flower-festooned circular folly. As a result of competitive one-upmanship amongst an elite of cabinetmakers all vying for the queen’s patronage, there were rapid artistic advances, with Ancien Regime Paris becoming a hotbed of creativity and talent. “In truth, we are the whipped cream of Europe,” writer and philosopher Voltaire gushed in 1735, overcome by the sheer extravagance of the French capital, which was, already, the de facto epicentre of European luxury. In tandem a new breed of wealthy financiers, keen to manifest their riches in brick and mortar, built extravagant hôtels particulier in two chic new faubourgs, St Germain and St Honoré, which were designed so as to accommodate a new way of life and living; an elegant vie privée, in which grand rooms for formal receptions, the appartements de parade, were supplemented by appartements de commodité — more relaxed, informal spaces for rest and relaxation. Such a radical rethink of interior architecture gave rise to a wardrobe considered equally à la mode — with the advent of fashionable new loungewear, including morning gowns or “banyans” for him and elaborate lace-trimmed “peignoirs” for her. “Paris is the world,” crowed Marivaux in 1734, “the rest of the earth is nothing but its suburbs.”
French designer Léo Sentou whose debut capsule collection pays homage to the elegance and sophistication that has set French decorative arts apart for over two centuries.
The “Side table L.A” is a reinterpretation of a “servante monopole” by eighteenth-century master cabinetmaker Louis Aubry, forged entirely by hand with an alabaster top
This newly minted haute bourgeoisie, keen to ape the behaviour of the aristocracy, soon adopted the toilette (a derivation of the French word for the cloth, or toile, that covered the dressing table), thereby transforming a piece of court ceremonial — first instituted by Louis XIV (1638-1715) and his mother Anne of Austria (1601-1666) — into a flamboyant exercise in taste and sociability, whereby men and women alike would invite a select few to attend their levees; bizarre public rituals of rising and dressing which were, in essence, acts of conspicuous consumption used to declare one’s rank in society (whether or not there’s a certain irony in many of those same families now turning their nose up at today’s nouveau riche driving their luminescent supercars through the streets of Paris in a crass public display of wealth will be left to the reader to decide). An exercise in artifice, most women dressed and prettified themselves before guests were admitted, and as such, the toilette was a theatrical tour de force, a carefully choreographed, rose-tinted glimpse of a modern-day Venus, exhibiting her charms. This “second toilette” was, as dramatist and writer Louis-Sébastien Mercier (1740-1814) observed, “nothing but a game invented by coquetry.” Similarly, in his Persian Letters (1721), Montesquieu (1689-1755), a keen and critical observer of French society, opined: “The role of a pretty woman is much more serious than one might suppose. Nothing is more important than what happens each morning at her toilette, surrounded by her servants: the general of an army pays no less attention to the placement of his right flank or his reserve than she does to the location of a beauty patch.” Such wanton excess inevitably drew its critics, with civic-minded philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712-1778) — who renounced fashion in its entirety, choosing instead, by means of protest, to dress in archaic fur-trimmed Armenian robes — describing Paris as “the abyss of the human species”. Yet ironically, Rousseau’s writing inspired a trend for natural simplicity, which led Marie-Antoinette to build her Hameau de la Reine (“Queen’s Hamlet”), a rustic retreat within the grounds of Versailles where she would play at being a shepherdess or peasant, and similarly, her decorative “dairy” at Rambouillet, replete with Sèvres porcelain milk pails decorated in a faux bois design, meant to emulate real wood grain, as presumably, the real thing would have been far too barbaric a reminder of real life. Despite Enlightenment critique, the market for French furniture continued to evolve and flourish, becoming so universally synonymous with the idea of “luxury”, that it remained so for decades to come, to the extent that Christie’s auctioneer and long-time decorative arts specialist Richard Nelson recently quipped: “When I started in this business thirty-plus years ago, every New York apartment on Fifth and Park Avenue looked like Marie-Antoinette had just moved out.” Yet whilst naysayers such as grandee French decorator Andrée Putman (1925-2013) tired seeing of “too much Louis and too many flowers”, we spoke to up-and-coming designer Léo Sentou (b. 1983) about his recently launched furniture collection, that whilst unequivocally modern in appearance, was inspired by the sort of furniture Marie-Antoinette once commissioned for the Palace of Versailles. Following in the footsteps of Frank, it brings to mind his famous edict, that sometimes “elegance means elimination”.
The “Fauteuil L.D” takes its inspiration from an elegant oval bergère by Parisian master menuisier Louis Delanois, upholstered in mohair velvet, and resting on a set of four gauged bronze feet
The circular seat of the “Chair G.J” is inspired by those crafted by Maître Ebéniste Georges Jacob, whilst the elegantly curved back is a contemporary reinterpretation of the eighteenth century horse shoe shape
TLL: What was it that initially drew you to a career in design?
Leo Sentou: I come from an art-oriented family, my mother was an art dealer and a very keen “décoratrice” with an incredible eye for the unexpected and my father is an artist. The combination of both naturally fuelled my interest from a very young age and I was very much encouraged to explore creatively; sketching, drawing, painting and clay sculpting. My first love was jewellery, I was fascinated by gems and the way they’re cut. Even as young as nine, I would spend days trying to render the sparkle of stones using watercolour and gouache. As I got older, I honed my sensitivity and oriented myself in a field that I felt I could spend a lifetime exploring.
Stylistically speaking, what would you say defines your approach to interiors?
For me each project is an opportunity to look into the very essence of a space, and how it’s best suited to the aspirations and ambitions of a client. I’m something of a rationalist and always approach a project plan first, assessing circulations, vistas, volumes, scale and functionality. A good layout is fundamental and key to a successful project. I then add layers and explore materiality, finishes, art and furniture simultaneously. An interior ought to tell a story, and necessitates a balance between contrasting, often intertwined elements; old and new, light and dark, small and large. There needs to be an element of eclectism, and the appearance of a space that has been collected and curated over time, but with carefully considered underpinnings. To my mind, this is essential to creating an elegant interior.
Your recently launched capsule collection has been inspired by what you refer to as the “extreme refinement” of eighteenth-century French furniture, but in details such as the gauged bronze feet and curvaceous enveloping nature of the Fauteuil L.D, it’s also evocative of twentieth-century designers such as Jean- Michel Frank and Jacques-Émile Ruhlmann, who in terms of both furniture and interior design, themselves had neoclassical inclinations. Would you say such work is a direct source of inspiration or is it simply that you both share the same source material, as it were?
I feel I’m a contemporary classicist — if such a term can be employed — and find inspiration in both old and new. Eighteenth-century furniture is something that I’ve gravitated toward since a very young age; the elegance of the shapes and proportions has always appealed to me. It’s also a period of great societal change and upheaval — the notion of comfort in the home became increasingly important. It comes as no surprise that designers such as Jean Michel Frank (1895-1941), Jacques-Émile Ruhlmann (1879-1933) and Marc du Plantier (1901-1975) were also inspired by this period. When developing my collection, I wanted to respect the inherent modernity of makers such as Jacob or Delanois, but at the same time, I had no desire to rehash the past or play with nostalgia. I wanted to capture what I see as the essence of eighteenth-century furniture without being a prisoner to it. It was paramount that the language used was suited to our way of living and to find that balance between the classic and contemporary. That process led to my reducing such eighteenth-century furniture to its essential shapes, elevating them with a simple, elegant palette of limed oak, wrought iron, bronze, mohair, linen and lacquer; which in turn lets the design sing. Whilst this might echo the work of such twentieth-century ébénistes, they weren’t a direct source of reference. What I share with them however is a passion for craftsmanship. All of the pieces are made by hand, and very little machinery is used in their fabrication. In that sense, each piece will be unique. The bronze feet of the Fauteuil L.D are each made individually in gauged wood, which is cast in brass and patinated. It’s a lengthy but rewarding process.
There’s an increasing focus on furniture being “editorial”, often at the detriment of practicality, for example, some sofas by contemporary designers, which use hard foam padding to maintain elaborate shapes, feel like sitting on a rock and offer little in terms of ergonomics. Your furniture is somewhat unusual, in that it’s not only elegant but also comfortable and useable in terms of day-to-day living. As a designer, should form ever trump function?
It all depends on the use and purpose. If we’re talking about a sculptural piece, that bridges art and design, something that would be seldom used — such as the Rick Owen Stag Chair — the idea of comfort is not necessarily key. However, I wanted to design pieces that can be used every day, so practicality was a core tenet of the design process — especially as regards proportion. I personally find it interesting to explore the idea of designing furniture in which one can remain elegant, in terms of posture, whilst at the same time, being comfortable and well supported. For example, it was important that the Fauteuil L.D works as well in a formal or informal setting — so that it can be used for entertaining, or simply to lounge around and read a book. Similarly, a chair such as the G.J, in which one might be sitting around a dining table for an extended period, has to work with the arch of the back.
On that note, to my mind your furniture pieces, whilst immediately identifiable, are timeless in terms of design, and work well alongside antiques and works of twentieth-century greats, as can be seen in your recent collaboration with a gallery specialising in French twentieth-century decorative arts; but was it a factor you had in mind from the start, or just a happy coincidence?
It wasn’t the brief I set myself to answer per se. In a way, it’s a happy coincidence; but with the pieces being rooted in such tradition, I’m not surprised they work well with both antiques and twentieth-century design. After all, what sparked the collection was an oval bergère by Louis Delanois (1731-1792). The sense of timelessness fell naturally as I developed the pieces, especially when looking at materials; most of which, coincidentally, were used by both eighteenth-century and Art Deco makers.
Having worked for so long as an interior designer, on projects including anything and everything from boutique hotels and restaurants to residential townhouses and country estates, do you think such an innate understanding of how spaces work has impacted your approach to furniture design?
Absolutely, I always found there’s a very strong dialogue between architecture and furniture; one resonates with the other and the ensembliers of the twentieth century, as well as those before them, understood that very well. Everything has to work visually and spatially. It was important to me to approach my pieces as complementary to the interiors they will sit in — whether that be contemporary or classical — and to make a statement, without shouting or screaming for attention.
In terms of the decorative arts, what would you our particular area of interest or expertise?
It will come as little surprise that I find the late eighteenth century an endless source of inspiration — the architecture and furniture, whilst rigorous, are also filled with whimsy. In particular, I find the Utopians or architectes visionnaires fascinating. I can’t not mention Jean-Jacques Lequeu (1757-1836), a French architect that imagined fantasy worlds based on the principles of classical architecture. Sadly, he was largely a paper architect, and none of these projects were realised, but his drawings are pure magic and a pleasure to look at. Similarly, I’m enormously fond of the work of neoclassical designer Claude Nicolas Ledoux (1736-1806). To me, the sense of proportion is just right, the rigueur and justesse of the lines where all elements of decoration have a purpose. I recommend visiting the Carnavalet Museum in Paris where one can admire the reception room he designed for the Duc d’Uzes. Since the refurbishment, his Café Militaire — or Café Godeau — one of my favourite interiors, has sadly been dismantled, but some of the panels are still on display.
And who are your favourite twentieth-century designers?
The twentieth century saw the most astonishing technological and societal changes. De facto the way we live and approach our interiors, architecture and, for that matter, design in general, changed drastically. I find the constant search for beauty whilst embracing these new paradigms both inspiring and humbling. So many incredible designers were witnesses to these changes, and whilst I couldn’t possibly list all of those whose work I love, my “Salon Ideal” would be where the rigueur of Djo Bourgeois (1898-1937), Jean Michel Frank (1895-1941), Eyre de Lanux (1894-1996) and Marcel Coard (1889-1974) meets the magical worlds of Jean Royère (1902-1981) and more recently, in terms of design, Guy de Rougemont (1935-2021) and Maria Pergay (b. 1930)
There’s an increasing focus on interiors being designed so as to be “Instagrammable”, in the sense of them being bold, eye-catching and editorial. In your opinion, in today’s design world, and moving forward, is there still a place for quiet, refined interiors, that don’t necessarily scream and shout?
I once was briefed by a client to include “instagrammable moments” at a hotel I was designing in the Middle East. Although the request was fulfilled, I never allowed it to become a driving force, in terms of narrative, and for that matter, it never should be. Any successful interior will inherently encapsulate a harmonious succession of moments where we play with scale, volumes and colour. It all has to be curated in a way that is effortless. I believe in understated interiors where the details speak volumes, rather than relying on kitchy statements. The Abbaye de Fontenay is very moving in that respect. The space is so pure, stripped entirely of any decor, and one has to let the space do the talking. To my mind, this has more power than something that is bold and trend-driven, yet lacks real substance.
The circular seat of the “Chair G.J” is inspired by those crafted by Maître Ebéniste Georges Jacob, whilst the elegantly curved back is a contemporary reinterpretation of the eighteenth century horse shoe shape
The “Fauteuil L.D” takes its inspiration from an elegant oval bergère by Parisian master menuisier Louis Delanois, upholstered in mohair velvet, and resting on a set of four gauged bronze feet
In an ever-changing world, what would you say is the biggest problem facing today's designers, and indeed for that matter, the industry en masse?
Climate change and the increasing cost of production are factors that most obviously come to mind; but also, design integrity and the standardisation of taste, both of which I find are intertwined. Over the past ten years, the idea of interiors has become increasingly popular and as result, people en masse are more design savvy. Certain items of furniture have become a sort of token, a thing to have, that fits into an aesthetic dictated by fashionable diktats. As a result, I feel like I see a lot of cookie-cutter interiors where “get the look for less” must have been the design concept. The number of works being copied — those by both past and present designers — is shocking and to me, a real problem. As designers, our challenge is to be unique, to spark interest, and to stay true to our design ethos, whilst at the same time trying to protect our intellectual property rights.
Who would be your ideal client and why?
I wouldn’t want a client who gave me carte blanche in terms of design. That would be boring. The challenges imposed by a client are important to create something that works and hopefully transcends their expectations. Answering a brief well is what gains trust, it’s all about communication. However, a lot of clients are very much influenced by Instagram and/or Pinterest which means they tend to have a preconceived idea of what an interior should look like well before the design process has even started. To me, an ideal client would be someone open and eager to embark on a journey, to be surprised, and also, someone willing to work with artisan makers. As designers, we’re always pushing for the unexpected, to create something unique and personal that will stand the test of time.
What’s your favourite work of design?
I’m particularly fond of a console table by Eyre de Lanux (1894-1996) that she designed in the early nineteen-twenties, made out of cork and Oregon pine — I find the contrast between the two incredibly inspiring. Her overall approach to shapes and materials is fascinating — it’s so pure, almost brutalist. She got rid of all ornamentation and fuss so as to let the inherent beauty of very humble materials shine. Creating such elegance using simple shapes and pared-back materials requires impeccable taste and an understanding of proportion.
What was the first important piece of art (or design) you ever owned?
When I was eighteen years old I bought at auction a seventeenth-century Blanc de Chine Guanyin; the thrill of the bidding got the better of me but it’s something I still love. It reminds me of that instant of pure adolescent joy. More recently, however, a canvas by Athamy Armas, I saw on show at Gallery B.R. It was love at first sight — I felt an immediate connection. I love the artist’s approach to painting where his aim isn’t to represent reality, rather, he sees the act of painting as an end in itself. It carries emotions of the particular day he painted it and one can travel through his artworks, which, as he puts it, is: “A landscape to visit.”
Which artists (or designers) would you collect if you could?
I would start with pieces representing my love for both abstract expressionism and figurative art. I like a mixture of things and I feel the pieces need to balance one another and work in conversations. In my wildest dreams, works by Antoni Tàpies (1923-2012), his paintings and sculptures from the nineteen-seventies through to early two thousand. I would pair them with eighteenth-century Mexican school paintings, especially those of Domingo Ortiz, and in particular, his votive paintings, which informed the work of Frida Khalo (1907-1954).
An object you would never part with?
For my twenty-fifth birthday, I was given the choice of an intaglio, signet or to create my own ring using a family piece, the latter of which I found a much more exciting prospect. There was a parure in my grandmother’s jewellery box that always fascinated me, entirely made out of silver in a neo-gothic style. It dates from the eighteen-eighties and I don’t think it had been worn much since then. I drew an index ring as a tribute to my grandmother’s chevaliere using elements of an earring. It’s been on my finger ever since.
What was the last thing you bought and loved?
Although I don’t buy a lot, I try to buy well and the last thing, something I really love, is a nineteen-forties crystal ball lamp by Jacques Adnet (1900-1984), that I found at a London gallery. I’ve been obsessed with this lamp for years. The simplicity of the design paired with an elegant playfulness appeals to me. I had to have it.
What would you like to own that you currently don’t possess?
There are so many beautiful things I would like to own, amongst which, a Roman bust. But I also have dreams of a dressing room for myself. I love the idea of elevating everyday mundane experiences and to me a properly designed dressing room does just that. There would also be a hidden “cabinet de toilette” — my own personal sanctuary!
What’s the best gift you’ve been given?
When I was in high school my mother offered me out of the blue a beautiful bronze sculpture of a running figure that seems to be taking off. We had just been to see an exhibition of the artist and I had fallen in love with it. It sums up my state of mind at the time; ready to fly away and be a person of my own.
What’s your biggest extravagance?
Don’t leave me alone at a food market, deli and other épiceries fines — I have an odd obsession. Food to me sparks great moments spent with friends and family. There’s nothing better than that really!
What’s your biggest regret?
Many and none at the same time.
The site that most inspires you?
Living in London one can easily forget how beautiful the city is. The architecture is spectacular and the juxtaposition of old and new is astonishing. In particular, the views from Waterloo Bridge are incredible, the energy of the city can be felt there, as well as its immensity — in my early twenties I used to live by Southwark tube station, and it was always such a treat to walk home and admire the city at night.
Tell us about a recent “find”?
I was having lunch at Café de l’Epoque in Paris when I got incredible wafts of a fragrance coming from the perfumer Marc Antoine Barrois in Galerie Vero Dodat. I’ve worn it every day since then. It instantly takes me back to a moment when I felt particularly happy and at ease.
Where’s the most unforgettable place you’ve travelled?
A few years ago, my partner and I discovered Granada in Andalusia. The mixture of cultures and styles, with Islamic and Baroque architecture juxtaposed against one another is simply breath taking. The Alhambra, Albaicín and El Bagno, the Cathedral or St Jeromino, with its cloister of orange trees are all sights not to be missed; but in particular, the Camarin de Nuestra Senora del Rosario Coronada is breathtaking — a baroque gem, totally over the top, built around one of the great devotions of the city of Granada: La Virgen del Rosario Coronada. It was recommended to us by antique dealer Ruiz Linares, who has an incredible gallery next to the cathedral. Foodwise, Arriaga was an amazing experience; occupying the entire top floor of a brutalist tower block, the views over the city are extraordinary, and the food, wine and service were incredible— one can feel it comes from the heart.
Where would you like to go next?
In Europe, we’re blessed with incredible destinations on our doorstep. In particular, I think Italy, the food, art, architecture and way of living are wonderful; whether grand or humble, there’s a certain honesty. In particular, I’d like to visit Lecce, with its Baroque heritage; I love the austere grandeur of the facades and incredible volumes.
What’s the best souvenir you’ve bought home?
When travelling I always gravitate towards antique shops and galleries and in Granada, we stumbled across Ruiz Linares. I found a wonderful set of sixteenth-century framed tiles, similar to those that can be seen in the Alhambra. They’re now in the study and remind me daily of a particularly good holiday.
If you didn’t live in London, where would you live?
I think it would be Paris, ideally in a pre-Haussmann apartment on the left bank or Le Marais. I find the relationship between the city, art and design inspiring; old and new coexist gracefully, each celebrating incredible craftsmanship. I always take great pleasure walking in the city, and its beauty astonishes me every time. An ideal weekend would start in the Rive Gauche, with breakfast at Café de Flore — which is great for people watching — followed by a tour of galleries such as Anne Sophie Duval, Dutko and Chenel. From there, crossing the river, strolling through the Tuileries gardens and stopping off at the Church of Saint-Roch, which I always find so incredibly calming. A quick lunch at Le Moulin de la Vierge, which is right next to Place des Victoires — a spot I always enjoy — then coffee on the terrasse at Le Nemours on Place Colette and an exhibition at Bourse de Commerce. After such a busy day I’ll be craving the chocolate mousse at Le Petit Lutetia.
If you had to limit your shopping to one neighbourhood, in one city, which would you choose?
London moves incredibly fast and Mayfair and St James’s are the epitome of old and new merging into one. Having lived in the city for nearly two decades it’s still where I’m discovering new things. Burlington Arcade, alongside the Royal Academy of Arts, is wonderful — the equivalent of a Parisian passage with its beautiful floor by Jamie Fobert. From there Connolly is an absolute must; I particularly like the fit of their trousers, and Ivan, Sumru and the rest of the team are always so welcoming. Galerie Kreo and Saatchi Yates — just around the corner on Cork Street — show the most incredible contemporary artists and designers. Carpenters Workshop Gallery is also unmissable, it has a phenomenal roster of artists, and in particular, I love the work of Ingrid Donat, Maarten Baas and Vincenzo de Cotiis — destined to become antiques of the future; that’s not forgetting Galerie FUMI or Phillips auction house on Berkley Square, who always have the most incredible design sales. For a quick bite, Marchesi on Mount Street is fantastic. For lunch or supper, Maison François for its reimagined French country classics, and of course, Scott’s, and for drinks, the Connaught Bar is an absolute favourite. Then there’s the architecture, everything from Georgian to Art Deco — which is stunning!
What’s your favourite room in your apartment?
My sitting room — there’s a particularly beautiful light and my partner has a wonderful eye for composition. It’s an eclectic but carefully curated mix of family heirlooms and pieces we’ve collected over the years; including seventeenth and eighteenth-century French furniture, as well as works by twentieth-century designers such as Charlotte Perriand (1903-1999) and René Gabriel (1890-1950), African artefacts and a collection of largely contemporary art by Stephen Antonson (b. 1966), Aythamy Armas (b. 1977), Bruno Ollé (b. 1983), Jordi Alcaraz (b. 1963) and Sito Mújica (b. 1971). Everything works together in harmony, in conversation, and it’s a wonderful place to relax or entertain guests.
What’s the best book you’ve read in the past year?
I found Les Envolés by Etienne Kern (b. 1983) — which received the 2022 Goncourt Prize — to be poignant, powerful and beautifully written. The author intertwines a real-life tragedy, by which he is haunted, and the memory of his cherished loved ones. It explores the inherent hope we all have within, and the indelible mark left by those who we have lost. A must-read.
What would you do if you didn’t work in design?
I honestly can’t think of anything outside design. When I was ten, very briefly, I wanted to be a notary. Essentially, the father of an old school friend was a notary and I absolutely loved their house — so chic, a wonderful balance of old and new.
What ambition do you still have?
I would love to have my own gallery in an apartment by appointment only — to show my pieces alongside antiques and contemporary art.
What’s the greatest challenge of our time?
Climate change evidently and at our level the impact our industry has on the environment. I’m very positive but I am also aware that there is a whole chain of events that needs to be put in place, from the clients down to the suppliers, contractors, makers and installers.
What’s next?
Having recently launched my first capsule collection, I cannot wait to further develop new pieces and add to the portfolio. Everything is made by hand to order, it takes time but it’s incredibly rewarding.