Is there a particular era or place you wish you could have worked in?
Aesthetically speaking, probably 1920s or ‘30s Paris, which is a period which, in terms of art and design, most holds my interest. Unfortunately, even today, there’s still little appreciation of Art Deco and Modernism, and so many extraordinary interiors have been destroyed. Paris was also a melting pot, where all artistic disciplines—from architecture to fashion, poetry, and philosophy— were inextricably intertwined. It wasn’t at all unusual to start a conversation with the likes of Giacometti or Picasso on the terrace of La Coupole. If you tried doing the same with artists today, you’d probably be thrown out of the restaurant. I’d love to meet Nancy Cunard and see her Jean-Michel Frank-designed apartment, as well as the designer's boutique on rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré. And, of course, his chef-d’œuvre, Marie-laure de Noailles’ extraordinary parchment-clad salon. That said, the same clique in the 70s and 80s, with Saint Laurent’s rue de Babylone des res, and nights out at Palace with Betty Catroux, André Leon Talley and Lagerfeld, sounds equally appealing.
Courtesy of Marie-Laure
What’s an unusual source of inspiration that has found its way into your work?
After reading architecture as an undergrad, I converted to law and became a barrister. The rigorous approach to research and writing, and the ability to form an original argument, work in tandem with my design background. I also had a wonderful advocacy teacher who hammered home the importance of approaching any argument from both sides—and that if we went into court with a biased opinion, we would inevitably lose. I’ve always seen it as a good life lesson.
Courtesy of Nancy Cunard
Share a song that you listen to when feeling creatively challenged?
When writing, I generally need silence, so I don’t really listen to music. If I’m suffering from a creative block, I tend to take a walk with my dog to think and clear my head. A little distance can be incredibly useful.
What’s the ghost in your work—the thing that lingers but isn’t obvious?
I’ve always been fascinated by people; everything comes back to the society in which we live, whether art, architecture, interiors, or design. Jean Royère’s whimsically inclined creations, for example, were a reaction to the dark days of the Second World War. Similarly, ideas for articles often come from discussions I’ve had with people—whenever someone says something original, it sticks with me. At the same time, I really need to write things down more, and I’m forever racking my brain.
Courtesy of Billal Taright
What’s the question you wish people would ask about your work but never do?
There’s no one question, per se. I’m always incredibly flattered when people tell me they’ve enjoyed an article, especially the people I admired before starting the magazine—it makes it all worthwhile. There’s a severe lack of critique within the worlds of design and interiors; it operates in something of a sycophantic echo chamber, so above all, I hope our articles foster debate.
What’s your favorite piece from the Lemon collection and why?
I’d say the Conservatory dining table, as it’s evocative of twentieth-century modernists such as Mathieu Matégot, or, going even back, the Secessionist sheet metal works designed by Josef Hoffmann for the Wiener Werkstätte.
