Monthly Archives: August 2011

It's been said that for actors there are no small roles, only small actors. When encountering the work of event planner and designer Preston Bailey, one thing is clear: He doesn't do small.

If you've never given much thought to the material side of special events, you most certainly will now. Preston Bailey's work can do that; Its sheer fabulousness conquers passivity.

The often overused, and misused, descriptor awesome is nearly inadequate for the maestro's work: He just seems to take his spaces further than anyone else. Minimalism, it isn't.

Panamanian-born Bailey immigrated to the U.S. in 1968 and seems to have assimilated well the opulent desires of his adopted country. Abundance is his motif: in his lighting, his use of flowers, trees, color, space, even in the celebrities, sultans, and various other sybarites who make up his client list.

Some things are just better played loud, like an electric guitar.

Such is also the case with the work of British designer David Nightingale Hicks. His work is not for the timid. His use of color is strikingly bold, his motifs pulse with the heart of a giant, and his decors practically hum with manic energy. And yet, for all his optical vitality, his rooms still retain a sense of depth, space, and a kind of virtuosic harmony. Usually when we say harmony the implication is a kind of quietude, a relaxed state of being that happens when all fits into its place. Hicks's work reveals that there's so much more to it than that.

Any self-respecting designer should've no trouble making an impact with with red and gold;

but to go white with undiminished effect takes a singularly deft eye.

Or how about a bold purple room done with impeccable taste?

Or similar bold executions achieved in a limitless series of colored iterations:

As was noted in an earlier post on the history of interior design, Dorothy Draper, et al, early greats of design balanced their artistic sensibilities and ambitions with rosters of A-list of friends. David Hicks was no exception. (His first breakout project was the redecoration of his mother's house. And, by the way, his daughter's godfather was Prince Charles.) Yet, for all the blue blood tint in Hicks's social sphere, it's hard to imagine him toning down a project to pander to a client. If there's one thing apparent in a Hicks project, it'd be its utter lack of compromise.

Committees don't produce work like this:

Hicks was also known for his prodigious ability in the quick study. He could enter a room, light a cigarette, and decide within ten minutes what the aesthetic solution would be. You can imagine his difficulty in explaining the concept above. Eventually he'd just have to say, "trust me." It'll be brilliant. And he'd be right.

Shiny and velvety and round: Imagine another room featuring twin beds that's as completely sexy as this.

Hicks takes it outside.

Below are images of one of the most famous gardens in the world you've never seen: Hicks's private gardens at his home in Oxfordshire, The Grove.

Hicks mixes the traditional with whatever his fancy conjured; A description that'd probably describe all his work. History hammered into something beautiful and new.

In previous posts we've mused on how designers explore the power of the well chosen color. (See green, purple, turquoise, red, white, pink, orange, and yellow; And sundry other colors here, here, here, and here.)

Here, let's look at the power of color mash-ups.

As always, art begins with nature: She is the ultimate master of mixing and modulating. As Her deadlines can be long, epochs to eons, we can only assume She knows what She is doing. Her colors aren't chosen carelessly.

Although, sometimes, going against nature can have its merits.

Along with Dorothy Draper, British designer David Hicks was the master of the multi-color mash-up. (Two examples of his work below.)

This Vivienne Westwood sweater from 1976 goes for a quieter effect.

Three brightly-colored and lofty sleeping chambers designed for kids framed in gold.

A succulent mash-up...

It was the Swingin' Sixties (the mileau David Hicks was so famous for) when bright colors really exploded; It was a brilliant reaction to the off-whites, eggshells, beiges, grays, and various other faded tones of the fifties.

Psychedelia loved color, giving birth to the black light poster and DayGlo. Eventually, radiant colors would find their way into the mainstream, but at its start, it was radical.

A Richard Avedon solarized portrait of George from 1967, above; psychedelic master Rick Griffin's work from the same year, below.

Cy Twombly, who passed away recently, was a painter better known for a muted fifties type of palette: But that would change.

Ubiquitious in the sixties was the work of American artist, designer, and entrepreneur Vera Neumann. Taking her inspirations from the era's graphics she created an empire of linen designs that would eventually make their way onto household linens, fashion, and even Kleenex boxes.

A dress of her design:

And bedding: Her sheets were everywhere. This example, though, is actually a quilt constructed of her scarves.

Below, a police parking garage residing between Main and 4th in Santa Monica.

The palettes of candy and clowns find new life.

Yes, the rose is real: Color is injected into its stem to be carried by the plant's own circulation system. The result is tinted petals.

The succulence of the plant's appearance is a result of its excellent water hoarding abilities. Water is stored water within its leaves, stems, and roots. This makes succulents not only ideal for surviving arid climes and conditions, but considering the increasing need for Western gardens to be drought-tolerant, they may also be the future of landscaping.

From a design perspective, their camel-like hardiness doesn't come at a sacrifice in variety of texture, color, or form. For the garden dilettante, succulents are capable of Job-like forgiveness.

The blooming Aloe vera above; below, the fleshy leaf split to reveal its store of aqua vitae.

Above, Senecio mandraliscae "Blue Stick" in a mix with Golden Barrel cactus: Visually striking, lush, and virtually theft-proof.

A succulent wedding bouquet: Not just for grandma's windowsill anymore.

Interior designers tend to avoid green in large swaths, even more intrepid ones. They may toss out an accent, a throw pillow or rug, a splash of an appliance or some trim, a bit of edging just to keep the proportions mild. But an entire room?

Yes, that'd take courage.

Every room in playwright John Patrick Stanley's New York apartment is in bold, deep color: This is the green room. (The color is Benjamin Moore's Peppermint Leaf. Picture from a New York Times article.)

Another of Stanley's rooms, this one includes a yellow Mexican cabinet framed against the green wall.

In the color spectrum, mild is exactly what green is: In geek-speak its low vibrational energy is received as quieting and soothing through the senses. It's the color of nature and suggests life. It's growth, renewal, health, and environment: The altar of Nature Herself. It checks mental activity and suggests sleep.

If this room isn't a David Hicks at the very least he'd be pleased.

Black helps keep the green restrained comfortably, a kind of visual fur-lined handcuffs.

More black and green interplay:

From the spectacular environs of Southern Ocean Lodge in Australia, subtle reflections of green radiating from nature at the window.

The greening of the green accent.

An all green garden as famously done by the Wirtzs.

The Wirtz family gardens are the stuff of landscaping legend. Beginning with patriarch Jacques Wirtz, establishing his own Antwerp-based firm in 1950 — the Wirtz sons would join in 1990 — their portfolio and legacy of monumental gardens now spans Western Europe and India.

You'll note they have a way with hedges:

Hedges used as boundaries, screens, textural planes, undulating forms, sculptural colossuses, metaphorical canvases, and whatever else suits them and the project. Elder Wirtz Jacques is known in particular for his use of evergreens and grasses.

The epitome of lushness, a Wirtz garden is loaded with texture and shape. They also tend to favor a limited palette. Eschewing flowers (for the most part, see an exception below) and other non-greenery. When the non-evergreens turn dormant brown in winter, it fits into the Wirtz master plan, as does autumn frost and winter snow. Their gardens are nothing if not monolithic-philiac.