Why is it that some people look spectacular in their clothes? They shrug on any old sweater or jeans, slip on a pair of crummy old shoes and leave the house looking like Jackie Onassis or Cary Grant. Perfectly pulled together. Always.
Whereas I, given the same ingredients, will invariably look like something out of “Oliver Twist.” It’s not fair, but it’s a fact of life. It may even be genetic, a “perfection gene” that causes certain lucky people to make everything on or around them look fantastic, whether it’s their clothes or their home, to the great annoyance of anyone without this genetic “hamburger helper.”
On the home front, these all-knowing avatars of style have a seemingly magical ability to make a room look utterly comfortable and stylish. They have an innate understanding of color, proportion, light and texture the way others understand breathing in and out. They just do it.
Those, like me, not in possession of the “perfection gene” try desperately in their abodes to pull off certain trends or styles gleaned from shelter magazines, and wind up feeling, in a Twilight Zone kind of way, that something is . . . not right . . . in the living room, or the bedroom, or the kitchenwherever we’ve tried to exercise our personal style.
I remember, for instance, when heroically scaled mirrors became fashionable, cleverly leaning against walls as though dropped there by the movers and spontaneously left in place. You couldn’t open a magazine without seeing one of these absolutely humongous mirrors dotting some interior vista. So, gripped by the theatricality of it all, I installed one chez moi. But leaning against my wall, the 6-foot-high behemoth looked just plain stupid. Scale: wrong. Proportion: wrong. Spontaneity? It looked like an idiotic contrivance. Stylish? More like a typo awaiting the white-out. Eventually, after months of torment, I hauled it away.
I have many–dreams, in fact–of these design botchups under my belt. But the point is: I keep trying and my eye is getting better, more refined. Today I could place that mirror suitably, or I would know not to buy it at all. Nevertheless, it always makes me wonder whether there is a basic human instinct for creative design that can be nurtured in all of us, or if it’s simply a question of reading the right books.
It turns out not to be a question asked by many, particularly in the halls of academe.
“There are actually two distinct philosophies guiding design in this country,” says Anders Nereim, chairman of the interior architecture department at the School of the Art Institute. “One philosophy sees interior design basically as a science, and begins with a premise of problem solving. The other philosophy sees design as an artistic sensibility to be developed like any creative gift, and since I teach in an art school, obviously that’s the idea I subscribe to, although it’s the rarer of the two.
“It’s very unusual to have an interiors program integrated with an art school, since until recently, most (programs) were still taught under home economics. Now, they’re being shifted into architecture departments,” Nereim says. “But I resist that, too, since it makes design a kind of poor sister to architecture. Here, design has parity with painting, video, sculpture–and we don’t begin from a problem-solving standpoint. We start by strengthening the student’s artistic sensibilities.
“Luckily for us, the students who come here have already jumped the creative hurdles, because that kind of creativity cannot be taught. On the other hand, a more scientific problem-solving approach probably can be taught to more people–problem solving is what they teach in the Army, for instance–but it almost always lacks invention. And you can almost always tell the work of one type of designer from the other about a mile away.”
One designer who had the instincts and the education to back up her innate creativity is New Yorker Victoria Hagen. In business now for seven years, Hagen, 36, has seen her interiors published in all the magazines the less-design-minded of us look to for guidance.
Hagen remembers that as young as 5, she loved fabric, “moving the furniture around my room, playing house all the time. But along with that kind of instinct, I think education is critical, since it gives you a much bigger picture of interior design. Inspired design is more than just decorating–it’s about developing a concept, thinking in a big way and following through, because in the real world, that has to become second nature. I studied at Parsons (School of Design)–a rigorous, five-year program–and there wasn’t one class that pertained to decorating per se, nothing about window treatments or furniture. We studied construction, architecture, lighting, color–and it’s what really opened up the world to me as a designer.”
But somewhere, just as there are varying philosophies governing design, there must also be a Book of Rules–the do’s and don’t’s of the interiors world. How is a would-be design maven supposed to know what or what not to try?
Rule-bound education is very much a part of the `scientific education’ system, which assumes there’s a natural law to everything, even design,” says Nereim. “A hundred years ago it was a rule that you’d enter an important room in the middle–that’s where a doorway had to be. Now that rule’s been banished, thanks to Modernism, as has the rule of symmetry. And there are lots of rules of thumb, like creating a `work triangle’ in the kitchen between the sink, refrigerator and range. But we’d never start with that premise. Here, we start with invention, and when that’s the beginning, almost every design breaks a rule. That’s how many younger students know they’ve created something for the first time. In fact, one of the only rules we accept is the rule of simplicity, that it’s always better to simplify a project. But we don’t even introduce that until the end of sophomore year, when the students are already developing a consensus themselves. And the only other hard and fast rule we teach is to always listen to the client, very, very carefully. It’s a hard rule to learn.”
Hagen, too, defies accepted rules, or at least questions them in creating homes for her clients.
“I like to know the rules, but I don’t personally follow them,” she says. “There are always rules of good taste, and I like to rethink what’s appropriate and why. For instance, in (evaluating) a very formal living room filled with an art collection and 18th Century furniture, I thought the formal fabrics used were all too flat and un-energetic compared with the artworks. So I substituted unexpected fabrics, like suede, sailcloth and horsehair. Now, the room is still formal, but with much more vigor.”
For some of the best advice about design philosophy, instinct and the approaches to pulling together a space, just get thee to a showroom. Anyone who has spent a few years marketing their wares to the cognoscenti will have some boffo tips. Barbara Pearlman has owned Design Atelier in the Merchandise Mart for nearly 20 years, specializing in an eclectic furnishings mix that juxtaposes European Modernism and country English. To her, perfection boils down to a few important points.
“First, you’ve got to have good lighting,” she says. “Lighting can cast a spell; it can create a seductive room, a dull, flat room or all points in between. Put great furniture in a poorly lit room and nothing you can do will save it. Then, there’s texture, which is so important. You want a different texture on the floor than in the upholstery, and the play of a rough rug over waxed wood floors with some metal details can lend real excitement and interest to a room. Color is also very important–even the simplest-seeming, monochromatic room might have 20 different tone variations. And don’t forget proportion–here too, you can have all the right ingredients, but if the proportion is off, everything falls apart. Try to balance verticals with horizontals, so if the sofa, pictures and lamps are all at the same levels, drop in a pendant fixture from the ceiling, or create a vertical light pattern with a strong floor light.”
Then Pearlman utters the fateful words: “Of course, what’s exciting to one person’s taste won’t work for another.”
That question of taste, of personal style, is tough to reckon with, and it’s one reason that designers play such an important role for those who can afford them, helping to define and shape personal taste. What about the rest of us? How can we develop a personal design philosophy of our own?
Nereim says: “Travel. That’s the best you can do, and going to the fashion and design centers of the world is money well spent. You’ll never think the same after seeing certain streets in Paris or Milan. Or at least try to look at as much good design in Chicago as you can–we take students to the Sony Showroom, to see work by Jordan Mozer, Doug Garofalo, Krueck & Sexton. Those are the stun guns of education, each nearly life-changing to an 18-year-old student.”
“Look everywhere; keep your eyes open,” says Hagen. “Always try to see with a fresh eye. Not a day goes by that I don’t notice the urban collage and its details and apply it later to my work.”
Pearlman’s assessment: “Exposure, travel, research: It’s like osmosis after a while. And some people do have their eyes open wider than others.” In the following pages, some very wide-eyed individuals express personal taste through home.
