I
love a lot, and there’s a lot to love, about Holiday House. It’s the annual Manhattan
charity show house, now in its fifth year, and this year benefitting the Breast Cancer Research Foundation, a venture of the venerable Lauder family. Almost
thirty spaces, rooms and passages are transformed by interior designers and
architects (along with armies of upholsters, painters, cabinetmakers,
volunteers, paperhangers, florists and stylists). But it’s also not just an exercise
in décor... it’s themed decorating at its finest, in all its finery, as the
designers also add a holiday interpretation on top of their design plan. Win,
win, indeed.
One
of the things unique to Holiday House among other show houses is that each year, the venue remains the same. It’s like watching the same Broadway play
with different casts, or maybe more aptly, different scenic designers. You get to see how a parade of
high-powered design names chooses to enhance, celebrate, correct or even ignore
the spaces and architectural detail (or lack thereof) they’ve been given. It’s
the perfect place to play compare and contrast (my very favorite game!) with
past years’ installations.
Aside
from those designers, and like in a Merchant Ivory film, the other real star of
this show is the house itself. An historic and rare triple-wide townhouse just
steps away from Central Park’s tony east edge, the house has several rooms that
are spectacular even empty, and it’s been fascinating to watch those rooms, specifically,
get dolled up and decked out.
The
first floor holds most of these spaces: a stone-walled, wildly-marbled, fully
fire-placed and almost double-height Grand Entry; a spectacular vaulted dining
room; a front parlor/formal living room with arched French doors opening to a center courtyard; and
a back room with leaded windows, dark and deeply-carved paneling, and
remarkable fireplace.
Over
the years, designers have dealt with these period-ready rooms (some have been
backdrops for HBO's Boardwalk Empire) in a multitude of ways, either giving into the
existing vibe and bones, or updating the traditional spaces with modern art and
broad strokes in an attempt to upstage the diva they’ve been dealt. The
successes seem to come, mostly, from working with, not against the rooms (Charles Pavarini’s Thanksgiving dining
room, and Bradley Thiergartner’s Christmas entry from years past, most notable among those successes). But whether success or near miss
(there are generally no failures
here), it is delightful to see the spaces get attention from another annual
string of suitors.
This
year, the first floor was handed over to show house veterans and shelter mag
favorites, and their rooms alone presented an encapsulated view of three trends
of how designers tackled their task within the house’s remaining entirety:
artful installation, walk-in magazine spreads from style-first designers (whose
signature is immediately evident to anyone following design today), and
traditional show house storytelling.
Artful Installation
Show
house rooms are generally works of art, but several participants pushed the
artful concept even further, creating spaces and rooms that were more
“installation” than décor.
Leading
the charge of the art brigade was Inson Dubois Wood, whose partnership with luxury brands Hermes, Lladró and Promemoria,
and his “Carnavale” theme, yielded a riot of color, shape, texture, and
pattern, in a room already lacking none of the above. This is a
love-it-or-hate-it room, but it’s sure to garner the bulk of the conversation
and press. It’s a Salvador Dali production of Alice in Wonderland, or the
barcarolle scene from Act III of Tales of Hoffman, after a big gulp of absinthe.
All the elements of a dining set-up are here, but faceted, fragmented, deconstructed
and exploded. It is one notch away from feeling merchandised, and getting so
close without falling over that edge is no small feat. The fun Inson had with gilding this lily of a room (even the already-ornate ceiling got an extra layer of gold, paint and venetian plaster) is quite clear.
Art is modern and sharply
cutting edge, and every single piece of furniture is stand-alone sculpture. The
Phantom-of-the-Opera crash-landed chandelier is part art, part necessity... no
overhead junction box, in this large room with only one electrical outlet. No
doubt candlelight was intended in the original room, but the uplighting from this grounded
flight-of-fancy is almost as flattering.
It’s
one of the most exuberant showhouse rooms I’ve ever wandering into, amazed and
agape. As a room that people are going to run home and duplicate, probably notsomuch,
but that seems far from the intent of the same designer who wowed here last
year with his lacquer red box of Chinese New Year. As a designer looking to
garner clients, this assemblage is perhaps also a risk, but the bravado of this
showhouse showman has to be admired either way.
Installation-chic rooms also included the “Grand Entrance Hall” by Paula + Martha, given the tough space of the entry, where traffic must first be stopped before getting any further notice. The inverted Baccarat crystal stalactite above a stalagmite of sand or salt did just that. A Jacques Jarrige screen held its own against the room already full of detail, a giant artful scribble on the mantle against the travertine walls, as did their large-scale color field paintings and highly sculptural furnishing choices. I’d still settle into last year’s Christmas set-up on a snowy day faster, but I wouldn’t turn my nose up at this decidedly insouciant take on modern glamour in a traditional envelope, either.
Paula + Martha also eased us further into the house with their more traditional
design of the adjacent space, an homage to Evelyn Lauder. She makes a most
elegant and suitable lady for this folly of a house, her oil portrait flanked
by artfully modern sconces, proving that a woman of grace and presence can
command any room. The tangerine dress doesn’t hurt the cause one bit.
Not
pictured, but of art-installation note: the Christmas yoga room of Stephanie Odegard, actually two adjoining rooms. One, felt-cloaked with a custom Tibetan
cloud motif; the other, a room where Tibetan monks were making sand mandalas... far
more living art than living room. Other rooms also fit the bill, closer to store
window installations than show house room.
Walk-in Magazine
What was black and white and dramatic all over was the easily pegged room of Geoffrey Bradfield. His signature crisp drama, and his love of white as a color, limited palettes and floating seating groupings all made walking into this room a familiar experience to anyone who has picked up a copy of Architectural Digest in the past decade or two, where he makes frequent appearance.
This
is signature, and vintage Bradfield. He did dabble in art installation himself,
with floor-to-ceiling graphics of dandies from way back in the day, in an
homage to Marcel Proust’s “Remembrances of Things Past” and the house’s own
history. On opening night, it was more like performance art: Geoffrey’s room was populated by tuxedoed, gloved and
moustachioed boys, like a belle epoque
Abercrombie and Fitch.
Geoffrey manages to keep Dynasty-era (Carrington, not Han) glamour fully alive,
in a room of a scale which could easily accommodate the shoulder pads and
charisma of Alexis herself, creating three seating areas of similarly proportioned pieces. Malachite green canvases and Nevelson constructions gave the room some old money
gravitas, while a tongue-in-cheek and pie-in-the-face bust in the firebox gave
this old dame of a room a little age-erasing nip and tuck.
Other
“I can name that designer in three notes” rooms included Vicente Wolf, and to a lesser extent, design and social media maven
Tobi Fairley. Vicente’s room had his elegant thumbprint all over it: barely-there
glass green, Asian influence, an anachronistic mix of eras, and confident, dark
notes against a pale backdrop. When you Wikipedia "Vicente," if Wikipedia had
pictures, this room would be it.
In
a showhouse-smart gesture of space management and crowd control, he set all the
room’s action against three walls, demurely tucked behind gauzy scrims, leaving a clean pass-through left completely unadorned. With those curtains and an opening upon which the bed was centered, it became the stage set of a most elegant drama, but even in the wings, the designer still stayed the star.
Tobi Fairley dialed her normal high
volume color choices down a notch but still stayed true to her identifiable signature style. It was a nod, said this buoyant and
omnipresent Arkansas designer, to a more refined New York audience, who, for
all their sophistication, still seems a little color-wary.
With limited choices and an overall backdrop of (Trend Alert!) printed grasscloth (from Phillip Jeffries), this room was graphic and crisp, but every bit as color confident as this gal normally is, and Exhibit A why the magazines seem to love her.
Tobi managed, with whispers of blush, a dusting of coral-y pink and a shot of emerald green (another color jumping from room to room) to keep visual appeal high while allowing plenty of breathing room. That was accomplished by limiting pattern to basically two (stylized trellis and sketchy faux bois), restraining the palette, and giving shape and silhouette the real star turn.
It yielded a breezy Palm Beach-meets-Hollywood Regency room (where last year, James Rixner taught us life is indeed like a box of chocolates), all floating above a black area carpet (sisal?) to keep the sugar content from rising too high.
Showhouse Storytelling
Typically,
showhouses seem a slight exaggeration of a designer’s style, amped up for press
appeal and the sheer fun of it, then given a healthy layer of styling detail to
tell a story about the fictional inhabitants.
In that
more classic showroom fashion, Holiday House veteran Ally Coulter told a deep and layered story for her cheeky spin on
Father’s Day, for a real DILFF (that’s “Daddy I’d love to furnish for”). Last
year, Ally spun a decidedly more feminine yarn with her Hollywood-glam,
Mommy-Dearest-fantastic take on Mother’s Day, and like that effort last year, this
is the kind of room you get hired from and for.
This
redhead’s Ralph Lauren roots (and sponsorship) showed nicely in this masculine
room where the guy also gets to get his glamour on. Like traditional show house narrative styling, it looked like the dude of the den had just sauntered off to check the
whiskey reserves. Like her neighbor Inson, Ally had palpable fun telling this
story, with racy props (riding crop and phallic missile, anyone?) and muscular
art. Even in such a high-personality frame, Ally had the last laugh: Her
showstopper was the gun over the mantle, a vintage piece gleaming like the most
contemporary of sculpture, having a great conversation with the moderne light
fixture overhead.
Overall,
the Lauren look worked perfectly with this equally handsome space. Ally worked the
room (as only this Rita Hayworth-invoking designer can) with deep blacks and
rosewoods, so her pieces settled back easily into the room instead of just perching
nervously within its walls as has happened in other years, while reserved doses
of regal purple and camel took the cliché off this most elegant of mancaves.
The
tented ceiling (a vestige of when Ally had briefly considered an all-over and
Out of Africa tented room, perhaps) was a tiny question mark, but the rest was pitch and
picture perfect. It made me want to meet this man of Ally’s making, even if he
didn’t wield that big of a gun. We’d
find something to do, in this room I
didn’t want to leave.
Charlotte Moss managed two trends of the
house: that walk-in, recognizable, signature style, magazine look, plus classic
showhouse storytelling. Like Ally’s room, Charlotte’s was propped to tell a
real story about the inhabitant, in this case a classic but modeern woman destined to split
her time between the Upper East Side, the south shore, and perhaps Darien.
This
is a more traditional take on showhouse style than Charlotte’s boxwood aerie for Kips Bay, and she managed to activate the entire large volume of room
without overfilling it. Favorite spot was the tea table and window banquette,
where an afternoon could be whiled away with cucumber sandwiches or Apple
laptop.
"Opportunities"
With a growing number of friends as Holiday House designers, since design is so subjective, and because the
house itself a charity endeavor, it’s hard to find fault. But there were a few
minor bones to delicately pick...
Lacking
in Holiday House this year is the “Holiday.” It seems this year more than
most, designers have stretched the definition and interpretation of “holiday,”
coming up with themes like Charlotte Moss’ “Every Day is a Holiday,” Vicente
Wolf’s “Winter White,” and DiSalvo Interiors’ “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s
Nest.” While they yield gorgeous rooms, a trademark idea of this house is the holiday, and I think watering down that
aspect is a huge misstep. It’s a concept, and the event’s brand, that sets this house apart. This year, without the banner
fluttering outside, this could be any showhouse, and that seemed a shame. Even
Christmas seemed a throw-away, and there wasn’t a single room I walked into and
knew what holiday was being honored without asking.
I’m not saying this house should read like
Party City, but past years have managed to strike a balance between holiday
theme and high-design room... Suzanne Eason’s Halloween, Bryant Keller's Columbus Day, and James Rixner’s
Valentines Day, all perfect examples. Sure, most holidays have been done
before, but that’s the fun of it: seeing how a new batch of designers steers
clear of theme cliché and expected holiday palette pitfalls.
Also
throughout, lighting seemed to be an afterthought, and a lot of rooms seemed just plain murky when perhaps moody was the
intent. We’ll chalk that up to the dreary, dreary day of the press preview and
move right along.
The
other issue, a holdover from years past: that top floor. It is a gargantuan space, with skylight and
arched windows with odd curtain rails, and odder lighting that seems to combine rope lights and some sort of schoolhouse fluorescents. It’s also an
often-missed room, reached via back steps and a small passageway. I know people who never knew this room existed.
As yet, it
has proven to be too big a beast to be properly tamed, although the sculptural
and poetic pieces chosen this year by Huntley & Co. helped zone and define
a space bigger than most Manhattan apartments. But even the best laid plans and
sharpest eye (and Huntley & Co. had both) still leave this room perennially
feeling slightly unfinished year after year. Their Intrepid-scaled sofas were all but swallowed
up, as one example. I would have loved their work even more if it existed in a space one-half the size.
To make this space work next year, two thoughts: Give this room to a real design
headliner, to make it a draw and a destination, and make it someone with enough
clout (or eager sponsors) to give the room the amount of content it demands. I'd LOVE to see Darryl Carter or Thomas Pheasant take on this room, with its Palladian-meets-loft references. I could also see Bill Sofield coaxing maximum potential from this airplane hangar.
Or,
return to the tabletop roots of Holiday House, and fill this space with ten or twelve tables, each
decked and designed to full holiday effect by another, newer generation of New
York Designers. Make it an event party space, the site of an actual luncheon
perhaps, a different kind of draw, where the room becomes a non-issue and the table's the thing. It’s a
thought.
Even
with a slight case of hiccups, Holiday House always keeps me up for a few days after first tour,
plotting and planning what room and holiday I’d pick. I’m kinda a Halloween
guy. But I love birthdays... hmmm! Maybe next year I’ll be writing about my own
room at Holiday House. I'll make a wish as I blow out the candles next August.
Holiday House 2012, to benefit Breast Cancer Research Foundation, is open to the public from October 25th through November 18th, 2012 at 2 East 63rd Street, in New York City.
Get Social! Holiday House is on Facebook.
All photos: Patrick J. Hamilton