Home /hōm/

1. A house, apartment or shelter, that is the usual residence of a person or family.
2. The place in which one's domestic affections are centred.
3. A place or region where something is most native, familiar or common.

HOME.

A word that appears in my work on a daily basis. Homewares, Lifestyle and Home, Home design, Home Interiors and so the list goes on. What really makes a home a home?

My husband and I are still without a ‘home’. We are worlds away from the wonderful relaxation and retreat in Italy, and back into the ‘5 star’ treadmill of London.  Still working at the never-ending US visa process, which adds a layer of unease in our lives neither of us can quite understand. Two 5 star hotels in a week  - and not a single restful night.  How can this be? Surely we have paid enough money for a peaceful night in a calming room? I daren’t even mention the chain of hotels we are in, or question who the interior design might be down to. But one thing I am sure of, they got it wrong.  No amount of money can create the perfect rest.  I’ve been there.

Everything is wrong. The overdone gold staircase, coupled with heinous carpets, and the lack of storage in every room. The ludicrous idea that the door of the fridge opens at a 90 degree angle away from the wall but directly into another piece of furniture. We were never meant to have anything from the mini-bar, ever. The baby rat was an added bonus, (not to be boasted about, I have been assured by the concierge). But when residing in an old brewery conversion in central London – rats, are seemingly part of the furniture. You pay just a little extra for them. 

However, I  LOVE LONDON. It’s become one of my motto’s. The wonderful design shops of Upper St in Islington, Terence Conran’s hotels, the sumptuous amounts of flowers in the lobby of Claridges and Columbia Road alike.  

Not having a place to call my own has begun to take its toll. My rose tinted glasses are starting to fade. Instead of walking past all the gorgeously bustling bars in Shoreditch or the wonderfully aromatic smells in Brick Lane and simply drinking in the atmosphere – I’m walking past wondering how cosy all those people will be in their homes tonight. Tucked up in front of the telly with a cup of tea no doubt, I think, with a hazy green cloud of envy starting to form above my head. 

Last night I sat in a lovely bar in central London and had a much-earned glass of wine with a very old and dear friend. She explained something extremely poignant to me, it gave me goose bumps…”Em,” she said, “I’d love nothing more than to say to you, I’m going home to Northern Italy, or Barcelona, or to The Bahamas, but I can’t. It’s Northern Ireland. Cold, wet and slightly boring Northern Ireland. But it’s still my home and I can’t wait to get there”.  She touched a nerve.

Home is home. No matter how it’s been designed, where it is the world. What the climate is. It’s home.

Even though I’ve lived in Sydney for ten years. I’ve always in my mind, remained British. Home, I always thought.  

And here I am. Homeless and frightened in a five star hotel in Barbican. Juxtaposition at it’s most frustrating.

I can’t wait to get home. To New York. It’s never been home before.

But with four walls,  a few simple touches, it will begin to take shape. Husband, dog, favourite cushions, artworks, lamps and rugs.  

It’s not these material things or the bricks and mortar that create a sense of home. It’s family. Friends. Neighbours. Memories. Sights. Smells and Sounds.  And mostly, it's love.

So come on London. This week. Put some love back in.  

Even though bricks and mortar and material items aren't the most important thing, when someone else comes along and mindlessly destroys them. We are left speechless. 

A few images of the London I know and love. 

re·treat/riˈtrēt/ (part one)

1. The act or process of withdrawing, especially from something hazardous, formidable, or unpleasant.

2. A place affording peace, quiet, privacy, or security.

A second blog post somehow seems SO much more difficult and definitive than the first. What I choose to write about here and now will begin to shape and mould this story going forward. And so the word ‘retreat’ springs to mind.

Retreat  - often a well - deserved rest, carefully planned and thought out right to the last detail. This forced break we are on - in an unpredictable situation, has become a retreat, thrown together, with no planning and very little thought.  During all my years in Sydney I often found myself searching the web and scouring newspapers trying to find the perfect mini – break. Here and now, I've found it. 

Whilst camped out in this little corner of Italy,  ‘ a la campagna’ to be exact,  I think of what it takes to make you feel at home and comfortable whilst on retreat.  It doesn’t always need to be carefully planned or organised, as my current situation has taught me. The makeshift bedroom we have created in this un-renovated farmhouse on a plot of land dotted with olive trees, has become my husband’s favourite room ever in which to awake. It seems ironic – the years I’ve spent trying to create the perfect environment with light and space and here we have done it, simply, with a couple of mattresses, an old trunk, some scarves and a jam jar of flowers – mother nature has played a strong hand in this one.

Each day is filled with the earth’s simplicities, and offers us a richness we have never yet experienced. Until now.  We enjoy the almost clichéd sunsets, the local wines and foods, all readily available to us on the newly created terrace and set out in a haphazard arrangement of glasses and bowls.

Whilst sharing my shower with a grasshopper yesterday morning, I realised that perhaps there is a lot to be said for enjoying a place offering peace and quiet minus all the 5 star luxuries. Creatures yes, creature comforts, not a chance. Here, who needs them?

To add just a little more irony to our situation, last week we went off from this peaceful little farmhouse… to go on a ‘retreat’.  A rest from a rest…….

We headed further into Le Marche to a little ‘agriturismo’ named Casa Azzura. Yet another renovated farmhouse offering a space for yoga and meditation, and run by the warm and welcoming Elia.  With only eight rooms, and a cosy yet worthy of a Michelin star restaurant, boasting views over the Sibillini Mountains, Elia has adopted many elements of Feng Shui in his design. 

Every room houses a freestanding claw-foot bath, perfectly placed, and silk Indian saris are draped from the windows, creating a feeling of utter calm. I was amazed to find such serenity within such simplicity. To think of the hours I've pored over plans and sketches, trying to arrange a space perfectly in order to create a certain feeling and comfort.  Here you have it, a bath, a sari and a window. Done. 

Two rooms.... within two weeks. Perhaps the simplest rooms we have both ever stayed in. And yet the most relaxing. I will remember this valuable lesson when I embark on my next project. Keep it extremely simple. 

If you are ever in the area of Le Marche and looking for a five star spa with all the trimmings, then Casa Azzura may not be for you. However, if you would like to visit one of the most relaxing spots on this earth, then look no further.  

The room at the farmhouse, I can't recommend to you as highly unfortunately. That, we are keeping, just for us. 

Some years ago, a close friend and colleague and I were discussing our immense desire to be able to live in NYC for a few months. She a photographer, and I, an interior stylist and writer. Perfect. Head to the Big Apple. Take our laptops, her camera, my dog... what more would two young girls need?

A green card, apparently. Accommodation that allows pets. And a lot more money than four hundred and fifty Australian dollars. So, Sydney it was, for another good few years. Now, more than five years later, I'm almost there. I'm just married, awaiting my US visa in a small medieval town in Italy. I'm still in the midst of my long journey to NYC. A journey that has taken many years and many lessons. 

I've managed to find immense inspiration along the way. Inspiration I thought I would only find in NY. It has become apparent to me, that inspiration can be found in the tiniest nook or cranny of this earth, as can the most delicious meal, at the most desired table. So long as you are looking. And you really want to find it. 

Sydney - Hong Kong - Bangkok - London - Rome - Paris - NYC. 

A Designer's Journey. 

(A designer who likes good food, the perfect table, and strives to find the most delicious glass of red wine). 

 Pockets of light. At home, Sydney. Australia. 2010.