When one's own taste is enough

The apartment of the late Henri Samuel (d.1993) as featured in Nest Issue 6, Fall 1999. Article by Mitchell Owens, photographs by Christoph Kicherer. This is a must read issue not only for this article, but also for the one on Pauline de Rothschild.


The salon.



M. Samuel, cheekily described as a sturdier version of M. Hubert de Givenchy.



The fireplace wall of the salon.



Bronze console by Cesar, painting is Balthus' La Jeune Fille Endormie.



The diningroom.



A parchment desk by Duboisson (left), a Guy de Rougemont coffee table (right)

As I had mentioned in And the winner is... Monsieur Henri Samuel would have been my choice to do our house, had I not grown up in a house he had helped with. I say helped with, rather than done by, as my Grandmother was not the type of woman to be dictated to. Her tastes were very specific. And, I dare say, she was supremely confident in that knowledge. Her house in Paris was very much like her. Not pretty (she looked more like the Graham Sutherland portrait of Helena Rubenstein, than Mme Rubenstein did), but handsome and striking with an underlying sense of warmth and comfort. Much like these rooms pictured.

Peak of Chic asked if growing up in a house like this had influenced me? Initially, I would have said no. Looking at these images and thinking about all the houses I have lived in and done, my answer would have to be yes. Subconsciously, but definitely yes. I think this is where I learned how to mix different periods and cultures, and learned about balance. Though, my take is much more American, and it took living in Europe for me to realise just how really American I am.

Where there was a penchant for the 1970s and more contemporary pieces in M. Samuel's salon, my Grandmother embraced the modernism of the 30s and 40s. That was her heyday, after all. Among the Louis Quinze and Seize furniture sat pieces in chrome, steel, and hammered bronze either covered in parchment coloured leather, or topped in glass, or stone. For every luxurious element there was an earthier foil. Vermilion linen velvet covered sofas played against simple tobacco coloured bark cloth curtains. A Louis Seize commode with its ormolu mounts and marble top, was balanced with a pair of simple Chinese altar tables. There was also that love of the exotic, be it Venetian Blackamoor or Chinese Buddha. Anything that imparted a spirit of adventure was dragged back and was found a place. Her solution to a dull room was " oh, it just needs a little vermilion and a couple of blackamoors...and it will be fine, darling"
If anything did influence me it was her unwavering sense of self, her warmth, and her humor. Even now what I remember most about that house are the times we spent together. I was indeed a very lucky and privileged child.

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