The kitchen cabinets are painted in Farrow & Ball’s ‘Green Smoke’. The countertops are zinc while the curtains are in Merchant & Mills’ Linen Check in ‘Calamity Grey’.
Christopher Horwood
The house was built in 1817 and it feels special not for any specific architectural merits, more so for the fact it continues to exist at all. It is the lowliest sort of urban housing of its era and its survival belies its humility and a rustic grace in miniature. Fifteen years before we arrived as tenants, its owner completed an overhaul with such a masterful sleight of hand, you’d think it always looked this way. The best old-guard Spitalfields joiner made new mantels and paneling to match the old, ceiling beams were exposed and the original floorboards were left mercifully alone, patched as needed but the old scratches and scuffs left intact. A small but perfectly formed garden was set out and a new studio was added with reclaimed London brick. To me, the house is a masterclass in renovating on a budget. Low-brow kitchen cabinets disappear under a lick of nice paint and a bespoke zinc worktop, while a reclaimed bathtub feels well-heeled with properly fancy hardware. There is a push and pull of luxury and economy, which makes the house feel special but not precious, and it has welcomed us with open arms.
In the first floor sitting room, antique Dutch herbarium specimens decorate the walls. The sofa and bench have handmade loose covers, while an antique Hungarian embroidered textile is draped over the sofa. A 1930s bureau occupies the right hand corner. The blind is in a bookcloth by Marianna Kennedy.
Christopher Horwood
More than perfecting any specific decorating plan, we generally focus on creating an atmosphere. Philip has an instinctual knack for organizing a space and knowing precisely what fits where, whereas I like to hunt for things, but don’t often have a plan. Our furniture is a hodgepodge mainly from auctions, bought for its dollhouse scale, and flat pack pieces sit alongside Georgian ones without a second thought. Our curtains and cushions are homemade for reasons of both thrift and pleasure. I never second guess a ceramics purchase and many of ours are gathered from my years living in Japan, although my ‘save from a fire’ pieces are all from Frances Palmer, a dear friend who actually introduced us in a roundabout way. Our house would be bereft without her work, although I think at this point, if a fire was to break out, I would not be able to carry them all without making multiple life-endangering trips, but this is a risk I would be willing to take. The paintings are also done mostly by family and friends, of places special to us, which make them deeply cherished. I tell myself we could live anywhere as along as it was full of the books, vases and paintings I love, with a pretty tablecloth and flowers.