One of the things I love most about my job is working with people who can create something completely unique for a room. I’m not one for designing everything from scratch, but I do love brainstorming with artisans to come up with something no one else has.
I came back from Venice last year having visited Amadi Bruno, a tiny shop that sells handmade glass animals, vegetables, and flowers. The owner, Signor Amadi, makes everything himself— craft doyenne Deborah Needleman led me there—and I left with glass peas and a butterfly for my daughter. These are the sorts of small things that carry a story and a cherished memory. Sometimes it is, in fact, the little things.
But there are, of course, also the big things. On a larger scale, Vanderhurd is who we collaborate with often for their embroidery and rugs. They made a stair runner for me. Staircases are a good place to have pattern, and I went to see Christine Vanderhurd with a photograph of a snippet of a paisley carpet. Together (it was mostly Christine!) we worked on the design and color, and the Vanderhurd team went to the extraordinary lengths of making it in increments so the pattern would match all the way up the stairs. Working with Christine is a particular treat, because I feel very safe in her hands. We worked together a few years ago to make a pair of folk art embroidered curtains for a client in London. The fabric for the French door curtains was posing a problem—they needed to be really striking, and I just couldn’t find that in the world of yardage.
One day while I was at Vanderhurd, Christine showed me this book of folk embroidering, and I got quite excited realizing we had found a brilliant solution. We fiddled about with various patterns and threads, samples came back, and we fiddled a bit more. Then Christine hand-carried the bolts of felt to her work rooms in India for the border to be embroidered. We did that so there wasn’t a seam—the embroidering was along the salvage edge of the wool. The process was exciting in itself, and the result was even more than we had hoped for.
Every great room begins as a blank canvas. When should the experts come in? Hommage à Hammershoi by Pierre Bergian.
Now, upholstery is a place where it is actually hard to be original. Using antique textiles is one way to bring something unusual, but they are delicate, and, of course, there is always the challenge of quantity. Needlepoint is one answer; it is robust and by its nature always a one-off.
I have known Hayat Palumbo and her shop, Tapisserie, since I was a child. She taught me how to stitch when I was 11 years old. Her canvases are all hand-painted, and her yarns are dyed in Paris. I love doing tapestry myself, but there are limits to how large a canvas I can complete. I have recently commissioned a few chair seats and a slipper chair from Tapisserie. This is, sadly, a dwindling art and one that is worth supporting. Needlepoint can conjure rather -fuddy-duddy images of chair seats stitched with bouquets of flowers, but Hayat has a modern eye and uses the medium to produce striking canvases that are often influenced by contemporary art.
Making things by hand is so rewarding because of the talented craftsmen you get to work alongside. We often turn to Max Rollit, an antiques dealer who has a barn full of beautiful furniture that has been the inspiration for the furniture he makes himself. Beautiful four-posters and tables with excellent proportions are the things we order from him most often, and because they make everything themselves we often alter dimensions and leg positions, to change a center table to a dining table, for example. Drawings come to me to be approved, and they are beautiful hand drawings, not the inspiration—quenching images that come off a computer with the nuance of a steel girder.
I like working with experts. I find it much more exciting than starting with a blank piece of paper myself. You have a back-and-forth with someone who really knows their craft.
Russel Pinch of Pinch is another maker I have worked with (we created a wall of shelving for my entrance hall at home), and Matthew Cox in Stamford, who makes wonderful tables. England has excellent furniture makers, and people like Howe and Jamb make pieces that will retain their value as they age, beautifully, unlike the relatively expensive furniture produced by big box firms that will be the landfill of the not too distant future.
The Pimlico Road, once the home of antiques dealers, is now showcasing a lot of British crafts. The New Craftmaker is a must stop for incredible baskets and beautiful ceramics, and of course Soane has truly championed British wicker.
America has a terrific history with wicker too, and I buy quite a lot of vintage Bielecky pieces from Bamboo and Rattan in West Palm Beach; Charlene Beaudet, who owns the shop, restores the vintage rattan and makes really charming tables, including ones for backgammon and mahjong. All the bedlinen we buy for clients is made by hand. One of my favorite things is appliquéd linens from Madeira—it is literally a race now to buy it before the last seamstresses retire. I will always go to Kassatly’s on Worth Avenue in Palm Beach for their appliquéd bed and table linens.
Housesandparties.com is another fantastic source for charming napkins and place mats. And I love getting out my box of color samples from Marie Daâge and working on a unique set of plates. Zoë de Givenchy is reinvigorating factories in France with her faience pieces and trompe l’oeil plates with chocolates and figs on them.
I don’t necessarily think that a house where everything has been designed for the space is a good thing. It can feel quite exhausting. But there is no doubt in my mind that all houses need a bit—however small—of something made just for you. ◾
This story originally appeared in the May 2025 issue of Elle Decor. SUBSCRIBE
