A vintage Missoni robe, Gesamtkunstwerk, Robert Kime, a poem on Rick Owens
In my headphones: Bob Dylan—Dylan (1973)
I was moving boxes yesterday in the single oldest house in this town, pushing cobwebs out of my eyes and ignoring the chipmunks who live—yes, live—in the walls of that house, when out of the corner of my eye, a phantom of luxury Italian knitwear flitted out of the bathroom. Could it be? I continued walking,—nay, hobbling—a heavy box perched in my arms, but as I rounded the corner, I was interrupted by the phantom herself. As she approached across nineteenth century floorboards, her vertical stripes came into view in finer and finer detail until the textured thing itself was before me in all its glory: A Missoni robe. Vintage! From her boyfriend’s mother! Style exists in the dankest of places.
Below, a few sources of design inspiration keeping me sane in the midst of finals and move-out period.
I discovered Robert Kime, the famed antiques dealer and interior decorator, through the Design Notes YouTube channel last week (the accompanying article can be found here). I was immediately charmed upon hearing Kime refer to himself as simply, a dealer. He began “dealing” as a student at Oxford and never stopped—dealing in antiques, that is!
Kime brought a nobility to his profession at once subtle and wide-reaching. His rooms have a timeless, lived-in quality with a sense of color cohesion and aesthetic sensibility that are absolutely unmatched. His rooms are both comfortable and grand, cozy and museum-like. I imagine entering one you would immediately think to yourself, “Now this is a Robert Kime room.” His style is defined by experience—both personal and professional. His wanderlust comes across in every object. Here is a worldly man with taste, his work seems to say. This man seemingly loved everything about antiques—the craftsmanship of the object itself, the history of the object, the story behind how the antique came into the hands of the seller, the buyer’s relationship with the seller, and how the object changed hands to end up in its present home. The fullness of Kime’s life is reflected in the richness of his rooms; he was a man with so many stories that any article written about him seems to write itself.
Suffice to say, Kime is antiques giant. From Isabella Stewart Gardner to Peggy Guggenheim, I’ve always been captivated by those who collect,—it’s something about knowing what you like and pursuing it, I think—and Kime fits the bill. On decorating his house Docker Nook in England’s Longsleddale Valley, Kime told the New York Times: “I want it to be correctly informed architecturally but I want it to be real for me.” This is very much the attitude I have toward writing my final essays this term. They may be slightly off-topic, but hey, at least they’re interesting! Though he sadly passed away in 2022, you can still shop Robert Kime’s wares here, visit his store on Pimlico Road in London, or find inspiration from images of his work online.
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A note on design videos: I love them—like love them. Here is the link to the Design Notes series by House & Garden, through which I discovered Robert Kime. I especially love their video with Swedish designer Beata Heuman. The Modern House is great too, especially this video featuring Pauline Caulfield.
When I was in third grade, I wanted to be an architect. I told everyone I wanted to go to Princeton and drive a wicker Fiat 500 Jolly and then become an architect when I graduated and run a Fortune 500 company (I liked the alliteration, yes. I was a precocious child, also yes). After one too many people told me architecture involved a lot of math, my dream began to fracture—but not before I was infatuated with the world of art and design and my obsession with design videos took root! And not before I could write this poem on Rick Owens, inspired by this Vogue Objects of Affections video. Watch the video before you read the poem, or do as I did and watch and write at the same time, will you? It’s too good not to be played with.
27 November 2023 Rick Owens Turpentine city Mauve moon Purple sky I’m an eliminator Well this is my interpretation Concordia maudlin I’m a domestic reductivist The designer’s hands Are beautiful Stridently moralist We used to be horrified, mom and me My father had a library in the basement Vulnerability, vitality, resolution. That shaggy, chaotic, and wild garden Would you look at those sweet, sweet flowers Rooster feathers–not on my slate Too pure for impossibility I want severe, monastic I want rationalism, irrationality I want me in the travertine zones I wanted a travertine box to work in I wanted to live in stone I like my chairs a little bit punishing Like a church pew I like to be regal while I sip my coffee Dramatic orchestral sarcophagus Otherwise if there is too much color it feels Fake I like a clean canteen I like extravagant scratch marks Ripped patina I like my sculptures narcissistic They remind me of me I like a nice relic. I am King of the adjectives My hair falls in whisps down my back It is flat at the top– A flat attack of Baldness This skull I got from an auction That heart I bought at market All is vanity Seize!
More on interiors here:
To Antique or Not Antique
From upstate New York to coastal New York to the city itself and suburban Massachusetts to rural New Hampshire, I’ve spent many a weekend at friends’ homes this summer. And the biggest difference between each house can be distilled to a single question: To antique or not to antique.
I hate Rick Owen’s “work”, but I LOVE your poem!