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Why Maximalism is An Act of Love
Paris' king of sumptuous interiors François-Joseph Graf began his career at Versailles. Is it any wonder the interior designer works color, pattern and gilt into his many global projects?
W hen it comes to design, no one does luxury quite like François-Joseph Graf. Renowned for his maximalist style, the French architect, interior designer and collector trained at the Palace of Versailles, where he absorbed the rigor of classical scale and perspective. Moody, elevated and romantic, a Graf project effortlessly merges different centuries and movements of design: a neo-Greek console could be poised next to a Contemporary sculpture, a Victorian English shell might sit alongside an Art Deco cabinet. Integral to the sumptuous effect are the finishes—from stained glass and gilded marquetry to molding. “The result should feel sort of effortless,” says Graf. “But effortlessness is made from thousands of small details.”
In his private client practice—which includes yachts and jets as well as residences—Graf has worked with the crème de la creme: from the Rothschilds to Valentino Garavani and Pierre Bergé. He has also worked with collectors from across the globe, from North America to Switzerland, including the late Jean-Marie Rossi, the French art dealer whose collection Replica Shoes ’s are auctioning this March. Hotels are another key passion for Monsieur Graf, having transformed the the Hôtel de la Mirande and At Sloane for Costes in London. “I, myself, am a great hotel client. I’ll fly over to Kyoto for the opening of a new hotel. I know what a client is willing to pay for,” says Graf.
On a rainy night in Chelsea, London, Replica Shoes ’s spoke with Graf in one of his recent hotel projects, At Sloane, about his design philosophy and own interests as a collector. Originally a Victorian home owned by the Cadogan Estate, today—in true Graf style—it is filled with neo-Greek, neo-Chinese and neo-Japanese decorations. Below he discusses his love of maximalism, how travel has inspired his work and his friendship with the late Jean-Marie Rossi.
What is maximalism? Where did this style originate?
25 years ago, maximalism didn’t exist. Minimalism was the trend. It was: ‘Less is more’. Historically, people filled their homes with furniture, everything was cluttered and often very colorful, because there was no electricity. Then after the war, people wanted to get rid of all that. And right up until the 1960s and ‘70s this led to a minimalism that emerged with a growing interest in design from Japan. But then eventually we realized that this ‘nothing’ wasn’t much fun either. It’s nice to have a space with one beautiful piece of furniture or one beautiful painting, but you need to have a collector’s mindset to live in something like that—it can be boring. So, there was a new wave of wanting to fill everything up again. To have a style that might mix modern sofas with contemporary art and historic architecture.
Is there such thing as going too far?
It’s only too far when you don’t love it anymore. Maximalism is like love. You always give maximum love, never minimum. People instinctively want to be close to objects. We accumulate. Old people never sell things—we become prisoners to objects. But there’s no rulebook, it’s emotional. The important thing is to be happy in the place you live, regardless of the decor. People ask me about my creations: how did you think to do that? I say: “I don’t know, I just did it!” I’m in front of a canvas and I begin to paint.
How do you approach designing a space, like here in At Sloane?
Architecture is the box. So, the question becomes: what do you put inside the box? First, we have to understand the proportions—here it was a Victorian house. Then we design the layout, which is very important. Once this structure is correct, we do the decorations: moldings, patterns, material. The result should feel sort of effortless, but that effortlessness is made from thousands of small details. It’s a lot of work.
You trained at Versailles—what did you learn there?
My first job was in Versailles working with the main architect. I spent three years there. I was very disciplined: I was a good employee and I learned everything. Working in Versailles is the best. The smallest room is some little cabinet for the queen—five square meters and two meters high, then it’s 11 meters tall in the Hall of Mirrors. So, if you are open-minded, you can learn everything about perspectives and proportions. Versailles is like going to Greece or going to Rome. You learn the essence of building. It’s a puzzle and if you know it, you can take your pencil and design anything.
You travel extensively. How has Asia—and Japan in particular—influenced your style?
I’ve always travelled a lot, thanks to my mother [the art dealer Lise Graf]. In 1973 I took my first big trip to Asia—to Indonesia and Hong Kong. That opened my eyes to these cities. After that I explored the Middle East, Ethiopia, Yemen, Pakistan, Iran, Uzbekistan, Burma, Tibet, Bhutan, China... New cultures, new architectures, new ways of living, new food, new philosophies, their differing relationships with time—you learn so much.
I’ve been to Japan maybe four times. When Japanese design became popular in Europe in the 1860s, its influence on Western design was extraordinary—on ceramics, furniture and decorative arts. In five years, everything was Japanese. Minimalism came from this aesthetic. However, I find the culture there can be extremely disciplined. The art there can feel reasonable rather than instinctive, whereas for me art it’s about instinct.
Sotheby’s are selling the collection of Jean-Marie Rossi. You designed the scenography for this show. What is his legacy?
I met Jean-Marie about thirty years ago—a formidable man, six feet four and a bit stout, with this very extravagant way of thinking. Oh, and these big hands, big antiques, big eyes and big tastes. He rediscovered some of the greatest artists of the 18th century. When you see his catalogue, it’s fantastic. He was also very strong, meddlesome, brilliant, unbearable, loud and funny. He’d make witty remarks that would knock you off your feet. He brought a nobility to the profession in the ‘60s, ‘70s and ‘80s. He had the largest clientele of major collectors at the time—the Guinnesses, the Rothschilds, the Agnelli, Givenchy… he was one of the first to bring great 19th century artists out of obscurity, like Édouard Lièvre, who no one knew before. He was ahead of his time.
And perhaps we can talk a little about your own collecting?
I never collected fashionable things. I either collected things that were out of fashion or not yet in fashion: Viennese art, Wiener Werkstätte [Vienna Workshop], turn of the century art from Vienna, Berlin, Frankfurt and England, Art Deco, Eileen Gray, Louis XIV… each time it was a coup de foudre, never a rational decision. I just loved it. Then one day I decided it was all too much, I had clients coming in and saying ‘I want to buy this or that’ from my collection. So I sold a lot of things. Now I don’t buy much because I realize that I buy such masterpieces with my clients that I’m left only with crumbs! I’m not a collector who likes to possess things. The best collection is the one I make with my clients. It’s about discovery. A dream of mine is to have a living room where there would be one sculpture, one object, one painting and one piece of furniture that I’d change every week.
That’s the opposite of maximalism, in a way…
Yes, but it works. I tell people this and they say yes, it’s true, I go into my living room and look at three paintings, and not the other three. Collecting is always about finding an essence. It’s not an accumulation. It’s not that I keep 250 vases. Out of 250 vases, I keep five. I keep the best of the best. It’s different when it’s for decoration. Here in At Sloane we have all these vases that were sold in Pompeii in the 19th century as travel souvenirs that imitated vases from 5BC. That’s its own story.
Do you have a favorite building in the world?
Le petit Trianon at Versailles; Stoclet Palace in Brussels, built by Josef Hoffman; Katsura Imperial Villa in Kyoto; Angkor Wat, Cambodia; Shah Mosque in Iran.
What is the most exciting part of your work?
For me, what is exciting isn’t the envelope, it’s what it contains. When you have clients who have these wonderful collections of modern paintings or contemporary art, or wonderful furniture and objects, it’s a dream. A box filled with cheap things has no reason to be built. Usually, clients want to spend as little as possible and be done as quickly as possible. We normally spend a lot of money and it’s slow. But they end up happy. I’m like Father Christmas. I put the apartment below the tree and they open up the parcels. Then you say goodbye.
