Homebody
the solace of interior spaces
I’m making headway through my Christmas book haul and just tore through India Knight’s Home. I thoroughly enjoyed myself. During these days of crushing news, heavy memoirs and serious reads, I welcomed a “hiatus” book. Knight is funny. I need funny. Home lays out Knight’s decorating ethos while giving encouragement and tips to those who need help finding their own style and voice. And she offers bonus counsel under headings like Terrible Life Advice That Sometimes Gets Presented as Wisdom or simply Life Advice. All really good stuff.
Best of all, her dog is a couch loller like mine.
Knight and I share a love for soulful interiors, not the curated showcases that say nothing about those who inhabit them. Interiors, after all, are an insight into personality.
More usually you walk into a space and think it could pretty much belong to anyone. It may be beautifully and thoughtfully put together, but it is missing the crucial component, namely spirit, charm, essence, call it what you will: the intimate and unique imprimatur of its inhabitant. Often all there is is what John Betjeman called “ghastly good taste”: a sort of suffocating nothingness. Nice, but meh. India Knight via her column in The Times
When our lives went haywire, I barely left the house if I could help it. And during that time of self-exile and introspection, I fell in love with my home all over again. Not only does it celebrate our family narrative and memories I hold dear, but it holds a register of our family travels. It’s also an artist’s house—brimming with art from our creative friends and with music and color and books.
I inherited my love of interiors from my mother, Jessica Catto, and designed our house and gardens to create a sanctuary for our young family. A place where our children could step into whimsy, beauty, and safety— a space where they could leave the world behind and create their own worlds. A relaxed place, not too precious. Yes, bouncy balls often went astray, things got dinged or broken, and dogs gnawed on rugs, leaving indelible stains. But all that only helped forge the character of this place.
I also wanted a welcoming house. We used to entertain constantly—I married a great cook— and our house accommodated a steady flow of people. We’re dipping our toes back in there, and the house is as ready as ever.
When my parents died, I didn’t gravitate towards the obvious objects, the things that say “oh I own valuables or I have taste.” Instead, I wanted the stuff that I could remember from childhood, the things that anchored me as we moved from house to house.
I used to be bashful about my love of interiors and my homebody ways. Wasn’t that all a bit frivolous, indulgent even, when I’m privileged to even have a home? Now I think of my home as another canvas, a living, evolving collaboration with so many folks in our orbit and part of my lifelong creative footprint and arc. My daughter, Fiona, wants to be married here, and I often sense my late daughter, Bailey, at the edge of my peripheral vision, just around the corner, right at home. The best.
Home is also a kind of yearning. It is a dream of something that is lost forever, something that a part of you will always miss and long for, even if you have never really known it. India Knight
With the frenetic energy which surrounded us at the Bakery for almost 30 years, our home and gardens also became our sanctuary. The still white of long winters gave me a longing for making every room a different color but still have a calmness. My mother’s and daughter’s and friends’ Art covers every wall. Our homes are very different but fulfill similar human needs. Totally enjoy your descriptive writing, Isa. Thank you.
Your photos and home are beautiful, unique. Your mom was gorgeous, she looks like a 60’s model. And now I need to go find some wallpaper for my bathroom which has needed it for quite some time. Wondering if the hubby will approve something bright ? Thanks for the inspiration.