70 Years Well Lived
The way we were, the trends we loved and the things that endure.
Capitalising on the can-do attitude and spirit of an optimistic middle class, Australian House & Garden magazine was launched to a war-weary audience intent on building themselves a bright future. Championing exciting new materials and architecture, along with decorating trends from across the globe, the magazine itself became part of the furniture. journeys through the Chris Pearson archives, highlighting the ‘whoa!’ and the ‘wonderful’.
As the dust settled on a second wearying war and our servicemen adjusted to life back in the arms of their loved ones, Australian House &
Garden stepped in to help them realise the great Aussie dream. Inspired by published house plans and fresh-as-a-daisy design ideas, eager DIYers rolled up their sleeves. Many built cottages out of fibro (a material hailed by H&G as “modern-as-tomorrow”) on quarter-acre blocks in far-flung suburbs reached by the new family car: the arrival of the Holden 48-215 (aka the FX) helped to fuel demand.
Others had different ideas. The war had delivered émigrés Downunder, including architect Harry Seidler and furniture makers Paul Kafka and Fred Lowen. They brought with them a new aesthetic. Modernist open-plan houses with walls of glass (“The most important new medium in home building,” reported H&G) and butterfly roofs sported airy furniture in spanking-new materials. Plywood, fibreglass and plastic laminates facilitated freeform shapes, such as womb-like chairs on splayed legs and kidney and boomerang tables. “Sectional” sofas, too, signalled a new flexibility, and local architects and designers such as Grant Featherston, Douglas Snelling, Fler and Parker Furniture adopted the cues. “Colour. Friend or foe?” pondered H&G. Because there were few rules – “gay” mix and match was on the menu, in smoky coral pinks, primroses and turquoises or darker oxbloods, mustards and teals, bold not bright, all placed against each other.
By the 1960s, Australians were eyeing a sunny and prosperous future, while somewhat tethered, style-wise, to England’s apron strings. Some homemakers still favoured the trad look with floral fabrics on bloated sofas and Queen Anne tables. But not all apron strings were constricting. Carnaby Street English Mod, with its psychedelic hues, geometrics and swirling paisleys, burst into the consciousness. Scandinavian style, too, became de rigueur, championed by Australian tastemakers Marion Hall Best ( H&G lauded her “delirious world of colour”) and Artes Studio. The Scandi wave was epitomised by Marimekko fabrics and timber, from blond to radiata pine, used in light-as-air furniture as well as internal cladding. “The Scandinavians started it,” the magazine proclaimed. “Timber is the great mixer. It gets on with all other materials.”) And shaggy white rugs, it would appear.
Chasing all things cool, Australians also bought into Italian style, in the form of designs from B&B Italia, Kartell and Cappellini – many in injection-moulded plastic. (“Plastic is streets ahead of any other material,” H&G enthused.) The magazine’s pages in the 1960s tell the story: Plastic chairs and tables, Mylar wallpaper and mirrored walls, representing “gleam and glitter, a brave new world”, were the perfect conduits for brilliant colour. As well as in-your-face contrasts, H&G suggested gradations of rich colour within the same part of the palette – a trend revisited at 2017’s Milan Furniture Fair.
Homeowners had tired of high sheen and colour by the 1970s and sought earthiness and texture, to get “in touch with nature”. They went mad for exposed beams and structural concrete, rendered Besser bricks, clinker bricks and stippled ceilings. Split-level designs and cosy conversation pits were the buzz. And project-home builders like Pettit+Sevitt, with leading architects such as Ken Woolley on their books, delivered them to our doorsteps. “Everybody should have the benefit of living in an architect-designed house,” declared principal Ron Sevitt.
Not all the designs were Modernist. In the slipstream of the Mexico Olympics in 1968, the hacienda look took root, complete with Moorish patterns in brick and terracotta. It was duly documented by H&G in a feature headlined “Big swing to Spanish style”.
Like the project home, the arrival of Ikea in 1975 further democratised design and triggered an obsession for fab flat pack and “kitchens by the metre”. The prevailing colour palette was crisp white, contrasted with brown, brown and more brown, from “Mexico brown” to “Inca gold”. “Mission brown”, an invention of Cabots Australia in the late ’60s, covered our timbers. The browns were spiced up with paprika, cumin, cinnamon and turmeric plus lime and avocado green – these mouthwatering shades even found their way onto kitchen appliances, of which we couldn’t get enough.
In keeping with the natural theme, the artisan made a comeback as we coveted Tiffany lamps, ricepaper lampshades, Berber carpets, sisal rugs and macramé hangers. Hastened by suburban sprawl, the gentrification of the terraces and semis of Paddington and South Yarra began, and as we stripped back fireplaces and pulled up carpets, texture ruled there, too.
By the end of the decade, the Jumbo Jet had us travelling and bringing exotic looks home. It wasn’t just Spain and Mexico in our sights. We borrowed American architectural flourishes from Cape Cod to New Orleans (“Louvres, plantation doors, jalousies, no matter what you call them, they are big news
and back in fashion,” noted H&G. Meanwhile, the top end of town dabbled in chinoiserie and the mystique of the East.
The brash and bubbly 1980s brought bling into our homes, with neoclassical pillars and marble floors, exuberant architectural detailing, glass bricks, curves and other ornamentation adding up to a Modernist’s nightmare. Calling it “Postmodernism” only rubbed salt into the wound.
The Memphis movement, too, was born of an OTT moment. Led by Italian designer Ettore Sottsass, it was “calculated to shock anyone out of mental lethargy”, H&G declared. Thanks to its startling colour contrasts and jarring zigzag patterns, the ’70s living room of calm was now a riot of stimuli. Even Art Deco was dusted off – its bold colour juxtapositions and geometrical motifs seemed a good fit.
H&G welcomed the “hot-shot brights” by presenting rooms in startling pink, aqua, teal and yellow, drawing inspiration from Sydney artist Ken Done, whose works depicted harbour and reef, and reflected the optimism of a bicentenary decade. As Australia came of age, “Australian designers have turned the tide on cultural cringe,” H&G announced.
For those who preferred a more sedate palette, greys and whites teamed with salmon and apricot pink were the ticket, revved up with goldplated coffee tables and brass birds, with more than a nod to the Orient.
Squishy leather sofas, such as the B&B Italia ‘Le Bambole’, structured but not too structured, suited the mood of the times. Meanwhile, Design Warehouse brought inexpensive chrome and leather furniture, much of it Italian-inspired, to a wider audience. Lest things become too austere, homeowners teamed these with warming polished floorboards, bird’s-eye maple furniture (Deco-inspired again) and timeless Persian rugs.
And as Australians starting shunning the suburbs and adopted city infill living, the townhouse became the modernday terrace. H&G extolled “the delights of townhouse living”.
Jetset holidays to Bali and further afield left their mark in the 1990s, as themed decorating became the norm. From the comfort of our white two-seater sofas in Indian cottons, we ventured to Tuscany, Provence or South-East Asia. Tuscany and Provence saw the antipodean light of day in terracotta tiles, rendered exteriors and limewashed internal walls, “echoing the rusticity of the Mediterranean.” The palette varied from sunflower yellows and cornflower blues, à la the south of France, to the earthier ochres and stone hues of Italian farmhouses. Friezes, stencilled floors and sunny Corso de’ Fiori ceramics completed the look. Some moved to a
Calypso beat, thanks to “punchy pastels”, aka technicolour Caribbean and Miami hues, while others filled their homes with teak, Buddhas and kentia palms inspired by their Ubud getaways. Those with more masculine tastes went on safari, exploring savanna neutrals and zebra and leopard prints.
The Minimalist movement presented an island of calm amidst all this decorating excitement, with white walls and barely there furnishings on stark floorboards or polished concrete. In keeping with the theme, Modernist classics of the 1930s by Mi es vander Rohe and Marcel Breuer( think‘ Barcelona’ and ‘Wassily’ chairs) and Eileen Gray tables were dusted off. Opportunistic retailers filled the void with knockoffs, delivering design, somewhat controversially, to the masses.
The arrival of the Noughties saw the pendulum swing back, countering asceticism with romance. Wallpaper in florals, often large-format, was again on a roll. Florence Broadhurst designs from the ’60s and ’70s were revisited in softer colourways and low-sheen, but we confined ourselves to the feature wall, reasoning, perhaps, that you can have too much of a good thing. The chandelier made a dazzling comeback as elegance returned. Philippe Starck’s ‘Louis’ chair for Kartell in see-through plastic was a whimsical reference to the past and summed up this fresh take: a little shine and flamboyance balanced with cleaner profiles. Neutrals became de rigueur, peppered by the hazy colours of the Australian bush – think eucalyptus, kangaroo paw and waratah. Aubergine came from nowhere to colour feature walls.
By the 2010s, “eclecticism” was the word du jour and it survived the decorating decade. Defined by H&G as “putting together different things, different styles and different times”, it defied themed decorating. The magazine and its attentive readers cherrypicked anything from anywhere – and used a tight colour palette to create visual unity. In the hands of local designers Greg Natale and David Hicks, 1950s Modernism rubbed shoulders with chinoiserie. If there was one recurrent theme, it was the Hamptons look, because it effortlessly facilitated our lifestyle – relaxed and laidback – while offering a little structure, too. This ensured it worked both on the coast and in the inner city. Meanwhile, freestanding homes favoured by those returned servicemen in 1948 were yielding to apartment blocks, and developers, prompted by zoning shifts, bought vast lots on the city fringe.
Today, trends in colour and pattern seem ever fluid–and trend forecasting is a booming industry. While the only real certainty in 21 st-century decorating is to expect the unexpected, a glimpse over the shoulder always provides fertile inspiration.