RICK OWENS
Known for his rule-breaking fashion line and Brutalist-inspired furniture, the fashion designer has now created a radically minimalist space and studio in Venice’s famed Lido.
The fashion designer has now created a radically minimalist space and studio in Venice’s famed Lido
Ihave always loved the Lido, its provincial side — close to Venice but without the disadvantages,” says American fashion designer Rick Owens. Owens, with his wife and business partner Michèle Lamy, became a regular visitor to the region when he relocated his manufacturing to nearby Concordia more than a decade ago. “It’s two hours from the factory that makes my clothes. I spend at least a week here every month and, often, most of the summer. For years, I lived at the Excelsior Hotel but I could not stand to live in a setting that was not mine.”
So in 2014, Owens bought the top two floors of the Miramar condominium, close to the Lido’s legendary Excelsior that plays host to movie stars during the Venice Film Festival. “The decor was incredibly kitsch — a riot of colours,” says the designer, who splits his time between Venice and Paris. “Shabby, but not chic.”
With the help of architect Anna Tumaini, who creates Owens’ fashion boutiques, the designer has imagined a place perfectly choreographed to meet his daily schedule: work and reading, punctuated by a visit to the beach, a workout session in his private gym and an essential afternoon siesta.
While the top floor is given over to private living areas, the lower floor has been transformed into an atelier and studio for his staff. “My model was Le Corbusier’s Cabanon [the legendary architect’s seaside holiday retreat] but a more contemporary version. Functional and efficient,” he says. “I wanted something austere, almost cold, that combines the refinement of Jean-Michel Frank with the severity of Mussolini’s architecture.”
The plan of the penthouse has been redesigned to meet this vision and is divided into three spaces: a lounge/office, a bedroom/bathroom and a mirrored gym. There is little cooking here and, as a result, the kitchen is reduced to its simplest form — a coffee machine, microwave and dishwasher — and hides behind the sliding doors of a mirrored cupboard in the gym. It’s the ultimate minimalist’s dream.
Owens has even pared back furniture to the essentials — benches, a wooden table and some stools that Owens and Lamy designed — all unified using an expanse of pale Sardinian stone on indoor and outdoor floors and key features including outdoor seating. Steel-framed glass French doors stretch from ceiling to floor and provide access to a broad wraparound terrace with water views, further emphasising the open, minimalist aesthetic. “With age, I feel the need for greater simplicity,” says Owens. “I need to eliminate the mess — all the useless things that keep me from focusing on the essentials. The space around me must be like a blank screen on which I can project my ideas. I am only too human. To be able to work, I need discipline.”
There are occasional exceptions to this almost monastic outlook. These include a few chairs by one of Owens’ favourite designers, Eliel Saarinen, from a rare series created in 1907; books piled up on the floor and shelves of the library; and a collection of Hugo Elmqvist’s bronze vases.
The 1930s Italian Futurist busts by Thayaht and Renato Bertelli also testify to the designer’s fascination with this period of Italian creativity, marked by the ascent of Mussolini.
A skull placed on a desk and revolvers inherited from Owens’ father, a collector, reflect an intrigue for the beauty of their form and a simultaneous repulsion to the horror they represent. They also serve as memento mori. “We all dream of being immortal,” says Owens. “Death is the problem that all artists must confront.”