JAMES COVIELLO
Historically-inspired designer on the BEAUTY of Thai water lilies, nineteenth-century bric-a-brac, and the art of the perfectly imperfect.
Coviello didn't go to art school to become a fashion designer; he went to art school to be creative, but then fashion sort of happened – first working as a milliner, then crafting for various brands, and finally starting his own label. But after many seasons, Coviello is taking a slower approach to creativity through the making of his home, which he considers one of his greatest projects to date. Nestled in the Hudson Valley, over the past twenty years Coviello has been lovingly restoring this 1840s farmhouse, filling it to the brim with well-worn historically appropriate objects, which have been documented through his thoughtfully crafted Instagram account. There Coviello has emerged as something of an interior design aesthete with an emphasis on the grand realness of beauty. He’s now branching out with a home product line and collection of antique curios all drawn from his aesthetic passion for the nineteenth century and with an emphasis on the beauty of everyday life. In fact, when I first started following Coviello after meeting him in Savannah at a cozy cocktail soirée, his social media tagline was ‘beauty, just beauty.’ While this has since changed, it was precisely this shared vision that drew me to his work and Coviello seemed like just the right person to converse with on this topic.
What is the most beautiful object you live with?
It’s an art nouveau ladies hand mirror given to me by my mother. When I was a kid one of the things my parents loved to collect was Art Nouveau. They would find these treasures during our summer travels to Europe – my mother being Swiss and still having family in Switzerland – they would find such objects at flea markets and fairs in Italy, France, or Germany and bring them back home to Connecticut. I recall our house being filled with a lot of these things, like metal candle holders or silver bowls with swirling ladies with their hair draped and flowing with lily pads and the train of their dress curved into the handle – like Mucha or Klimt. My mother still collects these stylized things and gave this particular mirror to me. It now lives in my bathroom in my farmhouse in the Hudson Valley next to my nineteenth-century washbasin. Although not entirely my style, it is so pretty and useful – sitting in my home with its heavy ornate silvery presence.
REFLECTING ON BEAUTIFUL OBJECTS, THIS MIRROR GIFTED BY COVIELLO’S MOTHER STANDS OUT. PHOTO COURTESY OF JAMES COVIELLO.
What is the most beautiful object you’ve ever seen?
For me, it wouldn’t be one object, but rather a setting where there was a collection or arrangement of objects – in particular, Calke Abbey, that eighteenth-century house museum in England where four generations amassed an eccentric collection of things. By the mid-twentieth century, the house was left to the last descendent, some nephew of the previous owner, who was saddled with this giant house filled with all these objects but little money to maintain them. As they lived in the house longer, they started shutting down rooms, then floors, then entire wings, so that they ended up living in just four or five rooms. As a result, the house and its eclectic contents were preserved by neglect. And then in the 1980s, the family struck a deal with the British government and gave the house to the National Trust in lieu of keeping some rooms until they died – without changing the way it was left for decades. The National Trust then preserved it as it was found and it has been maintained, not restored, ever since, kind of like the Aiken-Rhett House in Charleston – a reminder of the decline of the British landed gentry. It is the opposite of what happens when you indulge in beauty too much, it becomes almost a burden – a family so entranced by the delight of beautiful things that it almost ruined them. Today, this decadent display, even in its decay, has produced its own aesthetic pleasure. Everything in this home speaks to the life lived, the things used, the presence had – it has this animated quality, like the person has just left the room. It’s everything I appreciate about a beautiful place or space.
ARRANGEMENT IN CALKE ABBEY.
For me, beauty isn’t just about an object, but a memorable encounter with a place, an atmosphere, or an unexpected surprise. Another moment that stands out for me was at a flea market in Bangkok, which sold everything from pets, to groceries, to antiques. I spent more than eight hours there one day mostly looking at antiques, when I came across the flower market and one vendor in particular – an older farm lady who had these large baskets pilled high with water lilies. As a gardener, you become so accustomed to working with indigenous plants from your own location. So while these blooms were no doubt very ordinary to her, and probably worth very little, they stopped me in my tracks. It was so memorable to me that I still think about it fifteen years later.
What are the terms or forms of beauty that most speak to you?
I would say the concept of the perfectly imperfect, which is what I most admire in Calke Abbey and what I try to practice in my own designs. This is also the title of my online journal where I talk about the methods behind what I collect and how I collect and do what I do - in my house and in my garden. I like things that have the loving touch of the hands of time: this was lived with and lived, which speaks volumes about my perception of beauty – the forlorn, the worn, the faded grandeur. When I was a kid, my family and I would go to flea markets and I would be drawn to a sun-faded fabric; it gave me a nostalgic feeling of the past – that it was part of a well-loved world. But in actuality, you are looking at something a hundred years later. My idea of the past is only informed by what I’m looking at now. It wasn’t actually like that. What I see of the past is a faded version, these same things I collect today were much more vivid when they were made. If the Victorians had neon paint they probably would have used it, so wild and unusual were some of their color choices. But I like the pale version – to me the imperfect is perfect.
COVIELLO’S GUEST ROOM IN HUDSON VALLEY. PHOTO COURTESY OF JAMES COVIELLO.
Does beauty make you a better person?
Beauty is uplifting and hopeful. People have needed a lot of hope these days, as it has been rather bleak. I’m always humbled by the positive comments and responses I receive on social media. I didn’t think that in creating beauty for myself, which was just part of a deep seeded need to create, would be so meaningful to other people, brightening their day or just making them feel better.
How do you cultivate a sense of the beauty in your everyday life?
I have a lived-in home – it’s not pristine, it’s not a museum: friends, kids, dogs, everyone can come over. I also use everything. If something was made for a purpose you should honor that. For example, I’ve started selling some nineteenth-century Japanese bowls and dishes for which I’m very intentional about my descriptions about them; they aren’t just pretty and meant to be looked at, they should be used. In fact, none of my cutlery, plates, or glasses are new – so naturally I don’t own a microwave or dishwasher. When a dish or a glass breaks – as they do – it is gone forever. That is also why I’m producing modern versions of things like drinking glasses made in a nineteenth-century style – that way you can have something beautiful, everyday, but also replaceable.
You can view Coviello’s products and antiques on his website James Coviello.
COVIELLO AT HOME IN HIS BROOKYLN HEIGHTS FLAT. PHOTO COURTESY OF JAMES COVIELLO.