Kitsch objects, tactile textiles and strong colours feature widely in designer Jonathan Adler's prescription for anti-depressive living, writes Eoin Lyons
Jonathan Adler is a potter turned decorator and proud of it. His book, My Prescription for Anti-Depressive Living (Harper Collins, €20) does not espouse exquisitely boring good taste but rather an antidote to the seriousness of most contemporary design.
He is a darling of decorating in America with seven shops across the country selling furniture, lighting, rugs, tabletop goods and bed linen. The range can also be bought through his website and if you fancy what you see, they deliver to Ireland at a price.
Adler's partner, Simon Doonan, is the long-time creative designer of the Barneys department store in New York. They share a dog called Liberace with such a pedigree the sometimes garish and camp elements aren't so surprising. The look is anything but bland - no beige or monochrome - and although his style is very much American, patterns and use of colour owe a debt to the legendary English decorator David Hicks.
Born in New Jersey 40 years ago, Adler started making quilted pottery inspired by Chanel handbags in the late 1980s while working at a talent agency in New York. Eventually getting his first order in the mid-1990s, the rest followed - various difficulties along the way are told through funny anecdotes.
Each section of the book carries one of his design credos: 'Arrange with attitude', 'Do it salon style' or 'Colours can't clash'. He advocates bringing a 'frisky frisson to serious spaces'. For example, in the bar of The Parker, a hotel he designed in Palm Beach, green marble is combined with bronze mirror insets and accessorised with 1960s Italian wall sconces and a 19th century Bavarian porcelain horse and carriage. He says his challenge here was to 'keep the fancy feeling but make it frolicsome'.
It seems to be all about creating feel-good spaces and although thoroughly modern they are usually heavy with nostalgia and redolent of the 1970s. With kitsch figurines and palm-tree-print wallpaper, he is feeding back to the American middle classes what they have been trained to dislike by 'good taste' lifestyle gurus such as Martha Stewart.
He's repackaged bad taste and it works: in his own livingroom he uses a wicker hanging chair, swirling green prints, brown sofas and his vases with breasts. Sounds terrible, looks great.
There's plenty too that has little obvious connection to decoration. His prescription for antidepressant living, as per the title, includes advice such as: 'When having a dinner party always serve yourself first. It will make people feel more comfy', 'Find work that you love,' or 'Be a contrarian. Embrace strong points of view'. On reaching the end of the book, one is reminded of Diana Vreeland's quote: "There's nothing wrong with a little bad taste. It's no taste I object to."
