‘How did you find a real Christmas tree in September?’ I asked. ‘Oh, you can get anything in London if you know where to look’, the stylist said, slicing through the last bit of plastic and letting the tree flop open. Evergreen scent filled the room with the smell of the holidays. That it was a hot, sunny September day didn’t lessen the sensation that we were setting up for a special occasion.
A magazine (not this one) was photographing one of my projects for their Christmas issue, and I’d stopped by the house to make sure the decorations were in hand and (to be honest) to ensure everything was up to my standards and consistent enough with my own aesthetic preferences. It's not hard to imagine how Christmas decorations could veer ‘off brand’, and this being my first Christmas shoot I felt a bit nervous.
As it happens, I’ve always struggled a bit with finding the right Christmas decorations for my own tastes. I’m no grinch. I love Christmas, but there is something about holiday décor that just doesn’t come naturally to me. Or rather it paralyses me with indecision. Several years ago my mother offered to needlepoint two new Christmas stockings for Will and me. She sent me a link to a catalogue of templates. I looked at every one, then flipped through them again, then again, and finally threw my hands up in uncertainty. She settled on two different designs featuring jovial Santa Clauses on colourful backgrounds. Just right, but beyond my power to choose.
And so, in spite of my decoration phobia, I arrived at the house in the morning to help ‘oversee’ what was billed as a full day of setup, including garlands, tablescapes, gift-wrapped presents and a large fresh Christmas tree. My oversight wasn’t needed, nor should I have worried about the decorations. The stylist and her team moved with the cheer and expertise of seasoned elves, and after a few minutes of supportive observation, I did the sensible thing and left them to it.
When I returned the next day for the actual shoot, the September sun was even warmer. The front door’s green wreath was already drooping a bit in the heat, but inside the atmosphere was thick with Christmas cheer. Firewood was popping merrily in the grate. Fragrant fir decorated the mantel. Crackers were ready at each place setting. Someone had even filled a flute with sparkling wine. The photographer readied his camera.
It was all completely over the top. And surprisingly contagious. Standing there in the glow of the Christmas-in-September dining room, I found myself smiling. This wasn’t a real family holiday, but the energy was real. The promise of something good about to happen, the enjoyment of creating a beautiful moment for the sake of it.
As with the day before, my presence at the shoot itself wasn’t necessary, or for that matter, even helpful. The magazine provided the editorial direction, the stylist and her team oversaw the decorations, the florist adjusted the garlands, and the photographer worked dutifully under his own steam, while his assistant moved to his direction. I, meanwhile, milled about, getting in people’s way and soaking up the Christmas cheer, which was palpable, if slightly unbelievable in the tail-end of summer.
I love the moment of photographing a project. And I’ve been fortunate to have several of my projects photographed for publications over the years. It’s a huge production to get a house ready for taking photographs, and so the moment itself is always fraught with excited anticipation.
House photoshoots, at least in my experience, are always incredibly staged and curated. We try not to erase all the signs of life from an interior, but we invariably take out the messy energy that houses naturally have. We create images of something a bit more sanitised, further away from reality. More of an aspirational ideal interior and less about what it means to actually live in it.
But sitting there looking at the perfectly wrapped presents under the tree on this Christmas shoot made me realise something else about photoshoots, and indeed about what this job is all about. My job as a designer is not to create the finished product that you see in a magazine or in my portfolio. That’s part of it, yes, and it’s the part I can share with the world. But that isn’t the point of it all. Instead, the job is to create a backdrop for my clients’ lives. Birthdays, lazy Sundays, Christmases, they’re what life is all about. They’re what houses are designed for.
The day after the shoot, back at my own flat, Will and I hung up a few new pictures that I’d had framed and I thought about it, this time from another perspective. We recently decided to sell our flat and move on to another project (a topic I’ll write more about later). But before we go, I’m still working away at it, trying to bring some of the many ideas I’ve had about how to finish the flat to reality. And as I stood back and looked at the newly hung pictures, I thought about the new owners who will soon take our place. Instead of sadness, I felt a feeling of happy progress. They’ll bring their own pictures, their own belongings, and maybe their own version of Christmas. And that, really, is the point: a home isn’t a finished product, frozen in time. It’s an ever-changing backdrop for the lives of those who live within it.
