To the Max

In these times, we live, if we’re on trend, in streamlined houses with low-to-the-ground furniture, all wrapped in glass and acres of off-white walls. We’ve been told that wallpaper is tacky, that figurines are clutter and that color is a dangerous invitee. “Stark and spare” is the mantra with which the 21st century has defined our homes and maybe to an extent, our lives.

But something seems to be happening in the world of interior design, a kind of restless upheaval of the mass aesthetic.

It may not be a craze for chintz or a Barbie house in pink, but today’s designers suddenly are dealing with clients who ask for maroon velvet chairs, a place in the study for the stuffed giraffe, a lime green wall on which to hang a collection of brass instruments or wallpaper with birds against which will go grandma’s flowered 18th-century settee.

“Less is more,” was the mantra of the last 100 or so years. But it seems that with a new interest in elements of warmth, playfulness, surprise and feeling, Americans are letting go of the often-emotionless rooms offered up by the Bauhaus, Mid-Century Modern, Scandinavian Modern and Post-Modern schools.

“Take us back to pre-World War I,” they seem to be saying. “Let us be surrounded by objects we love — all of them — and drench us in color, in pattern and in texture until we feel safe.”

Thus, the newest design swerve: maximalism.

Jackie Skelding, who owns Rare Bird Interiors in the RailRoad Square Arts District, is a practiced proponent of Maximalism.

“Yes, there can be a fine line between good design and chaos,” she said. “One must curate the best of each element — the color, the patterns — to create your own masterpiece.” She said that using quality vintage items, a highly colored kilim rug for instance, combined with a posh 1950s velvet sofa, can evoke a special kind of harmony.

↑ The notion of maximalism can apply to clothing as well as home furnishings and décor. Jackie Skelding, owner of Rare Bird Interiors, wears an Art Deco-style maxi dress designed by Gene Berk for Paganne. Vintage “La Chaise” was designed by Charles and Ray Eames. The hanging saucers were created by George Nelson for Herman Miller. Photo by Alicia Osborne

“Your home should be your palace,” she said.

Surrounding yourself with collections, family treasures and memories of travels can be successfully united with both color and its echoes throughout a room — without becoming overwhelming.

Author Jeff VanderMeer and his wife Ann live in Tallahassee in a house he describes as “of imaginative vertical build.”

Maximalism and practicality live there side by side. Utilizing unconventional spaces creatively, Jeff and Ann have anchored rooms with one or two large furniture pieces and a wall/ceiling mural that “expands the space.”

“Our guiding aesthetic is biomorphism,” VanderMeer explained. “Furniture and other elements are inspired by nature, while not directly representing it. We have chairs that suggest open flowers, lamps that seem to be living creatures. I grew up in Fiji and the suggestion of the sea and its colors, the sand and its textures all flow into the reds and corals found here in sofas and benches.”

VanderMeer said that all of the playfulness and boldness, for him, brings a sense of relaxation and peace — not to mention beautiful memories.

↑ Ann and Jeff VanderMeer stand beside bookcases in their bedroom. Photo by Gabriel Hanway

Two local interior designers approach maximalism with the same sense of “adventurousness.” Ashley Cortese of Ashley Cortese Design said she is currently adding a large blue velvet sofa to a client’s room.

“People are more daring now than earlier — pushing for the unexpected,” she said. “Color saturation feels good and glamorous. And nobody wants an all-white kitchen anymore!”

Laura Bryant of Laura Bryant Design agrees.

“A client with a newly blended family is integrating two styles of furniture and a large glass and art collection,” she said. “Still, using layered patterning and textures, and an organizing color thread, it is possible for Chinoiserie and Murano glass to live together in harmony.”

She said that using depth — foreground, middle ground and background — keeps the eye moving and delights the gaze. In this kind of environment, even a leopard skin rug can feel neutral.

And though Americans may not always buy into the “maximally” overstuffed homes and palaces of pre-war Europe, they now seem eager to allow their rooms to tell a story. Now every surface calls out to be touched and reflected upon.

The home becomes a brilliant and personal cocoon that one can call his own.