1

R O C K S

05Facet:

An introduction from Erin Morris

06Jean Campbell and Matilda Lowther

photographed by Sølve Sundsbø, fashion editor Katie Grand

14Remembering luxury interior designer David Collins, whose hits included The Wolseley,

J Sheekey and Brasserie Zedelwrit ten by Amy Bradford

16British sculptor William Turnbull has finally found favour with the ar t establishment.

His son Alex talks to Rachel Pot ts about the ar tist’s legacy

20The David Morris campaign for autumn/winter 2014

photographed by Katja Rahlwes

24Stephen Bailey considers the magic and mechanics

of the Rolls-Royce myth

26Giles Coren on Cecconi’s

28The Holy Trinit y of British Fashion:

Giles Deacon, Jonathan Saunders, Christopher Kanewrit ten by Ben Perdu

33Stockists

33Now Open in Harrods

C O N T E N T S

C o v e r : K A T R I N w e a r s “ P a g o d a ” e a r r i n g s w i t h p i n k a n d w h i t e d i a m o n d s e t i n 18 c t r o s e a n d w h i t e g o l d , 2 2 . 2 2 c t D/ I F p e a r - s h a p e d d i a m o n d p e n d a n t o n w h i t e a n d v i v i d p i n k d i a m o n d n e c k l a c e s e t i n p l a t i n u m , “A n e m o n e ” v i v i d p i n k a n d w h i t e d i a m o n d r i n g s e t e n ’ t r e m b l a n t a n d 6 . 0 0 c a r a t E / V S h e a r t -

s h a p e d d i a m o n d s e t i n p i n k a n d w h i t e d i a m o n d b r a c e l e t

P h o t o g r a p h e r K A T J A R A H LW E S S t y l i s t L E I T H C L A R K M a k e - u p G E O R G I N A G R A H A MH a i r S E B A S T I A N R I C H A R D M a n i c u r e J E N N I D R A P E R

O p p o s i t e : s c a r f d e t a i lP h o t o g r a p h e r R O B J A R V I S D e s i g n e r E R I N M O R R I S

' C E R T A I N G E M S T O N E SC A U S E A P H Y S I C A LR E S P O N S E . I S T I L L

R E M E M B E R WH E N I S AW M Y F I R S T C U S H I O N

C U T D I A M O N D , I C O U L D N ' T B R E A T H E '

– E R I N M O R R I S –

3

O p p o s i t e : C o n c h p e a r l w i t h p i n k a n d w h i t e d i a m o n d s s e t i n 18 c t w h i t e g o l dP h o t o g r a p h e r R O B J A R V I S

I have happy memories of my first visit to Harbour Island in the Bahamas. I met up with a few of my friends and their husbands there for a New

Year’s vacation, and was heavily pregnant with my first child at the time. Harbour Island is a sandy pink jewel in the middle of the Caribbean,

accessible only by very scary prop planes from Nassau. In the middle of turquoise waters, this tiny island is dot ted with sorbet-coloured colonial

houses and you can only travel around it in golf car ts. Everyone was very excited about enjoying all the local flavours: conch frit ters, conch

stew and raw conch salad – all of course washed down with lots of sweet rum cocktails against a background of beautiful sunsets and pink

sugar-sand beaches. Although if you’re heavily pregnant and the designated golf-car t driver, it may get a lit t le dull. Which is what led me to

set out on a mission to find the elusive conch pearl.

I love conch pearls. They come from the queen conch, a magnificent creature whose shell grows to an enormous size with a pearl -white exterior and

bubblegum-pink lipped interior. Though they are plentiful, only one in every thousand will contain a pearl. The pearls come in all colours, but the

most coveted and beautiful are the brilliant pink ones that burn with a chatoyancy that looks like flame. These gemstones were highly collectable in

Victorian times but fell out of favour in the 20th century. However, unlike Mikimoto or farmed cultured pearls, conch pearls can only be created by

nature, which is why they are so very rare.

Tired by my pregnancy and the revelry of my friends, I took my golf car t around the island and star ted interviewing fishermen to find out if

they had ever found a pearl inside any of the thousands of conches that they fish for a living. Time af ter time, the reply was “no Mon”. Af ter

I’d been searching for a week, a fisherman heard about my quest and came to me with three pieces of conch pearl. The first was shaped

like a tooth, while the second was brown, demonstrating two of the many colours and shapes they can come in. But the last one was

a perfect lit t le bubblegum gem. The excitement of finally having found this precious pearl was only heightened by the knowledge that

I was having a lit t le girl who I would later give it to.

' O N L Y O N E I N E VE R Y T H O U S A N D Q U E E N C O N C H E S

WI L L C O N T A I N A P E A R L'

– E R I N M O R R I S –

D AVI D M O R R I SF I N E J E WE L L R Y M A G A Z I N E

F I R S T I S S U E O F R O C K S

W h e n I f e l l i n l o v e w i t h m y h u s b a n d J e r e m y, w e d i s c o v e r e d t h a t w e s h a r e d t h e s a m e b e l i e f s a b o u t w h a t a g r e a t g e m s t o n e i s a n d h o w i t

s h o u l d b e p r e s e n t e d , a n d w h a t l u x u r y r e a l l y m e a n s . L u x u r y i s t i m e l e s s a n d h i t s o u r s e n s e s : i t a p p e a l s t o n o t j u s t o u r v i s i o n b u t o u r t a s t e , s m e l l a n d t o u c h t o o . F e w s e n s a t i o n s c a n b e a t t h e p e r f e c t f i t o f a b e a u t i f u l l y m a d e a n d p r e s e n t e d p i e c e o f j e w e l l e r y – a s i m p l e e t e r n i t y b a n d o f d i a m o n d s , l e t ‘ s s a y – s o m e t h i n g t h a t h a s b e e n a r o u n d f o r c e n t u r i e s , t h a t h a s b e e n c a r e f u l l y c o n s i d e r e d a n d r e i n t e r p r e t e d a n d t h a t w i l l l i v e o n f o r c e n t u r i e s

t o c o m e . I h o p e t h a t “ R o c k s ” w i l l l a u n c h a v i e w o n w h a t l u x u r y i s :t h e e v e r y d a y a t t a i n a b l e a n d t h e d r e a m o f t h e u n a t t a i n a b l e…

FAC E T

5

J E A N w e a r s “ P a g o d a ” e a r r i n g w i t h p i n k a n d w i t e d i a m o n d s s e t i n 18 c t p i n k a n d w h i t e g o l d

' D I S T I NC T I V E ,

C R E A T I V E A N D

A LWAY SO N

T R E N D '– J E R E M Y M O R R I S –

P h o t o g r a p h e r S Ø LV E S U N D S B ØF a s h i o n E d i t o r K A T I E G R A N D

J E A N w e a r s c o n c h p e a r l a n d w h i t e d i a m o n d c h a n d a l i e r e a r r i n g s a n d l o t u s b l o s s o m w h i t e d i a m o n d n e c k l a c e b o t h s e t i n 18 c t w h i t e g o l d

L A DY J E AN C A M P B E L L

T h e d a u g h t e r o f L o r d C a w d o r f r o m u p N o r t h( t h e S c o t t i s h H i g h l a n d s , t o b e p r e c i s e )

M A T I L D A w e a r s 14 . 4 9 c a r a t p e a r s h a p e w h i t e d i a m o n d e a r r i n g s w i t h w h i t e d i a m o n d t a s s e l n e c k l a c e s e t i n 18 c t w h i t e g o l d a n d w h i t e r o s e - c u t d i a m o n d b a n g l e s s e t i n 18 c t w h i t e g o l d

T h e h i g h - j u m p i n g a r t s t u d e n t , a l s o f r o m u p N o r t h( t h e L a k e D i s t r i c t ) , k n o w n a s B a m b i t o h e r f r i e n d s

M A T I LDA L O W T H E R

M A T I L D A w e a r s r o u n d w h i t e d i a m o n d e a r r i n g s w i t h m i c r o - s e t a n d w h i t e d i a m o n d “ L o t u s ” f i n g e r r i n g w i t h w h i t e d i a m o n d “ C o s m o s ” b r a c e l e t a l l s e t i n 18 c t w h i t e g o l d

' Y O U S H O U L D

W E A R Y O U R

J E W E L L E RY, N O T T H E

O T H E R WAY R O U N D '

– E R I N M O R R I S –

Not everyone has the skill to make mauve crocodile leather look sophisticated. But David Collins did.

The exotic skin adorns the Irish-born designer’s Ar tesian bar at the Langham hotel in London’s Por tland

Place, which recently topped the World’s 50 Best Bars Awards for the second year running. It’s a

testament to Collins’s greatest talent: his unerring abilit y to transform a bar, restaurant or hotel into the

most desirable destination in town. The distinguishing features of his designs are easy to spot: a mix

of heritage and modern touches, luxurious materials lavishly used, bespoke finishes, exquisite colours

and perfectly judged lighting. But his work also has that lit t le extra spark of genius that you can’t quite

put your finger on: atmosphere, sexiness, what Diana Vreeland would have called ‘pizzazz’.

Collins’s sudden death at the age of 58 earlier this year, from an aggressive form of skin cancer,

shocked everyone who knew him and dismayed those who have admired his work over the past three

decades. He always seemed destined for a role in design: his father was an architect and his grandfather

worked in the housing industry, while Collins himself exhibited a love of beauty from a young age. A

self-proclaimed “precocious child”, he would spend hours in his local Dublin library poring over books

on film stars, photography and set design. Following in his father’s footsteps, he studied architecture at

Dublin’s Bolton Street School of Architecture and in later life would continue to describe himself as an

architect – one who, like the great Modernists, focused as much on a building’s contents as on the structure

itself. Yet his career happened almost by accident, when a friend asked him to help decorate their home

– at a time when, by his own admission, he had “never even seen The World of Interiors”. By a stroke of

luck, that friend knew chef Pierre Koffmann, who admired Collins’s debut project and asked him to

revamp his Chelsea restaurant, La Tante Claire. A commission from Marco Pierre White followed – and

the rest, as they say, is history.

Now, so many of London’s great dining establishments – both the timeless classics and newer

hotspots – have his stamp on them: The Wolseley, Delaunay, Brasserie Zedel, Colber t, Nobu Berkeley

Street, J Sheekey… the list goes on. They remain desirable long af ter the fashion crowd has moved

on to the next big thing. Take The Wolseley, for instance. It’s ten years since it opened, but the place

has kept its cachet thanks to Collins’s minimal intervention in the original space – a 1921 former car

showroom that, with its towering pillars, glowing chandeliers and marble floor, seemed destined for

his touch. Or oriental restaurant Nobu Berkeley Street, where he took inspiration from Japanese timbers

and forests to create an opulent look in gold, silver, black and green. All too aware of the dangers for

the successful designer carried away by ego, Collins was careful to respect both the heritage of the

space he was working on and the integrit y of his clients’ identit y, resulting in finely calibrated designs

with impressive longevity. You can see the hallmark of his personalit y in one of his best- loved designs,

the Blue Bar at the Berkeley hotel, opened in 2010. It sprang from a happy coincidence: blue

was the favourite colour of Edwardian architect Edwin Lutyens, who designed the wood carvings

and chandelier in the bar, and of Collins himself, who was known for his signature blue sweater,

trousers and shoes. He had adored the pale blue walls of his childhood bedroom, and his own

home was decorated in blues and lavenders. The Blue Bar is finished in no less than 17 shades of

blue, from powder to cornflower and china; it’s a small space, but with its celestial hues, it feels as

boundless as a summer sky.

Heritage was crucial to Collins – his own as well as that of the spaces he reinvented. Over

in Mayfair, the Connaught Bar at the hotel of the same name is also steeped in Collins’s heritage.

Even if you knew nothing of the story behind it, you’d still be impressed by its layering of multiple

grey and muted pastel tones, from dusty pink to sage green and lilac, embellished with platinum silver

leaf. But how much more interesting when you learn that these colours, and the abstract pat terns

on its walls, were partly inspired by the work of Paul Henry, a painter from Collins’s native Ireland

(Connaught – or Connacht – is a province in the west of the country). Look at Henry’s landscapes,

with their spectrum of stormy greys, blues and greens, and you’ll understand how.

Then there’s Collins’s flair for lighting. Apparently, his mother once complained to him that

restaurants were always badly lit – words he clearly took on board, because a Collins space is

notable for its supremely flat tering glow. At Bob Bob Ricard in Soho, a bar-restaurant decorated in

petrol blue tones and dark wood, tiny lamps in each booth bounce light over gleaming gold fit tings

creating a chiaroscuro ef fect. Perhaps it was remembered from those early sessions musing over studio

portraits of Hollywood icons.

The Connaught Bar, too, is a masterclass in illumination. Collins scat tered lights throughout

the space – from pendants with exposed bulbs and crystal details to dainty table lamps and gold wall

sconces – to create a precious sparkle, ensuring that his grey palet te never looks cold. It’s a tactic

that illustrates the at tention to detail involved in his work. As he told Esquire in 2009, his style was all

about bespoke. “It’s not a pastiche or a copy. And we like to do better. Better than we did last time

and better than anyone else.”

Ironically, despite his status as a bar and restaurant guru, Collins didn’t drink and wasn’t

really a foodie. But he was passionate about shopping, an excitement he brought to bear on his

numerous boutique designs. Several of these were for David Morris, with whom he worked for nearly

15 years, creating its stores all around the world. Erin Morris, who runs the fine jewellery house

with her husband Jeremy, says that Collins was a natural choice thanks to his fusion of glamour

with craf tsmanship. The couple forged a close collaborative relationship with the designer, working

together on everything from colour palet tes to bespoke cabinetry. “He had the ability to rethink

modernity while still looking at the past, something that resonates with us,” says Morris. “For me,

his designs always have a 1940s feel about them – he references Art Deco and the opulence of that

era with his clean lines, but in such a modern way.” At the David Morris store in Bond Street, this

translates into a refined but neutral décor that allows the spectacular jewels to shine. “ It has lovely

couches, really luxurious fabrics and leathers, detailing in bronze and hand-painted silk walls,”

explains Morris. “Everything feels like a lit tle treasure box. We changed our packaging at the same

time, creating bronze boxes that you have to unlock with a key, to form a cohesion between his

aesthetic and ours.”

Collins was soon a personal friend as well as a colleague. “He was a very conscientious

and caring person, and he became friends with his clients, which not many people do,” says Morris,

who was treated to a demonstration of his intuitive flair when she invited him round for tea one day.

“We had just bought our house, and we laid out the architectural plans. He looked at them and

said, ‘Nope, nope, nope,’ and ten minutes later he had reconfigured the whole house. And he was

right! I think it’s the way with designers who are very good at what they do – he didn’t have to

overthink things, he just instinctively felt them.”

Up the road f rom the David Morr is s tore on Bond St reet, Col l ins’s s tudio recent ly

unveiled i t s new design for the Alexander McQueen bout ique. On the sur face, i t ’s t ypical of his

work, the glossy sheen of book-matched marble, gold and chandeliers on show ever ywhere.

But as with the Connaught Bar, there are hidden detai ls to be discovered: miniature skul ls,

gargoyles, wings and t rai l ing leaves adorn the bespoke p laster panel l ing, while c lawed

animal feet and gazel le hooves can be glimpsed on the bases of disp lay cabinets. Col l ins

has managed to convey the dark, gothic aspect of the McQueen brand while simul taneously

creat ing an atmosphere of res t rained elegance. You can sense that the man who took such

pains to create precious sur roundings for c lo thes and jewel ler y also had an innate appreciat ion

of luxur y goods.

Erin Morris found that her designer also became her customer. “He bought a couple of gif ts

from us for his mother,” she says. “He really took care of her and his two sisters. And I think if you’re

going to be an interior decorator it’s natural to want to look at new things, to have a curiosity about

shopping and collecting.” One of Collins’s last projects was the launch of his own capsule furniture

collection for Italian company Promemoria. Inspired by symmetry and geometry, it was a logical

career progression for this connoisseur of beautiful objects.

Since the news of his death broke, friends of Collins have repeatedly paid tribute to his

kindness, humour and personal style. Erin Morris is no exception. “He was very well dressed and

always smiling,” she says. “He had an acerbic sense of humour and suffered fools poorly, but he

was a very kind man. He was a good Irish raconteur, and a good gossip, too. I get really upset when

I think about the fact that he’s not going to be in my life any more.” Those of us who have enjoyed

his bars, restaurants and shops will feel his loss in a dif ferent way, but it’s important to point out

that David Collins Studio will live on to continue his legacy: it has several important projects in the

pipeline, including the revamp of Jimmy Choo’s stores. For now, we might just raise a glass to toast

him at one of his many fine watering holes and soak up the atmosphere.

DAV ID COL L INS b y Amy B r ad f o r d

A t r i b u t e t o t h e i n t e r i o r d e s i g n e r w h o s e d a z z l i n g s p a c e s s t a n d a s a n e n d u r i n g t e s t a m e n t t o l u x u r y l i v i n g

' N O T E V E RYO N E HA S T H E S K I L L T O M A K E M AU V E

C RO C O D I L E L E AT H E R LO O K

S O P H I S T I C AT E D '– A M Y B R A D F O R D –

14

D A V I D C O L L I N SP h o t o g r a p h e r FA U B E L C H R I S T E N S E N

15

ALEX TURNBUL L , SON OF WI L L IAM TURNBUL L

by Ra c he l P o t t s

O p p o s i t e : ‘ 9 -19 6 3 ’C o u r t e s y o f E S T A T E O F W I L L I A M T U R N B U L L

T h e l e g a c y o f t h i s r e n e g a d e m i d - c e n t u r y a r t i s t i s c u r r e n t l y e n j o y i n g a r e a p p r a i s a l . H i s s o n R i c h a r d r e c a l l s h i s f a t h e r ’ s a n t i - e s t a b l i s h m e n t i n s t i n c t s

' H E R E ' S A YO U N G M A N

WH O G O E S T O PA R I S . . . A N D

E N D S U P M AKI N G A B O DY O F

W O R K T H A T C A N S T A N D

C O M PA R I S O N T O

G I A C O M E T T I . . .'– S I R N I C H O L A S S E R O T A –

16

“I got asked to join Madness,” says Alex Turnbull, sit ting in a spare, white East London studio

surrounded by his father’s commanding ar twork. He was friendly with the band in the early 1980s –

like its members, he was from North London – and already doing well with his own group, 23

Skidoo. “But I thought, ‘Actually, I don’t want to go to Glasgow and play to ten thousand skinheads.

Creatively, that’s not where I’m at.’”

Alex and his brother Johnny, both former skateboarding champions, then topped the

independent char ts with 23 Skidoo in 1982. Renowned for their percussive funk and tribal elements,

they were asked to play the World of Music and Dance festival. Inspired by the context of the recent

sacking of their singer and guitarist (itself a “complete kiss of death”, says Alex), the band faced

an 11.30am crowd with an experimental mix of tape loops, gas cylinders, camouflage and noise.

Challenging audiences became their MO. Now aged 41, Alex admits he might have been a richer

man had they been content to let the band continue on its original musical path. But he has always

had an unshakeable belief in put ting creative honesty before mainstream success – a qualit y he shares

with his father.

He is the son of the late British sculptor William Turnbull, also known as Bill, who died in

2012. Two years earlier Alex completed the film Beyond Time: William Turnbull, which had a starry

premiere, is narrated by Jude Law and features interviews with Nick Serota, Tim Marlow, Mat thew

Collings, Richard Hamilton and other ar t -world luminaries.

Beyond Time highlights an incongruit y. William Turnbull was a bright young postwar sculptor:

David Sylvester curated his solo exhibition in 1950 and he participated in the seminal New Aspects

of British Sculpture at the 1952 Venice Biennale. He met with giants of abstract expressionism, Barnet

Newman and Mark Rothko, in New York, and his works are “as strong as any Newman”, according

to Serota. Yet William Turnbull remains comparatively under the radar among his generation, which

includes Hamilton, Anthony Caro and another ar tist and friend, Eduardo Paolozzi. In the wake of

Beyond Time’s release, a major exhibition at Chatsworth House in 2013 sparked a flurry of press

ar ticles seeking to account for his relative obscurit y. Much was made of the fact that his sculpture is

most familiar from appearing in David Hockney’s por trait American Collectors (1968) in the garden

of a wealthy LA couple.

In the film and in conversation with Alex, many possible explanations for this obscurit y

emerge, the primary being that William never cour ted money or fame. Alex’s mother Kim Lim was also

a renowned sculptor (also “massively overlooked” according to the major curator Claire Lilley), and he

remembers both of his parents warning against a career in ar t because it was “a crap way of making

a living”. His father did not “play the game” with museum professionals, and a strong character

emerges from Beyond Time. At one point, William speaks about the critic Clement Greenberg, who

almost singlehandedly canonised classical abstraction and was a mighty ar t -world force. Greenberg

came to visit William – and lef t rather abruptly. William simply explains: “I didn’t have a falling out

with him, but I never liked people telling me what to do.”

William was brought up in a depressed early -1930s Dundee, and from the star t, Alex says,

he was a square peg in a round hole. As a young child, he painted all of his parents’ mahogany

furniture blue and copied voraciously from new American colour magazines. At only 16, he was

scouted at an ar t class for a job as a publisher’s illustrator – “When everybody around him was being

laid off from the shipyard,” Alex adds.

In 1941 and mindful of the horrors of trench warfare, William joined the RAF – taking with

him a treasured Phaidon art book – and as a pilot absorbed the aerial views and cultures of Canada

and the Far East; he liked flying at night, seeing it as “something in the modern world that triggers off

something primitive”. Five years later, he used an ex-serviceman’s grant to enroll at the Slade, but

almost immediately became disenchanted with a British ar t establishment he found inward-looking

and staid. Driven by his passion for European modernism, he lef t early to embed himself in the café

culture of Paris where, with few resources, he made spindly, plaster-covered wire works. These bear

the influence of Giacomet ti, with whom he became friends. He also met Picasso, Miró and Léger.

In 1950 he returned to London where, with fellow Slade sculptor Paolozzi, Nigel Henderson,

Richard Hamilton and others, William was part of a dynamic scene based at the ICA. Together they

founded the Independent Group, the bir thplace of British Pop Art. But aside from a love of James

Cagney films (he liked the clothes, apparently), William did not share the fascination with American

mass culture shown by Hamilton and others; again, he stood slightly apart. Alex points to his ‘mood

boards’ at the time: conglomerations of African masks and sections of planes, exemplifying the open-

minded experimentation with collage that characterised his generation’s new mode of making.

It has been proposed that William’s elegant, primal works were more popular in America,

among collectors such as Hockney’s subject Fred Wiseman who had more time for abstraction,

than in England. In the film, Tim Marlow suggests, “When the world was speeding up, Turnbull was

evoking stasis,” drawing on the stable simplicit y of ancient forms which he embedded in a mid-

century aesthetic. William spent much time in the British Museum, and af ter his marriage in 1960 to

Lim, who shared his interest in early ar t and craf t, travelled to Indonesia, Egypt and China. He was

drawn to totems and haiku – neither of which enjoyed much currency in the conceptual, new media-

driven postwar world. He found an ostensibly new language in the 1960s and began working almost

exclusively in steel and clean-lined industrial forms. In the Eighties and Nineties, he returned to primal

bronzes, as if he had seen a thought right through to its natural conclusion. Marrying a woman from

Singapore is fur ther evidence that social norms did not come to bear on William’s decision-making.

Alex was called Chuang for the first eight years of his life. In the 1970s, blunt racism at school – from

teachers and peers alike – for having a parent from the Far East made this a turbulent time.

Alex says he only came to recognise what he calls a “hereditary” predilection for integrit y

when he began making Beyond Time: William’s own decisions foreshadowed “the creative cycles me

and my brother have followed”. While 23 Skidoo enjoyed a devoted but limited following among

fans of industrial and experimental music, Alex was also involved in set ting up the early British hip

hop and breakbeat label Ronin, releasing the underground dance hit Jailbreak in 1989. But he was in

no hurry to repeat this commercial success for its own sake. “In the Nineties, we got asked to do the

Spice Girls, Robbie Williams.” His answer? “Leave us alone – no way.”

Alex says that similarly William “had no time for the art establishment”. It in turn had lit t le

time for William Turnbull. Time however has mellowed the establishment’s verdict, as several major

British exhibitions over the last six years have at tested. His debts to his heroes are acknowledged by

many interviewed in Beyond Time, but so is the quiet power of his own work.

Although allied with minimalism and abstraction, Bill always looked to the world,

to life... Heads, horses and aquariums recur in his work, of ten suggested in the sparest means

possible. Even the iconography of Hollywood inspired him. Alex lost a classic 1970s skateboard

once, and found it in his dad’s studio. Cycladic in shape, it piqued William’s interest in plain

distillations of creativit y. Marks on his bronzes have been compared to the touch of a make-believe

tribe. He himself avoided theoretical indulgence and rarely planned or sketched in advance.

Claire Lilley – head of the Yorkshire Sculpture Park, which hosted a Turnbull show in 2005, and

curator of his sculptures at Chatsworth in 2013 – has remarked on “his love for and interest in

the ordinary things around us… things made by human hands and expressions of our humanity.”

Though best known as a sculptor, William regarded himself as an ar tist who happened

to paint and sculpt. As someone in the music business, Alex shares his father’s refusal to submit to

restrictive pigeonholing. A former skateboard champion, a DJ, martial ar ts teacher and now filmmaker,

Alex exemplifies the multitasking, cross-filtered 21st century that the Independent Group anticipated,

and is fascinated by its role in the bir th of postmodern mash-up culture.

Alex found the process of making the film rewarding, not least because of the respect for

his father that he encountered: “As time goes by, it’s like history changes; perspectives change.” This

is also true of Alex’s own reputation. He remembers the absurdity of waking up one day in 2012 to a

double-page feature in London’s Metro newspaper hailing 23 Skidoo as “the greatest band to never

have a hit record”, af ter legendary producer Trevor Jackson had invited them to contribute to a post-

punk compilation. To a small, discerning audience they are a cult band, just as William, Alex says,

was “the artist’s artist”.

Alongside planning a British kung-fu film and finishing another on street fashion, Alex

is actively managing his father’s estate with his brother. He co -curated the Chatswor th show

and masterminded the installation of his father’s work in Park Lane for the Queen’s Silver Jubilee.

William’s friend and fellow ar tist Tess Jaray says in Beyond Time that William embodied the idea

of ar t as “a noble enterprise”. I f that seems untenable now, perhaps even lost, Alex is sure of one

thing: that he has given his father’s work exposure “in a way that’s commensurate with how he was,

with integrity and taste, without lowering the value of what it is. Not its monetary value; I mean

its spiritual value.”

18

T h i s p a g e : ‘ 2 3 -19 5 8 ’C o u r t e s y o f E S T A T E O F W I L L I A M T U R N B U L L

O p p o s i t e : ‘ H o r s e 19 9 9 ’ C o u r t e s y o f E S T A T E O F W I L L I A M T U R N B U L L

P h o t o g r a p h e r K A T J A R A H LW E SS t y l i s t L E I T H C L A R KH a i r s t y l i s t S E B A S T I E N R I C H A R DM a k e - u p a r t i s t G E O R G I N A G R A H A MP r o d u c e r S Y LV I A FA R A G OM o d e l s K A T R I N T H O R M A N N ,J U L I A R E S T O I N - R O I T F E L D

T h e D a v i d M o r r i s c a m p a i g n 2 014/15

U N T O U C H A B L E

T h i s p a g e : J U L I A w e a r s “ Ya s m i n a ” w h i t e d i a m o n d e a r r i n g , 13 . 70 c t D/ V V S ’ M a r q u i s e c u t d i a m o n d a n d w h i t e d i a m o n d s w a g b r a c e l e t a l l s e t i n 18 c t w h i t e g o l d

O p p o s i t e : K A T R I N w e a r s “ T a j ” c o c k t a i l r i n g w i t h 3 . 0 0 c t D/ I F r o u n d b r i l l i a n t c u t d i a m o n d s u r r o u n d e d i n p u r p l e , w h i t e a n d p i n k d i a m o n d s , “ T a j ” d i a m o n d e a r r i n g w i t h w h i t e , p u r p l e a n d p i n k d i a m o n d s a n d h e a r t - s h a p e d p i n k a n d w h i t e d i a m o n d b a n g l e a l l s e t i n 18 c t r o s e g o l d

21

T h i s p a g e : K A T R I N w e a r s “ P a g o d a ” e a r r i n g s w i t h p i n k a n d w h i t e d i a m o n d s e t i n 18 c t r o s e a n d w h i t e g o l d , 2 2 . 2 2 c t D/ I F p e a r - s h a p e d d i a m o n d p e n d a n t o n w h i t e a n d v i v i d p i n k d i a m o n d n e c k l a c e s e t i n p l a t i n u m , “A n e m o n e ” v i v i d p i n k a n d w h i t e d i a m o n d r i n g s e t e n ’ t r e m b l a n t a n d 6 . 0 0 c a r a t E / V S h e a r t - s h a p e d

d i a m o n d s e t i n r o s e a n d w h i t e d i a m o n d b r a c e l e t

O p p o s i t e : J U L I A w e a r s “ L o t u s ” w h i t e d i a m o n d e a r r i n g s , n e c k l a c e , f i n g e r r i n g a n d b l o s s o m s p r u n g b a n g l e a l l s e t i n 18 c t w h i t e g o l d . T h e “ L o t u s ” C o l l e c t i o n

22

24

T h i s p a g e : J U L I A w e a r s w h i t e d i a m o n d d o u b l e e a r r i n g a n d d o u b l e r i n g b o t h i n t h e “ B u t t e r f l y ” c o l l e c t i o n s e t i n 18 c t w h i t e g o l d , w h i t e d i a m o n d s p i r a l b a n g l e a n d “ W a v e ” w h i t e d i a m o n d n e c k l a c e b o t h s e t i n 18 c t w h i t e g o l d

O p p o s i t e : K A T R I N w e a r s C o l o m b i a n e m e r a l d a n d d i a m o n d e a r r i n g s s e t i n 18 c t w h i t e g o l d , 4 4 . 3 5 c a r a t F a n c y I n t e n s e A s h e r c u t y e l l o w d i a m o n d r i n g s e t i n 18 c t r o s e g o l d , 16 . 2 2 c a r a t C o l o m b i a n e m e r a l d a n d d i a m o n d r i n g s e t i n 18 c t w h i t e g o l d , “ C a l y p s o ” c o l l e c t i o n b a n g l e s i n w h i t e d i a m o n d , e m e r a l d s

a n d v i v i d y e l l o w d i a m o n d s

25

I m a g e c o u r t e s y o f r o l l s r o y c e . c o m

Manchester was the scene of two meetings that defined the possibilities of the modern world: Karl

Marx met Friedrich Engels in Chetham’s Library to discuss the imminent workers’ revolution; and

Charles Rolls met Henry Royce in, one imagines, more convivial circumstances, at the Midland Hotel.

The first meeting led to The Communist Manifesto and, indirectly, to Kim Jong Un. The second meeting,

in 1904, led to the creation of the ultimate road transport and today’s Rolls-Royce Phantom, a car that

tests the ar tistic and conceptual limits of Henry Ford’s original “gasoline buggy”. Your new Phantom

can, for example, be ordered with a magnificently kitsch twinkly planetarium-ef fect headlining as if to

demonstrate that, in the back of “the best car in the world”, the sky is not the limit.

With an irony that Marx would have savoured, the hotel where the engineer Royce met the

salesman Rolls – at the junction of Oxford Street and Mosley Street – had been built as a promotional

tool for the Midland Railway. The cars that appeared af ter their over- lunch agreement helped make

railways redundant as a form of first -class travel.

At a recent meeting of the Magistrates’ Association, the nation’s creaking criminal justice

system was described as a Ford Escor t running out of petrol. Instead, the collected magistrates

yearned for a system of – as they put it – Rolls-Royce qualit y, integrit y and reliabilit y. With a very high

gloss. The way in which a Manchester carmaker from the age of the Model-T Ford became a metaphor

for perfection superbly ar ticulates the way cars are much more than mere transport. They move the

imagination as well as the body.

There have been technical events of distinction in the history of Rolls-Royce, but the

achievement is based as much in the creation of enduring myths as in the development of mechanical

engineering. This myth-making was facilitated by the friendship of Claude Johnson (the engineer who

actually built the company) with Alfred Harmsworth, pioneer press baron. When the 1907 Silver Ghost

performed extraordinarily well at endurance trials, it was dutifully reported in Harmsworth’s papers

and soon became known as “the best car in the world”. Of course, there never was and never can

be any such thing, but it is an essential truth of marketing that reputations long survive the underlying

truths that give rise to them. A 21st-century Rolls-Royce has very lit t le in common with the stut tering,

belching machine that lurched out of the Cooke Street factory, but that aura of “best” still at tends it.

This reputation did, however, have a credible source in the fanaticism of Royce himself.

Just like Jonathan Ive at Apple today, Royce was fascinated by bonding and fixing materials. If you

understand this, you understand the true nature of machines. The iPhone looks gorgeous because

Ive has researched the physical limits of aluminium and glass. Rolls-Royce became the ultimate car

because Royce was obsessed with… bolts.

He knew that the largest bolt he would use would be three eighths of an inch in diameter,

and that the majorit y would be much smaller. Run-of- the-mill mild steel bolts would be inadequate: he

specified 3.5 per cent nickel steel. He believed the classic Whitworth threads were too coarse, so

insisted on British Association Standard Fine Threads. Additionally, Royce’s bolts were square-headed

rather than hexagonal. This was because a square head can readily be prevented from turning loose

by building a spigot into the component it houses.

In this way, invisible to the customer, was great refinement achieved. The psychohistory

is revealing: Royce was the son of a dir t -poor miller, but an apprenticeship at the Great Northern

Railway workshops in Peterborough taught him the language of engineering. He met Sir Hiram Maxim

(who patented a gas recoil and blowback mechanism for his infamous machine gun) and was soon

making electrical components under his own name in Manchester. It was Royce who patented the

bayonet socket for electric lamps. Then history and fate stepped in. History when he had that meeting

with Rolls. (I t was a real Lennon and McCartney moment). Fate when, six years later, Rolls was killed

in a flying accident in Bournemouth. The very same year, Royce became ill. He built the Villa Mimosa

at Rayol-Canadel-sur-Mer on the Côte d’Azur, with a drawing of fice called Le Rossignol at tached.

From here, with a mixture of stern engineering principles and a lit t le of the Riviera’s unique blend of

luxe, calme et volupté, he guided the for tunes of his company.

Ever since, an incongruous mixture of ear thy North Country engineering and a taste for

luxury founded in the Jazz Age have been a part – and remained an enduring element of – the Rolls-

Royce story. In Rolls-Royce, the deeply serious and the decadently frivolous mingle. It was a set of

Rolls-Royce Eagle VII I aero-engines that powered Alcock and Brown’s Vickers Vimy across the Atlantic

in 1919, an aeronautical first and a feat of unusual, unpressurised bravery. By contrast, three years

later, F Scot t Fitzgerald had party -boy Jay Gatsby in a yellow Rolls-Royce. This fairy tale of ambition,

vanity and ruin fixed one version of Rolls-Royce in the popular imagination forever. (Gatsby’s car was

probably a 40 or 50hp Silver Ghost, although Fitzgerald is unspecific. Curiously, in the recent film

Leonardo di Caprio drives a Duesenberg Model J).

What are the other elements of the Rolls-Royce myth? There is, of course, the famous 1911

radiator mascot: a not-fully -dressed young woman with head down into the wind. She is always

known as the Spirit of Ecstasy. The sculptor Charles Sykes explained that his model “has selected

road travel as her supreme delight”. The not-at-all cover t eroticism of this proposition was there for all

to enjoy. At speed. Today’s Rolls-Royce customers can now whimsically deploy or retract Ms Ecstasy

with an electronic switch.

Then there was the business of India, where about eight hundred magnificent Rolls-Royces

were exported in the first half of the 20th century. In a complex symbol of reverse colonialism,

the cars were much favoured as prestige assets. Typical was Bhupinder Singh of Patiala, whose habit

it was to travel in a motorcade of 20 Rolls-Royces. In this fashion, an aura of absolutism began to

at tach to the cars.

In mat ters of aesthetics, Rolls-Royce has never led – perhaps because it is in a category of

its own with no competitors to lead. Instead, its great cars were always conceived in terms that would

have been understood by country -house architects. Ivan Evernden’s Silver Dawn, for example: as fine

as a small neoclassical pavilion in a Home Counties park.

But the masterpiece was the 1955 Silver Cloud. Mastery can be misunderstood as

arrogance, but here is a master ful design. Neither old nor new but timeless as a Doric temple, the

1955 Silver Cloud is one of the unarguable peaks of automobile ar t. It was drawn by JP Blatchley,

whose job tit le was “chief styling engineer”. Blatchley was, by all accounts, an authoritative but

quietly spoken man who never sought personal fame. Instead, his wonderful Silver Cloud achieved it

for him. It is architecture and it is rolling sculpture: dignified, but elegant; imposing, but polite; razor-

edged, but voluptuous. The subsequent design language of Rolls-Royce is based on all Blatchley’s

assumptions. And Rolls-Royce design language always will be.

Myth and reality are still elements in Rolls-Royce. Things were not always as they seemed. The

Blatchley-era Rolls-Royces used American gearboxes sourced from General Motors. And when in 1958

the prototype Mad Man, David Ogilvy, wrote the ad campaign that said “At 60mph in a Rolls-Royce

the loudest thing you can hear is the ticking of the clock” it was an inspired half-truth. By 1958, the

average US sedan was already quieter and more refined than Gatsby’s or the Maharaja’s Roller.

But that is scarcely the point. Dismal facts and technical specifications are really not the

purpose here. A Rolls-Royce transcends the ordinary, even if the story began with square-headed

bolts. The reason is writ ten over the mantelpiece in Henry Royce’s West Wit tering house: quidvis recte

factum, quamvis humile praeclarum, or ”whatever is rightly done, however humble, is noble”.

ROL LS - ROYCE : A BR I E F H I S TORYby S t e p he n Ba y l e y

' D I G N I F I E D B U TE L E G A N T, I M P O SI N G B U T P O L I T E ,

R A Z O R - E D G E D B U T V O L U P T U O U S '

– S T E P H E N B A Y L E Y –

H o w t h e B r i t i s h c a r m a n u f a c t u r e r f o r g e d a r e p u t a t i o n f o r b e i n gt h e l a s t w o r d i n h i g h e n d

27

As chief restaurant critic of The Times, ‘incorruptibilit y’ is my middle name. Along with ‘discretion’

and ‘anonymity’. Giles Incorruptibilit y Discretion Anonymity Coren. It’s a bit of a mouthful, but it’s me.

What this means in practice is that I always book restaurants under a pseudonym, try not to

draw at tention to myself, and never, ever allow my judgement to be swayed by fawning waiters, flir t y

waitresses, or gif ts of free food and drink, which I always refuse. I feel that I get the most authentic

impression of a restaurant by seeing to it that I am treated as much as possible like any normal member

of the public.

That was probably why I did not much care for Cecconi’s when I first visited it in 2005.

I thought it was too flashy by half. I felt that the exclusively Italian staf f had too many airs and graces,

too lit t le humilit y. I didn’t like the look of the clientele either: rich, successful men and women of all

nationalities, wearing beautiful handmade suits and tans newly painted on by Sardinian sunshine on

the decks of their gleaming yachts. I felt like a bit of a tramp compared to them, to be honest. A bit

of a smelly old homeless. And I confess that despite my three middle names, I felt a lit t le aggrieved

that nobody at all seemed to know who I was, or care.

So when Erin Morris. Dear Erin Morris. Dazzling Erin Morris, gemologist extraordinaire and

jeweller to the stars, suggested Cecconi’s for a lunch together, I was initially unenthusiastic. But then

I thought, hell, eight years is a long time. Maybe it’s changed. And even if it had not, I suspected that

I might have a very dif ferent sor t of experience if I went with a ‘local’. And boy, was I right.

You can practically see Cecconi’s from the David Morris boutique on New Bond Street and

we walked to it in less than a minute.

The place was rammed full of wealthy, beautiful people on a glorious sunny autumn day.

There was not a space in the house, nor at the pavement tables outside.

“We’ll have to go to McDonald’s,” I thought.

But then people star ted waving at Erin and calling out her name with joy. Senior staf f kissed

her, younger ones merely touched the hem of her garment.

“We are two, but we may become three,” she said. And in a trice a terrific table was

conjured out of nowhere. Ice cold bottles of Gavi di Gavi were thrown down our necks and people

were waving and cheering and throwing their hats in the air and shouting, “Hurrah for Erin Morris!”

Clearly, if you are hot stuf f on the Bond Street scene, then Cecconi’s is your of fice canteen,

and you will be treated far, far bet ter than any boring old restaurant critic.

The food was very good, too. We had excellent lamb carpaccio and then luscious tagliatelle

buried in about a thousand pounds’ worth of white truf fle. Then a huge escalope of veal Milanese

for me, beaten to the thinness and sur face area of a banana leaf, with perfectly crisp and frangible

zucchini frit ti, and for Erin the organic salmon fillet which, as if it were not already restrained enough,

she shared with a beautiful girlfriend who at one point flit ted across our lunch.

We were all of us far too slim and glamorous to eat pudding, but the cof fee and petit fours

were gleaming and then Erin insisted on picking up the bill – a perfect af ternoon.

I need hardly tell you that I have revised my view of Cecconi’s and that I heartily

recommend you to go. But go with Erin Morris. In her hands, a very good restaurant becomes

an absolute jewel.

CECCONI ’ Sby G i l e s Co r e n

A b o v e : C e c c o n i ’ s P h o t o g r a p h e r R O B J A R V I S

O p p o s i t e : B u r m e s e r u b y a n d w h i t e d i a m o n d r i n g P h o t o g r a p h e r R O B J A R V I S

O n e t r i p t o C e c c o n i ’ s w i t h E r i n M o r r i s w a s a l l i t t o o k t o p e r s u a d e G i l e s C o r e n t o r e v i e w h i s o p i n i o n o f t h e s w i s h r e s t a u r a n t t h a t s e r v e s a s

B o n d S t r e e t ’ s g l a m o r o u s c a n t e e n

28

THE HOLY T R IN I TY OF BR I T I SH FASH IONby B e n P e r d u e

30

THE HOLY T R IN I TY OF BR I T I SH FASH IONby B e n P e r d u e

A t r i o o f d e s i g n t a l e n t s u p h o l d i n g L o n d o n ’ s r e p u t a t i o n a s t h e m o s t c r e a t i v e c i t y i n t h e w o r l d

'F U RT H E R E M P H AS I S I N G

T H E I N D I V I DUA L I T Y '

– B E N P E R D U E –

O p p o s i t e : G I L E S P h o t o g r a p h e r G A U T I E R D E B L O N D E

31

Christopher Kane is a hard man to pin down – but then mystery has always been a big part of the

31-year-old Scot’s appeal; name another designer of his commercial calibre who can survive in this

digital age without a website, Twit ter account or Facebook page.

Born and raised in Newarthill, an industrial village near Motherwell, Kane was addicted

to the Fashion TV channel as a boy, taping hours of catwalk videos to watch with older sister Tammy,

now his business partner and creative director of the label. “These were pivotal moments I’ll always

remember,” he explained last July in the Vogue Voices series of online films. “Recording the Versace

show, the Helmut Lang show, and being sucked into a world of complete contrast to the black

and white of Scotland.” It was watching a McQueen show that introduced the idea of at tending

Central Saint Martins, the college he graduated from in 2006 with a final MA collection of body-

con minidresses that catapulted him into the industry. “London was full of so many characters, and

Saint Martins could be a circus, but I could truly be myself there,” he continued on Vogue Voices –

and it still plays a big role in his work now, having lived in the cit y for 12 years, running his label

from a Dalston studio for the last six. Over a career that has seen him become firmly established

internationally, picking up British Fashion Awards and the Vogue Fashion Fund, and helming the

Versace sister label, Versus, in the process, he has understood that the world looks to London for

newness, so it remains a central source of inspiration.

Turning bad taste into high fashion has been a theme present in Kane’s work ever since

he graduated, sparked by the neon colours, animal print and diamanté crystals that have dominated

previous collections. But his approach is more about celebrating the everyday in fresh ways than

mining low culture. It also explains his ability to connect with a varied customer base, from those

af ter a statement piece, or trend-led fans of his iconic monkey T-shir ts, to high-street shoppers via

a string of Topshop collaborations, and even to men since 2010. Lou Stoppard, Fashion Editor

of SHOWstudio, summed it up best in a round table discussion during the last London Fashion

Week. “He’s a symbol of what it takes to be a really successful designer,” she told the panel.

“Young fashion kids still love Christopher Kane: it’s that the thing of being very commercial,

but still being cool.”

CHRISTOPHER KANE

Very few London designers have maintained a balance between superstar status and a reputation for

edginess like Giles Deacon. No mean feat, seeing as he comes from a pool of young fashion talent

that produced some of Britain’s best- loved names in the early Nineties, such as Alexander McQueen,

Matthew Williamson and Luella Bartley. “He is from a generation that was fundamentally shaped by

that period in pop culture and fashion,” wrote Jo-Ann Furniss in her review of his spring/summer 2014

show for Style.com. “The era is seen as a golden age for London, when style magazines ruled,

personal style was all, and both mainly formed fashion.” While Deacon undoubtedly rode that wave,

his enduring relevance owes as much to the years he spent perfecting his skills at established brands

before launching his own, and to an emphasis on collaboration that remains central to his work today.

That the Nineties were a formative period for the Darlington-born 44-year-old can still be

seen in his latest collection, which uses blown-up Glen Luchford pictures of the decade’s supermodels –

including Kate Moss and Amber Valet ta – to create digital prints on summer dresses. Taken back in

1997, they were test shots for a Prada campaign that never happened, and the fact that Miuccia

Prada gave her blessing for them to be used now is testament to Deacon’s standing in the industry. It

was also during the Nineties that he learned how to build a fashion brand, working for Jean-Charles

de Castelbajac in Paris, Debenhams in London, and then rising to the position of head designer at

Bot tega Veneta before being sacked to make way for Tomas Maier. Next he worked alongside Tom

Ford at the über- luxurious Gucci, but af ter one season illness forced him to leave. When his own label,

GILES, finally debuted in 2003, instead of being printed on his clothes the ‘supers’ were wearing

them, as Eva Herzigova, Erin O’Connor and Karen Elson all walked for him, illustrating his significance

to London fashion even then.

The first GILES show was impor tant for another reason: it highlighted the role of Katie

Grand, his friend and long-term collaborator who st yled it. He first met the LOVE Editor In Chief at

Central Saint Mar tins, and they later worked at Bot tega Veneta together. Grand has been st yling

his shows ever since, employing the same touch she used at Louis Vuit ton to emphasise his focus

on modern glamour. I f the gap-toothed pout prints peppering this season’s collection – rumoured to

be an ode to Grand’s iconic smile – are any thing to go by, her involvement with the brand remains

invaluable. But then collaboration is something that Deacon is good at, having enjoyed great

success with his series of collections for New Look, and now branching out into less likely fields

such as designing furniture for DFS and candles for Molton Brown. And even if they are just projects

that inject cash into his business, everyone wins at the end of the day, because it means more ways

to take a piece of Giles’ home.

GILES DEACON

“If you think of Jonathan Saunders as a freewheeling colourist, you’re in the right ballpark,” said

fashion critic Cathy Horyn af ter the designer’s show last September, praising a defining characteristic

of the Glaswegian’s work that is only surpassed by his talent for print. Having graduated with a BA in

printed textiles from the Glasgow School of Ar t in 1999, followed by an MA in the same subject from

Central Saint Martins in 2002, print was bound to factor heavily in his work, and this shines through

in the stunning bespoke fabrics at the heart of his collections.

Saunders’ skills were very much in demand af ter his graduate show and he went straight

to work creating prints for Alexander McQueen, followed by stints at both Chloé and Pucci, before

debuting his own label at London Fashion Week in 2003. Since then his Islington-based brand

has grown to include pre-fall and resor t collections, alongside the successful menswear of fering he

launched in 2012. As you would expect, print is the element that ties them all together, following a

design process using silk-screened pat terns that are engineered specifically for each piece, rather than

having one standard print for all, fur ther emphasising the individualit y of every garment.

This season he showed just how important silhouettes are too, not just as print vehicles

but as clever commercial separates with a strong mix-and-match appeal. Signature items like the

satin bomber jacket were updated with luxurious floral embroideries, and worn with silk tracksuit

trousers and boyish Bermuda shorts, while delicate summer dresses and rodeo shirts featured bold

peony prints. Seventies influences mixing with youthful, accessible shapes to create a collection that was as

exciting as it was wearable. If a designer’s success is measured by the accolades they have collected, then

36-year-old Saunders is at the top of his game after only ten years in the industry, with awards under his belt

ranging from the Lancôme Colour Award to Elle’s Designer of the Year, and GQ’s Breakthrough Menswear

Brand. Like many designers in his generation he has also undertaken projects with high-street retailers,

producing collaborations with both Topshop and Target. But for a clearer indicator of his current importance

you could look at how his work has been received on a global scale: he has shown on the London, Milan and

New York schedules, as well as boasting a high-profile client list that includes Kate Middleton, Diane Kruger

and Michelle Obama.

Saunders will remain grounded by his experiences as a London-based designer though, no

mat ter who buys his clothes. “I appreciate anybody making the choice to wear something that I’ve

designed. I always felt like when I started, that I was kind of learning as I went,” he told Style Editor

Suzy Menkes at The International New York Times earlier this year. “I think what’s wonderful about

London is that it supports designers to be able to do that. In no other city in the world could you do

it from nothing.”

JONATHAN SAUNDERS

O p p o s i t e : C H R I S T O P H E RP h o t o g r a p h e r K A I Z F E N G

B e l o w : J O N A T H A NI m a g e c o u r t e s y o f J O N A T H A N S A U N D E R S

32

Looking at some of the beautiful leaf jewellery that was constructed during the 19th century in

Europe, Jeremy Morris created a series of leaves executed in a variety of sizes and materials:

ruby, sapphire, fancy-coloured and white diamond. Worn in twos or threes the brooch is always

a powerful statement piece, evoking a lineage of glamour that stretches from the 1920s

and 1940s to the power-suited businesswomen of today.

This one-of-a-kind leaf is made of diamond, lilac and magenta sapphires, tsavorite garnet

and crowned with a South Sea Pearl. Circa 1995.

Please contact David Morris for more information.

H E R I T A G E P I E C E

9 0 x 9 0 s i l k s c a r f d e s i g n b y E R I N M O R R I SS c a r f a v a i l a b l e f r o m D a v i d M o r r i s s t o r e s – £18 5

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A B U D H A B IT h e G a l l e r i a , S ow wah S q u a r e

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N i ko l s ka ya S t r e e t 10L e v e l 1, 10 9 012M o s cow, Ru s s i a

Te l : +7 495 783 0779

H O N G KO N GT h e Pe n i n s u l a

S a l i s b u r y Ro a dKow l o o n, H o ng Ko ngTe l : +852 2311- 9816Fa x : +852 2311- 9 930

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R I YA D HA l i B i n A l i E s t a b l i s hm e n t

Ce n t r i a M a l lO l a ya, A l R i y a dh,

K i n g d o m o f S a u d i A rab i aTe l : +96 6 14 65 9339

R I G AVa l n u S t r e e t 5

R i g a, L a t v i aTe l : +371 67225215Fa x : +371 67876 0 0 0

i l o n a@ ve n d o m e. l v

For over five decades, royalty and international collectors have counted among the clientele of the esteemed British jewellery

brand that David Morris established in 1962. Jeremy Morris has since followed in his father’s footsteps by taking over as managing

director and principal designer in 2010. From within the elegant New Bond Street atelier in the heart of London, beautiful couture

jewellery is handcraf ted to the highest standards using only the finest stones to ensure each piece is a work of ar t.

Magnificently set diamonds in unique handcraf ted mountings are all cer tified by the world’s top independent laboratories, ensuring

a truly exceptional piece of jewellery to cherish for years to come. Whether it is a sapphire from the historic Kashmir region,

renowned by connoisseurs the world over for producing stones of the richest velvet blue, the rich, deep green found only in

Colombian emeralds or the rarest pigeon-blood red ruby from the mines deep within Burma, a David Morris creation assures the

wearer of the finest provenance and rarit y.

“I am delighted to open in the world -renowned Harrods department store. This new boutique will of fer clients the same

comfort as shopping in the flagship store on New Bond Street, but with the added treat of exclusive pieces that will only be

available to purchase from the Harrods showroom.”

– Jeremy Morris –

We look forward to welcoming you to our new boutique and sharing with you the history of our brand as well as

the beautiful jewellery we have to of fer.

H A R R O D SF i n e J ewe l l e r y Ro o m

87-135 B ro mp t o n Ro a dK n i g h t s b r i d g e

L o n d o nSW1X 7 X L

Te l : +4 4 ( 0 )20 7893 8810

S T O C K I S T S

WE A R E N O W O P E NI N H A R R O D S

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