Inside the technicolour world of textile artist Kaffe Fassett
When I first moved to England, I was able to find a wonderful two-room studio with a balcony in Lansdowne Crescent, in London’s Notting Hill area. That was a rental and it served me well for my first few years. It was near one of the best flea markets in London at the time, with weekend stalls selling fruit, vegetables, and all manner of secondhand items, including vintage clothes, pottery, textiles, tools, and so on. During the week, I dipped into the hundreds of more legitimate antique shops that lined the Portobello Road. As my income gradually improved, I was able to shop for more valuable pieces to add to my still lifes.
When an artist friend came to visit London from New York and needed a cheap place to rent, I searched London until I located a second-floor flat in Kilburn (which at the time seemed quite far out of the center of London). She was a single mum and also needed room to paint and sew to earn her living, so this whole floor in an Edwardian house was a good deal for her. When I found the flat, it had an ugly 1950s carpet of brilliant colors on a dark background that we called the “swirls of vomit” style. The living room was furnished with two leather-bound seats from a sports car—comfy enough but low to the ground. When she married an Englishman a year later, I was given first refusal on the flat and jumped at it because it was bigger than my two-room place in Notting Hill.
I took over the flat, sold the car seats and carpet, and established my own look, seeing the place mostly as a work base. There was a small kitchen next to a tiny cramped bathroom, and a bedroom at the back end of the flat. The large front room with a fireplace was my living room, with a small extra bedroom next to it. I used the hall as a library to store most of my books. The back bedroom became a place to sleep as well as a painting studio. Two large windows gave a gorgeous light onto a table against the wall that housed whatever still life I was working on at the time.
I lived on that one floor for some time, paying rent to an agent of an absent landlord. One day, the agent came to visit and noticed that I had filing cabinets in the flat. The next thing I knew, I was taken to court with an eviction notice. The judge asked what evidence there was that Mr. Fassett was running a business from the flat. “Your Honor, he has filing cabinets in the property!” His Honor considered the rest of the proposal and spotted an error in the documents. “Your case is invalid because of this error.” “Couldn’t you just overlook that, your Honor?” “My dear man, this a court of LAW! Pay Mr. Fassett’s expenses and remove yourselves.” I went home amazed that I hadn’t been turfed out, and, because I could see they were stuck with me, I offered to buy the building. I was duly sold it at a bargain price.
A few years later, as I could afford it, I bought out the tenants on the bottom and top floors and found myself in possession of an entire house in London! I had no central heating, but would collect scraps of wood on my many walks around the area—often a broken chair, off-cuts, or a packing crate would supply enough wood to warm me up when burned in my fireplace. I had an old rickety table in the hall that served as a sawhorse to cut wood for the fire. When people visiting were really cold, I’d ask them to cut some wood for the fire—I found that warmed them up as much as burning the wood did. Being a casual sort about tidiness, the sawdust that got trampled about the place didn’t really bother me.
When I met Brandon Mably in 1990 (see also page 93) and invited him to come share my house, everything about the house changed. By then, I had bought the upstairs and downstairs, so properly occupied the three-and-a-half floors. Brandon was amazed that I had only a few old rugs and chairs—usually things I’d found in junk shops or on the streets. “You need a sofa and a proper carpet to cover the whole living room floor.” So, we went sofa shopping—very grown up for me! Once that was in and I’d bought a handsome carpet, we looked and felt a lot more civilized.
This is an extract from Kaffe Fassett In The Studio: Behind the Scenes with a Master Colorist by Kaffe Fassett, photographs by Debbie Patterson (Abrams, £30) out now.
Debbie Patterson1/8Our television sits behind the daisy scarf. I found the maroon carpet with lime yellow leaves and flowers in Australia. The needlepoint chair was stitched by Brandon’s sister, Eleanor, among others. The painted roses on the wall inspired a Designers’ Guild collection.
Debbie Patterson2/8A shot taken years ago. Marks & Spencer used the needlepoint tapestry for Christmas packaging one year. The rug is made of rags—hooking was an obsession at that time.
Debbie Patterson3/8I found these Dresden plate blocks at the Houston Quilt Festival one year and created a quilt with Liza Prior Lucy that blends so deliciously with my patterned plates. Needlepoint cushions sit on a sofa covered in early Designers’ Guild roses of mine.
Debbie Patterson4/8Some of my needlepoint cushions surrounding my oriental jars and porcelain Buddhas.
Debbie Patterson5/8The patchwork storage cupboards I painted with images of blue and white pots, a collection of which sits on top of the cupboard to the left.
Debbie Patterson6/8My vegetable carpet against my wallpaper produced by the Designers’ Guild.
Debbie Patterson7/8The basin that Rupert Spira made for me out of a punch bowl. I love the red and green bold stripes. The tall red vase and green bowl are his as well.
Debbie Patterson8/8My tiled and mosaiced garden terrace outside Brandon’s quarters.
