The Layered Home: A Conversation with Benjamin Reynaert by Sarah Silm
Here at Collins and Green Art we were delighted to be featured in Benjamin Raynaert's wonderful book 'The Layered Home', published earlier this year. Benjamin is an editor and interior stylist based in New York and is currently editor of the new US Homes and Gardens publication Anthology.
In this article, our friend, writer, and interiors expert Sarah Silm interviews Benjamin for her substack 'How to French Country', which can be found here.
Photograph: @aspoonfulofbenjamin
Today, the author, editor and incurable collector talks English country houses, flea-market finds, Nancy Lancaster and why the rooms we remember are rarely the most perfect ones.
Benjamin at the book launch for 'The Layered Home' in the Studio here at Collins and Green Art
A few months ago I met Benjamin Reynaert in London at the launch of his first book, The Layered Home. It was held at the atelier of my friend Julia Collins, an art dealer,which was perhaps asking for trouble from the get go. Paintings were everywhere. some hung and plenty leaning against walls, but that’s the charm of going to Julia’s. You rarely leave without something tucked under your arm.
Ironically, I’d gone to hear about The Layered Home, and, predictably, returned home having added another layer to my own (more about this later).
Sarah Silm, Benjamin Reynaert and Julia in the studio
Ben would probably say that’s the point. That the houses we love rarely arrive fully formed. A chair bought when we were young follows us from house to house. A slightly wonky bowl comes home from a market. And indeed, paintings appear when we aren’t looking for them just as objects that made absolutely no financial or practical sense at the time somehow become the things we’d never part with.
That instinct sits at the heart of The Layered Home, Ben’s first book, published earlier this year. Rather than offering another set of rules for creating the perfect room, it celebrates homes with evidence of life within them: collections, colour, inherited things, flea-market finds and pieces accumulated slowly enough for the rooms to become unmistakably their owners’.
I’d already had the pleasure of visiting one of the houses featured in the book, the London home of garden designer Butter Wakefield, and could immediately understand why Benjamin featured it on the book’s cover. Butter’s house is wonderfully abundant. Art climbs the walls, objects fill the shelves and the garden seems constantly on the verge of wandering indoors. Nothing feels as though its been chosen simply to complete a scheme. Its all kind of grown together over time, which is, of course, much harder to manufacture than it looks.
Benjamin has spent a career looking closely at rooms like these. Before becoming U.S. Editor of Homes & Gardens, he held editorial roles at ELLE Decor, Architectural Digest, House Beautiful, domino and Martha Stewart Living. He also runs Benjamin Reynaert Creative and co-founded The Ticking Tent, a design market devoted to antiques, makers and, most importantly for Ben, the thrill of the hunt. He’s now also writing for Homes & Gardens Anthology, the new biannual publication bringing together interiors, people, objects and ideas from both sides of the Atlantic.
photograph @aspoonfulofbenjamin
That transatlantic conversation feels particularly suited to him. Ben has an enduring fascination with British interiors, particularly the English country house and all the glorious peculiarities that come with it. Earlier this summer at Chelsea Harbour he moderated a discussion called Across the Pond, exploring precisely that exchange between British and American decorating.
Which brings us back to Ben’s own measure of a good room. He isn’t particularly interested in perfection. In fact, as you’ll discover, he actively looks for the thing that feels a little bit “off”. The unexpected object. The odd colour. Something belonging specifically to the person who lives there.
His own New York apartment sounds much the same. Art covers the walls. Murano glass jostles with old French silver and Swedish pottery, and a Turkish kilim chair bought at the Brooklyn flea market more than fifteen years ago has survived despite being, by Ben’s own admission, not especially comfortable.
Naturally, I wanted to know more.
So we talked about the objects he can’t let go of, why British houses still seduce him, what separates a memorable room from a merely impressive one and why the chase can occasionally be more enjoyable than the catch. And because discussing English country houses without eventually inviting Nancy Lancaster to dinner seemed rather a waste of everybody’s time, I sent him off to Kelmarsh Hall too.
A link to Benjamin's book can be found here.
Your book celebrates homes that feel deeply personal rather than perfectly decorated. What do you think people most often misunderstand about creating a beautiful home?
I find people often seek out a rulebook when decorating their homes, and I believe they really need permission to try things and fail, test their own taste and take the time to seek out pieces that they really love.
You write about layering as something that happens over time. Looking around your own home, which object has been with you the longest, and what story does it tell?
I have an old chair upholstered in a Turkish kilim that I picked up at the Brooklyn flea market over 15 years ago. It’s quite quirky, not the most comfortable, I must admit, but it’s been with me since my first year in New York City and for some reason I just can’t let it go. It reminds me of my early hunter-gatherer days, and I still love the colour and pattern it brings.
Many of the interiors featured in The Layered Home are rich with collections, art and curiosities. What layers might we discover in your own home?
My apartment in Jackson Heights, New York, is an ever-evolving laboratory for collections and curiosities. Nearly every wall in my living room is covered in art, and I rarely come home from a flea market or antiques shop empty-handed.
One day it’s Murano glass, the next it’s a stack of vintage design books, antique French silver or a beautifully wonky piece of mid-century Swedish pottery. Nothing is too precious.
Part of the joy is editing the collection over time. If something no longer earns its place, I’ll gift it to a friend or send it back into circulation through a charity shop or curbside, where someone else can fall in love with it.
photograph @aspoonfulofbenjamin
You clearly have a great affection for British interiors. What is it about them that continues to captivate you? And is there a particular favourite amongst all the homes you’ve photographed for the book that really stands out?
I sometimes joke that I must have been a 75-year-old British gentleman in another life. I’ve long been enamoured with the English country house, not just for its architecture, but for all the quirks, inherited attic treasures and beautifully imperfect layers that come with it.
There’s something about the quality of light in Britain that makes bold colours sing in a way they rarely do elsewhere, creating an almost magical atmosphere.
Paddy O’Donnell’s home captures that spirit perfectly. It has an effortless country-house sensibility paired with an unabashed love of colour and decoration. He has a remarkable ability to commit to a theme and see it through with confidence, creating rooms that feel both joyful and deeply personal.
I also admire his decorative use of paint throughout the house, most notably the trompe l’oeil architrave he painted himself in the bedroom. It’s imaginative, charming and exactly the kind of detail that makes a house unforgettable.
You’ve been invited into some of the world’s most beautiful homes and met many of the people who create them. Across all those visits, have you noticed a common thread that separates the truly memorable interiors from the merely impressive?
Truly memorable homes create a mood and a feeling, and I’m always looking for something that’s really unique and special to the homeowner or designer in a project, something that may even feel a bit off.
I’m looking for things I haven’t seen before and love to discover unique people with unique taste.
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Image @aspoonfulofbenjamin
The homes in your book feel as though they reveal something of the people who live in them. What do you hope a visitor learns about you when they step through your front door?
I hope that visitors to my own home feel at ease and see how the things that surround you can help create a comforting and truly unique space, something only you could do.
As co-founder of The Ticking Tent, you’ve built an entire event around the thrill of discovery. What is it about the hunt for an object that still excites you, and what was the last piece that genuinely made your heart race?
For me, it’s all about the hunt. Once I find something that I love, whether it’s expensive or not, I kind of hope it breaks in the car on the way home.
Image @aspoonfulofbenjamin
Ben, imagine I’ve sent you back to an idyllic summer afternoon at Kelmarsh Hall, the English country house Nancy Lancaster called her idea of a perfect house in the country. A Bentley crunches up the gravel drive, ice clinks in crystal glasses on the terrace and a perfectly chilled martini arrives in your hand as if by magic.Nancy has been called away to deal with an unexpected household drama, something to do with a peacock and a fox, but has entrusted you with setting the table for dinner. The guest list includes Cecil Beaton, John Fowler and her husband Ronald Tree. Tell us how you’d style the table and who would claim the final seat.
A magical dinner at Kelmarsh Hall sounds utterly divine. I’d set the table with mismatched ironstone, the finest antique French silver, handblown Murano glass and crisp, colourful linens.
As Cecil Beaton famously said, “To bore was a crime,” so I’d be tempted to invite Evelyn Waugh, despite, or perhaps because of, his famously fractious relationship with Beaton.
I can only imagine the wit, the barbs and the delicious drama that would unfold. I’d happily be a fly on the wall.
Image @aspoonfulofbenjamin
Dinner for six at Via Carota in the West Village. You may invite any five people, living or dead. Who joins you around the table?
I’d invite Nancy Lancaster, because she understood something we seem to have forgotten, that the most beautiful rooms aren’t decorated, they’re lived in. I’d want to hear how she created houses that still feel impossibly fresh.
Next would be Renzo Mongiardino, whose theatrical, layered interiors continue to influence the way I think about storytelling through decoration. I’d love to ask where authenticity ends and fantasy begins.
I’d save a seat for Elsie de Wolfe, whose optimism completely changed the direction of interior design. She reminds me that great style is as much about confidence as it is about taste.
I’d invite Ina Garten because every memorable dinner needs someone who instinctively knows how to make guests feel at ease. She understands that hospitality is a design discipline in its own right.
And finally, Martha Stewart. She shaped the way I think about homes, entertaining and craftsmanship from the very beginning of my career. I’d be fascinated to hear how she sees the future of homemaking in an increasingly digital world.
I’d mostly listen. Somewhere between the cacio e pepe and a bottle of Barolo, I imagine the conversation would drift from gardens and antiques to why the most enduring interiors are really just collections of well-lived lives.
Quick Fire with Ben
The object you'd rescue first in a fire?
My Robert Kime sofa.
Antiques fair, French flea market, or auction house?
French flea market.
The most overrated decorating trend?
A colour you never tire of living with?
Yellow.
The last thing you bought for your home?
A pair of leather armchairs by Poul Kjærholm.
The object in your house with the best story?
One of my favourite chairs is an old kilim-covered, mostly uncomfortable armchair I picked up for a song at the Brooklyn flea market when I first moved to NYC. It’s seen a lot, has come with me all these years and is something I can’t seem to part with.
A scent that instantly says “home” to you?
I quite enjoy the Bamford Woodland Moss candle. Earthy, mossy and evocative of walking through an English forest after rain.
Which room do you gravitate to first when visiting someone else’s house?
I always like to see how someone decorates their powder room. They’re quite often fun and romantic.
What can you never resist buying?
I love dark navy blue Jasperware. If I see it, I scoop it up.
Describe your ideal Sunday in three words?
Garden. Coffee. Laughter.
Thank you for reading Sarah's blog, please explore the rest of her excellent substack here.
