Simon Hurst is considering the future of his East London home. Should he set up a trust to ensure it survives intact after his death? Or bequeath the contents to an arts institution? Simon, a classically trained architect, has every reason to be concerned about his legacy.
Behind a high hedge and low gate, the unassuming terraced house he bought as a ‘skint’ 20-something has become his private museum; a living cabinet of curiosities crammed with rare and unusual objects.
Like a gallery, his finds are displayed by type: lustrous tiles, engravings, and amulets clustered in groups.
A ‘naked’ patch on a wall is a rebuke, he says: it has to be filled. ‘One object is never enough; it always sparks a collection.’ Simon points to a row of keys displayed on the wall like a decorative frieze: a basic wooden peg, followed by more sophisticated metal versions.
‘My father, who was in the Merchant Navy, gave me one when I was a child. After that, I went on a quest to find more. The Victorian one came from Brick Lane Market; the others from different places, including Uzbekistan. I’m fascinated by how objects have developed over time. The two themes that bind my collections are architecture and travel. Anything else, and I’m not interested.’
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Over two decades, the 1930s interior has evolved; the theme of each room loosely based on his collections. He built the garden room himself, its soukish layers of textiles, cushions and decorative furniture sparked by a trip to Morocco when he came back with 15 elaborate lamps.
‘Looking back at early photos I feel embarrassed. It looked almost minimal. Many subsequent trips were needed to fill it with plates, rugs and other objects. I love tying things together. Collecting the picture frames, display shelves and the plant stand helped unite an overall theme.’
It’s not about amassing things at speed, he says, but more about a gentle accumulation. Simon designed the glazed pocket doors in the garden room to disappear when opened. ‘I wanted it to feel like a loggia in summer,’ he adds.
After leaving university, Simon won a travelling scholarship from the Society for the Protection of Ancient Buildings. Knowing how buildings were made in the past informs his approach. One of his most rewarding commissions was for the Art Workers’ Guild in London.
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‘It’s a Queen Anne building, but most people don’t notice that an architect has been in and glazed over the courtyards – or added the wrought iron lanterns. The interventions have hints of the past.’
Simon recently made the decision to wind down his architectural practice to focus on painting and craft. ‘I’ve always been a maker at heart. I would rather produce something myself than buy it.’ In the sitting room, he designed the faux malachite wallpaper inspired by the interior of a Russian palace. He has also found ingenious ways to house his collections.
‘I’m fascinated by the playful deceit of architecture; the jib doors, and secret panels. The way buildings are not quite what they seem,’ he says, pointing to a vivid green and orange cabinet. The top, with its stepped profile, was inspired by the city gate into Fez, in Morocco. The cupboards below open to reveal the washing machine and dryer.
Not all his ‘quests’ start abroad. During a visit to the Horniman Museum, in south London, he spotted a fretwork plaque based on the decorative interiors of the Alhambra Palace, in Granada.
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‘I discovered they were made as souvenirs, from the 19th century when the Palace was being restored, to the 1930s when they were still churning them out. But that doesn’t matter. The intricate plasterwork is exquisite. I don’t see the difference between something that was made 200 years ago or now. Collectively they talk to each other. They’re part of a story.’
He cites Sir John Soane, the 19th-century architect, as a constant influence and the inspiration for his studio upstairs. The picture-gallery red of the walls was originally formulated by historic paint expert, Patrick Baty, for The Art Workers’ Guild. Simon made the console, with its trompe l’oeil surface, to display his ‘Grand Tour’ collection of antiquities: some old, others tourist trinkets.
Which brings us neatly back to the subject of posterity. Simon thinks he may have that covered, and he unfurls a hand-drawn proposal for a mausoleum – his entry to a competition run by Sir John Soane’s Museum – featuring a gallery of his finds. Whether it materialises or not, it is an uplifting way to end our conversation.
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