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KEVIN DURANT a season of change


september 2019 32 EDITOR’S LETTER 36 CONTRIBUTORS 38 COLUMNISTS on Tension 41 THE WSJ. FIVE 135 STILL LIFE Brian Grazer

The Hollywood producer, whose book Face to Face: The Art of Human Connection is out this fall, shares a few of his favorite things. Photography by Ye Rin Mok

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Rising star Yahya Abdul-Mateen II; oversize scarves

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Cassina updates the wingback chair; Aboriginal Australian art in Houston; new skin-care brand natureofthings; Cartier’s Privé Tonneau watch; Majeda Clarke revives Bangladeshi weaving

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Trend Report: Carryall bags; an illustrator designs glassware; Fabien Baron’s monograph

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Jewelry Box: Rolex’s Oyster Perpetual Datejust 36

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The Download: Antoni Porowski; stylish prints

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A new Mexico City design gallery; rock-star memoirs

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A look back at photographer Roy DeCarava, the subject of two shows this fall, in the words of his widow

ON THE COVER Kevin Durant, photographed by Mario Sorrenti and styled by Sydney Rose Thomas; hair by Eric Adams, grooming by Tasha Reiko Brown, manicure by Ashlie Johnson. For details see Sources, page 134. THIS PAGE Kevin Durant, photographed by Mario Sorrenti and styled by Sydney Rose Thomas. Durant’s own clothing and jewelry, David Yurman chain. For details see Sources, page 134.

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FOLLOW @WSJMAG: To purchase original single issues from WSJ. Magazine’s archive, visit the WSJ Shop at wsjshop.com.


“I’M NOT OF THAT SCHOOL WHERE, IF YOU HAVE SOMETHING REALLY BEAUTIFUL, YOU WANT TO MAKE IT WORK NO MATTER WHAT.”

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–JOHN PAWSON

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Market report.

the exchange.

69 CULT CLASSICS

79 TRACKED: Camilla Fayed

As autumn approaches, the essential pieces for everyday wear include coats of every description.

The vegan restaurateur, a convert to the healthy life, brings her London hot spot, Farmacy, to New York City.

Photography by Kyle Weeks Styling by Alexander Fisher

By Lane Florsheim Photography by Caroline Tompkins

82 SELF-PORTRAIT Artist Nathaniel Mary Quinn collages together his past and present to create powerful portraits, and his show at Gagosian’s Beverly Hills gallery has him primed for the big time. By Rebecca Bengal Photography by Ike Edeani

From left: Fendi clothing and Fendi Casa blanket, photographed by Bruno Staub; styling by Julian Ganio. For details see Sources, page 134. John Pawson’s Cotswolds residence, Home Farm, photographed by François Halard.


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“THE REALITY IS, WE ALL HAVE TO COME FACE TO FACE WITH THINGS THAT ARE INESCAPABLE.” –NATHANIEL MARY QUINN

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men’s fall style. 86 NET GAINS

104 FINE & DANDY

Kevin Durant’s final season with the Warriors ended in injury and loss. Now he’s focused on recovering and coming to Brooklyn.

With romantic flourishes like furtrimmed shirts and lace capes, the fall collections signal the return of the Byronic hero.

By J.R. Moehringer Photography by Mario Sorrenti Styling by Sydney Rose Thomas

Photography by Gregory Harris Styling by Ludivine Poiblanc

98 THE WORLD ACCORDING TO DAVID HOCKNEY The artist’s monumental new work, a meditation on the view from his Normandy home, demonstrates his singular way of seeing things. By Lesley M.M. Blume Photography by Jamie Hawkesworth

116 PAWSON’S PARADISE The man who elevated nothingness to an art form has just completed a project in the Cotswolds for his most demanding client: himself. By Joshua Levine Photography by François Halard

124 STATE OF GRAY Size up this fall with layers of luxurious woolens that expand suiting’s comfort zone into new territory. Photography by Bruno Staub Styling by Julian Ganio

From left: Burberry clothing and shoes; Herno jacket, Loro Piana cardigan and trousers, Vince T-shirt and Sperry sneakers; Boss coat, Brunello Cucinelli turtleneck, Sandro jeans and Santoni shoes; photographed by Kyle Weeks; styling by Alexander Fisher. For details see Sources, page 134. Nathaniel Mary Quinn’s Brooklyn studio, photographed by Ike Edeani.


EDITOR’S LE T TER

HOOP AND GLORY ILLUSTRATION BY ALEJANDRO CARDENAS

BROOKLYN BOUND Anubis (in Kevin Durant’s jersey) and Bast (wearing Akris) stroll along Dumbo’s cobblestone streets with Who.

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HIS MONTH’S COVER STAR , Kevin Durant, is unlike any other player in the NBA, a nonconformist who sets the tone for our September Men’s issue. One of the greatest talents in basketball history, he’s also been praised by friends and creative partners for his fiercely independent thinking, which led him to keep his own counsel and choose the Brooklyn Nets during this summer’s free agency. He’s not afraid of reinvention, either the physical kind he’s carrying out after rupturing his Achilles during the NBA Finals, or the sort symbolized by changing his number from 35 to 7—a biblical reference to the concept of completion. “I’ve always been on a search,” he says. We can’t wait to see where this next chapter takes him.  

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Despite spending three decades designing dozens of private homes and commercial edifices, John Pawson does not call himself an architect, having left school a year short of earning his degree. It suits a man who shrugs at attempts to classify him as the master of minimalism and who holds fi rm to his famously stripped-down aesthetic no matter how much it runs against the grain. Now, in renovating a country retreat with his wife, Catherine, he’s pushing his exacting vision to its limits. Artist David Hockney is an unreconstructed smoker who finds that even cities like Los Angeles, where he resides, have grown puritanical about the habit. It’s one reason he’s become so attached to his new property in Normandy: “The French know how to

live. They know about pleasure.” Hockney—whose creations are featured in the inaugural exhibition at Pace Gallery’s massive new Manhattan space—is a lifelong student of art whose works are in constant dialogue with geniuses of the past, from Chinese scroll painters to Picasso. His style and his art come down to one impulse, he says: “It’s always just to please myself.” That saying could also serve as a motto for the issue’s fashion story photographed by Gregory Harris, which captures the Byronic side of the modern dandy—individualism at its most romantic.

Kristina O’Neill k.oneill@wsj.com @kristina_oneill

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Kristina O’Neill Magnus Berger EXECUTIVE EDITOR Chris Knutsen MANAGING EDITOR Jacklyn Monk DEPUTY EDITOR Elisa Lipsky-Karasz DIGITAL DIRECTOR Sarah Ball EDITOR IN CHIEF

CREATIVE DIRECTOR

F E AT URE S

Lenora Jane Estes ARTICLES EDITOR Julie Coe EDITORIAL ASSISTANT Natalia Barr

EXECUTIVE FEATURES DIRECTOR

ART

Pierre Tardif ART DIRECTOR Tanya Moskowitz SENIOR ART DIRECTOR Katie Field DESIGN DIRECTOR

P HOTOGR A P H Y

Jennifer Pastore Dana Kien PHOTO EDITOR Noelle Lacombe ASSISTANT PHOTO EDITOR Sara Morosi

EXECUTIVE PHOTO DIRECTOR

SENIOR PHOTO EDITOR

FA SHION

David Thielebeule Laura Stoloff SENIOR MARKET EDITOR Alexander Fisher ASSOCIATE MARKET EDITOR Alycia Cohen STYLE DIRECTOR

EXECUTIVE FASHION EDITOR

FASHION ASSISTANTS

Kevin Huynh, Nathan Simpson, Cheryl Son P RODUC T ION, COP Y & RE SE A RCH

P UBL ISHING

Anthony Cenname ASSOCIATE PUBLISHER Stephanie Arnold ASSOCIATE PUBLISHER/LUXURY Alberto E. Apodaca EUROPE DIRECTOR/LUXURY Omblyne Pelier BUSINESS MANAGER Vincent Shapiro LUXURY DIRECTORS Robert D. Eisenhart III, Richie Grin, Alana Scharlop, Megan Tompkins (TRAVEL & DESIGN), Chloe Worden EXECUTIVE FASHION DIRECTOR Jillian Maxwell EVENTS DIRECTOR Scott Meriam MARKETING MANAGER Sarah Hong MARKETING COORDINATOR Courtney Gallagher VP/PUBLISHER

DIRECTOR OF INTEGRATED MARKETING/LUXURY

Emma Jenks-Daly T HE WA L L S T REE T JOURN A L EDITOR IN CHIEF

Matt Murray

SENIOR EDITOR, FEATURES AND WSJ WEEKEND

Michael W. Miller DOW JONE S

William Lewis Josh Stinchcomb

CHIEF EXECUTIVE OFFICER CHIEF REVENUE OFFICER

EVP & CHIEF MARKETING & MEMBERSHIP OFFICER

Suzi Watford

Myles Tanzer Saira Khan DIGITAL STAFF WRITER Lane Florsheim DIGITAL VISUALS EDITOR James Clarizio

Frank Filippo Kristin Heitmann SVP GLOBAL AGENCY PARTNERSHIPS Josh Rucci SVP B-TO-C Luke Bahrenburg SVP FINANCIAL John Kennelly VICE PRESIDENTS Robert Welch (B-TO-B), Sara Mascall (TELECOM & TECH), Anna Foot (EUROPE/ASIA), Colleen Schwartz (CORPORATE COMMUNICATIONS), Paul Cousineau (AD SERVICES) AD SERVICES, MAGAZINE MANAGER Don Lisk AD SERVICES, BUREAU ASSOCIATE Tom Roggina

EDI TORI A L BUSINE SS M A N AGEMEN T

NE WS CORP

Scott White COPY CHIEF Ali Bahrampour RESEARCH CHIEF Randy Hartwell COPY EDITOR Clare O’Shea

PRODUCTION DIRECTOR

RESEARCH EDITORS

Laura Casey, Dacus Thompson DIGI TA L DIGITAL EDITOR

SENIOR PLATFORM EDITOR

BUSINESS MANAGER

Rorna Richards Raymond Ang

NEWS ASSISTANT

EVP PRINT PRODUCTS AND SERVICES CHIEF COMMERCIAL OFFICER

EXECUTIVE CHAIRMAN

Rupert Murdoch Robert Thomson

CHIEF EXECUTIVE OFFICER

CON T RIBU T ING EDI TORS

Alex Bhattacharji, Michael Clerizo, Kelly Crow, Jason Gay, Andrew Goldman, Shakthi Jothianandan, Howie Kahn, Joshua Levine, Sarah Medford, Christopher Ross, Fanny Singer, Helios Xu ENTERTAINMENT DIRECTOR Andrea Oliveri for Special Projects CONTRIBUTING CASTING DIRECTOR Piergiorgio Del Moro


september 2019

CONTRIBUTORS Writer Joshua Levine had an unexpected experience reporting on the Cotswolds estate of famously minimalist designer John Pawson. “Like many people, I’ve always associated this kind of design sensibility with coldness, severity and a certain harshness,” says Levine. “What struck me here was the warmth of the man and of the house.” Photographer François Halard, whose images accompany the story, has known Pawson since the ’80s, when Halard shot one of Pawson’s first projects. They’ve kept in touch ever since. “The experience with John was really photographing a friend’s place,” says Halard. “It’s funny because we have very different approaches in terms of homes. His place is empty, and my place is full.” The photographer’s own house and studio, in Arles, France, figures in his forthcoming book, François Halard: A Visual Diary, along with his shots of Louise Bourgeois’s studio, Luis Barragán buildings and other artistically and architecturally rich spaces. “I really tried to mix different aesthetics,” he says. “It’s an homage to artists I like, whose work I wanted to be close to.”

IN FOCUS Clockwise from top left: Photographer François Halard; the cover of Halard’s new book, which will be published by Rizzoli in October; a spread from the book showing Eileen Gray’s Villa E-1027 on France’s Mediterranean coast; writer Joshua Levine.

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REBECCA BENGAL

J.R. MOEHRINGER

IKE EDEANI

Writer

Writer

Photographer

YE RIN MOK Photographer

SELF-PORTRAIT P. 82

NET GAINS P. 86

SELF-PORTRAIT P. 82

STILL LIFE P. 135

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CLOCKWISE FROM BOTTOM RIGHT: NICK CULLEN; SASHA ARUTYUNOVA; DONNA SVENNEVIK; COURTESY OF REBECCA BENGAL; F. MARTIN RAMIN, STYLING BY ANNE CARDENAS (BOOK); COURTESY OF JOSHUA LEVINE; COURTESY OF FRANÇOIS HALARD

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SOAPBOX

THE COLUMNISTS

WSJ. asks six luminaries to weigh in on a single topic. This month: Tension.

CAROLINE BRUZELIUS “Tension is a very good word for Gothic architecture—it describes what’s going on at various levels. A Gothic building has to be in tension; there’s the outward thrust of the vaults that needs to be counteracted by the flying buttresses. But on the inside, you don’t see those flying buttresses. You just see stone suspended almost 150 feet in the air. Underneath, there’s nothing but glass...what seems to be diaphanous walls. At Paris’s Notre Dame Cathedral, the dynamic relationship between the parts, the tension in which they exist, is exactly what’s so challenging about the restoration. Perhaps within this catastrophe there is a lesson for the public about the immense creativity, originality and yes, tension, in the creation of the great works of art. Reestablishing the equilibrium of the building, recreating the balance of the tension, is the challenge for now.” Bruzelius is the Anne M. Cogan professor emerita of art, art history and visual studies at Duke University.

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MICHAEL BRENDAN DOUGHERTY

CHERYL HAYASHI

FRANK MILLER

SARA GILBERT

BLACK FRANCIS

“In my book I tried to write about how, in a sense, our parents push us into the future and our children pull us back into the past. Often enough it’s your parents who are bothering you to bring about the future, get married, settle down, have children. In our hypermobile age, there’s this extended period where people are neither at home with their parents nor at home with their own children. The book is about how there is something slack about that middle period.... It gets too comfortable. There’s a tension in all of us of What is it to be free, truly free? Is it being able to hold onto what you want, or is there this greater freedom in letting go and surrendering to what fate and history have always had in store for you? That tension seems, at least in my own life, to be where growth happens.”

“Spider silk can be stronger than steel, and in terms of toughness it surpasses nearly all man-made materials. Spiders are naturally using tension to pull the silk out of their bodies, to make webs or to wrap their eggs or an insect they’ve caught for dinner. Especially when you’re wrapping prey, you don’t put them in a loose wrap—you wrap them tight! Tension is a way to store and release energy. As you start cutting away parts of a spider web, you’re releasing energy. But the amazing thing is that they’re designed such that, even if you break a line here or there, the web stays more or less intact. In nature, there are all kinds of solutions to problems. I can imagine the problem, but I could never have imagined how nature solved it. The rules of physics apply to spiders, but they do things their own way.”

“The conflict between Batman and Superman in The Dark Knight Returns was between two completely different points of view. Batman’s story begins with a murder and everything descending into chaos. Superman’s begins with him being raised as a small-town boy in a well-ordered world. He represents the more Apollonian side of the universe. These themes keep getting repeated. We always have our two sides. Story is conflict. Going back to ancient Greece, we have our tough, militaristic, Spartan side, but we also have our more intellectual, artistic side—the side geared towards beauty, which is distinctly Athenian. In any healthy person, both sides are present. To survive, one needs a bit of the Spartan in them, but for a reason to survive, one needs some of the Athenian. The tension between the two sides is part of what makes a human being work.”

“Tension can be uncomfortable, but the reason it exists is because it’s a signal that we need a shift. The tension builds and builds, and then you’re so uncomfortable that you’re forced into a new reality. And often it’s a better new reality. But I also think there’s value, as you get older, in looking at the tense moment, pausing and saying: Is it actually better to make a shift? Or am I just avoiding pain and jumping into more pain? Is this just a moment of discomfort, or what I am really supposed to do? Because everything passes, including tension. Oprah always says everything so well. I saw her once talk about how the universe whispers to you. It’s so true. Is this tension the universe trying to tell me something? If you can get still, I believe you really can know.”

“Tension is a necessary component of music. For something to be good, even if it’s a happy song, there has to be some kind of tension going on. When things sound boring, that’s a red flag for a musician. Where’s the tension? I think you can apply that to a lot of art forms. You see a film or look at a painting. When there’s no tension, it kind of falls flat. It’s sort of like when the wind is filling the sail. That doesn’t mean you’re in a storm and you’re about ready to capsize. It just means that it’s functioning the way it should, and there’s something that feels good about that wind in the sail. Or it’s like when the flag is blowing in the wind— the architecture of the flag is being served by the tension. The tension brings it up and shows it in all its glory.”

Dougherty is the author of the recent memoir My Father Left Me Ireland.

Hayashi is a curator and professor and the Leon Hess director of comparative biology research at the American Museum of Natural History in New York.

Miller is a cartoonist. A novel he illustrated, Cursed, is out next month and will be a Netflix series in 2020.

Gilbert is an actress and producer. She currently stars in and is an executive producer of the TV show The Conners.

Francis is the frontman of the Pixies, whose new album, Beneath the Eyrie, releases this month.

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SEP TEMBER 2019

the wsj. five SPLITTING IMAGE The most soughtafter pieces this fall are those with rugged elements that can weather any storm in style. PHOTOGRAPHY BY BENJAMIN BOUCHET STYLING BY ALEXANDER FISHER PROP STYLING BY DAVID DE QUEVEDO

1. THE BOOTS An ankle-high pair works from the sidewalk to the boardroom. Hermès boots.

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2. THE SUNGLASSES Frame the view with tortoiseshell. Fendi sunglasses.

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3. THE HAT A chic way to stay warm. Prada trapper hat.

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4. THE WATCH

A time machine that transports wearers to an elegant era. Patek Philippe watch.

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5. THE BAG Shoulder a calfskin militaryinspired piece. Ermenegildo Zegna XXX bag. For details see Sources, page 134.

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SEP TEMBER 2019

RIGHT ANGLE Yahya Abdul-Mateen II in Ami jacket, hoodie and pants, Vince Tshirt, Amiri socks, Golden Goose sneakers and Abdul-Mateen’s own rings.

what’s news.

NEXT ACT Yahya Abdul-Mateen II has already made his mark in projects like Us and Black Mirror. Now, in several upcoming roles, the actor takes the lead. BY RYAN BRADLEY PHOTOGRAPHY BY EMMAN MONTALVAN

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chess every day, mostly on an app on his phone. Lately, he’s been adopting a “very experimental” style. Sometimes, this means he plays against his own best interests, but in so doing, he says, certain truths are revealed—about the game, himself and his ever-expanding limits. This, as it happens, is a near-perfect metaphor for his whirlwind acting career. In just a few short years Abdul-Mateen has taken on a startlingly wide range of roles, from a disco-dancing hustler in The Get Down, to a trapeze artist in The Greatest Showman, to a comic-book super villain in Aquaman. He has also appeared in the series The Handmaid’s Tale and Black Mirror, as well as Jordan Peele’s film Us. And he didn’t even begin acting seriously until about five years ago. Abdul-Mateen was born in New Orleans and grew up in Oakland, California. He was the youngest of six in a household that was both Christian and Muslim and, he says, a magical place where “everything was always fun, always good.” From age 6, he dreamed of becoming an architect, and in 2004, he enrolled at the University of California, Berkeley to do just that. While in school, he worked for the San Francisco Mayor’s Office of Housing and Community Development, teaching young people from disadvantaged neighborhoods the basics of architecture and urban planning so that they could weigh in on projects reshaping where they lived. A string of events occurred that drew AbdulMateen to acting, first as a creative release, then as a career. At Berkeley, he was performing a skit with his track team, doing impressions of the coaches and making everyone crack up. One of his teammates told him he should look into acting classes, because, as the teammate put it, they were more like recess— pure play. Abdul-Mateen dived in, discovering that the classes were not simply fun but also helpful with his stutter, which disappeared when he was onstage. Then, in 2007, his father, Yahya Abdul-Mateen I, died of cancer at the age of 62. It shook the tightknit family, particularly its youngest son. Abdul-Mateen was already rethinking his life when the funding for his project at the mayor’s office dried up in 2010. A year later, he was accepted into the Yale School of

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Drama. “I’m going to give myself three years to make significant progress,” AbdulMateen told himself of acting. At the end of the three-year program, he was awarded the school’s esteemed Herschel Williams Prize, given to one student per class. The same year he graduated, an agent saw him onstage as King Leontes in Shakespeare’s The Winter’s Tale and passed his name along for an audition for Baz Luhrmann’s Netflix series The Get Down. He landed the role before graduating and made his deadline. Ever since, Abdul-Mateen has been living wherever the work takes him. In late July, when we meet in Los Angeles, he’s just left Atlanta, where he filmed Watchmen, Damon Lindelof’s new and highly secretive HBO drama (out October 20). Over a bowl of oatmeal (his favorite food) at FOODLAB in West Hollywood, Abdul-Mateen reflects on his stint in L.A. a year ago, when he was chasing down role after role. The word appetite comes to mind. “Now,” he says of his current state, “I want to change that to gratitude.” After wrapping the blockbuster Aquaman in 2018, he told himself, “I need some dirt—I need to actually touch the dirt.” He was soon flying to Ethiopia to film Sweetness in the Belly (premiering at this year’s Toronto International Film Festival), in which he plays a doctor and love interest opposite Dakota Fanning. Abdul-Mateen is currently in L.A. to shoot some additional scenes for the upcoming film All Day and a Night, which he stars in with Jeffrey Wright. And then he’s off to Chicago’s Cabrini-Green to film the lead role in Jordan Peele’s remake of the cult classic horror flick Candyman, out in June 2020. “He’s

AT EASE Louis Vuitton jacket, Vince T-shirt and Abdul-Mateen’s own rings. Styling, Dex Robinson; grooming, Shannon Pezzetta. For details see Sources, page 134.

one of those actors that has leading-man charisma but also the ability to be a versatile character actor,” Peele says via email, adding that Abdul-Mateen’s “tremendous training but also a clear sense of adventure” are what drew him to work with the actor. After Abdul-Mateen’s run of roles in big-budget films, he says he’s aiming to showcase a different side. “I hope people know the simpler me,” he says of his upcoming work. “Not everything is flashy or big or shiny or super charismatic.” This new slate of roles is also in line with his daily chess strategy. “I’m moving out of the experimental phase,” he says of the game. He is seeing several moves ahead in his career as well, thinking about where he’d like to be in the future. “I’m becoming more strategic,” he says, “more intentional.”

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Wrap up for chilly weather in oversize scarves that add an extra layer of texture, warmth and color. LO

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For details see Sources, page 134.

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F. MARTIN RAMIN, STYLING BY ANNE CARDENAS

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TIME MACHINES

SITTING PRETTY Curling up in a cozy spot is one of the pleasures of fall, a sensation that Patricia Urquiola, the art director of Cassina, channels with her deep-seated Back-Wing chair. An exposed wood frame supports the gently curving back as it flares out into subtle armrests, slimming the traditional wingback model down to its elegant essentials. Available this month, the chair comes in fabric or leather with a choice of two different woods in multiple finishes. From $3,830; cassina.com. —Sarah Medford

FIRST HAND Mapa Wiya (Your Map’s Not Needed): Australian Aboriginal Art From the Fondation Opale opens at Houston’s Menil Collection this month with more than 100 pieces by Aboriginal artists, including Ronnie Tjampitjinpa’s 1994 work Tingari Cycle at a Site Adjacent to Wilkinkarra, shown here. menil.org

For details see Sources, page 134.

ON BE AUT Y

Taking its title from the fi rst century B.C. poem by Lucretius, the skin-care brand natureofthings, launching this month, honors the therapeutic ritual of bathing with soaking and moisturizing products composed of minerals and plant-based ingredients like CBD. natureofthings.com. —Fiorella Valdesolo 56

UNCOMMON THREAD MAJEDA CLARKE IS HELPING REVIVE AN AGE-OLD WEAVING PRACTICE FROM HER HOME COUNTRY OF BANGLADESH.

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made the leap from teacher to weaver a few years ago, she had a lot more in mind than just a lifestyle change. Clarke, who is based in London, was born in Bangladesh, where an ancient tradition of cottage-style weaving is slowly fading. Particularly vulnerable has been the production of Jamdani muslin—a superfi ne cotton or silk that was all the rage in Regency England and dates as far back as Roman times, when it was called “woven air” by the writer Petronius. After learning basic Jamdani techniques, Clarke began experimenting with the traditional patterns, retooling them to broaden the audience for the diaphanous cloth. She now works with a circle of Bengali weavers who produce bespoke curtains and fabric by the yard as well as featherweight scarves, all with a delicate, calligraphic beauty. “To me, it created an incredible kind of hybridity, mixing cultures and design,” Clarke says of Jamdani and its legacy. “We can do it again.” This month, she arrives at the London Design Festival, with new Jamdani designs alongside tapestrylike woolen blankets for the British market, conceived on her own London loom. majedaclarke.com. —S.M. WSJ. M AGA ZINE

CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT: COURTESY OF CASSINA; F. MARTIN RAMIN, STYLING BY ANNE CARDENAS; THOM ATKINSON; RONNIE TJAMPITJINPA, TINGARI CYCLE AT A SITE ADJACENT TO WILKINKARRA, 1994. SYNTHETIC POLYMER ON CANVAS, 72 1/8 × 60 1/4 IN. (183 × 153 CM.), FONDATION OPALE, SWITZERLAND. © AGENCY/ARTISTS RIGHTS SOCIETY (ARS), NEW YORK, 2019. IMAGE COURTESY OF FONDATION OPALE, LENS, SWITZERLAND. PHOTO: REDOT FINE ART GALLERY; F. MARTIN RAMIN, STYLING BY ANNE CARDENAS

OB JECT OF DE SIRE

Cartier’s Privé Tonneau is named after the French word for “barrel,” a reference to its rounded silhouette and curved case. The new rosegold version of the 1906 design offers rhodiumplated numbers and a sapphire crown.


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TREND REP ORT

HAVE IT ALL

With enough space for a laptop, a change of clothes or the latest must-read novel, fall’s roomy leather bags are made for today’s busy, productive lives.

MATERIAL WORLD

J. Hill’s Standard is a five-year-old Irish crystal company based in County Waterford, where glassmaking traditions go back centuries. Its latest collection—a set of four tumblers, a carafe, a decanter and a bowl—is a collaboration with Irish illustrator Nigel Peake, who has worked with Hermès and Flos. For J. Hill’s Standard, Peake created a series of line-based patterns that have been cut to look hand drawn. The glassware debuts this fall at Les Ateliers Courbet, the NYC design gallery. jhillsstandard.com.

HOLD IT Bags, from far left: MCM, Ralph Lauren Collection, Michael Kors Collection, Bottega Veneta, Furla, Tod’s. Bottega Veneta clothing and shoes. For details see Sources, page 134. Photography by Sophie Tajan; styling by Laura Stoloff.

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FINE FORM Fabien Baron: Works 1983–2019 chronicles the career of the creative director known for putting his visual stamp on everything from Calvin Klein ads to Interview magazine. With a foreword by Kate Moss, the book is a comprehensive look at Baron’s distinctive graphic approach over the past four decades. $200; phaidon.com. WSJ. M AGA ZINE

CLOCKWISE FROM FAR LEFT: MODEL, ROCIO MARCONI AT NEXT MANAGEMENT, HAIR, BRAYDON NELSON, MAKEUP, MAKI HASEGAWA, MANICURE, YUKO TSUCHIHASHI; DOREEN KILFEATHER, COURTESY OF J. HILL’S STANDARD; F. MARTIN RAMIN, STYLING BY ANNE CARDENAS

IN THE CLEAR


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ONCE UPON A TIME

A classic Rolex builds on its innovative heritage.

In 1945, Rolex debuted its Datejust. Waterproof and self-winding, with the date peeking out at the 3 o’clock mark, it incorporated many of the recent innovations in watchmaking. The latest versions of the timepiece, including the Oyster Perpetual Datejust 36 shown here, also feature technological advances, such as Rolex’s caliber 3235, a self-winding movement introduced last year that allows for a 70-hour power reserve. And they retain their classic look: This option has a 1945 bracelet design and a case that mixes 18-karat white gold and the brand’s proprietary superalloy steel. For details see Sources, page 134. PHOTOGRAPHY BY SERGIY BARCHUK FASHION EDITOR ALEXANDER FISHER SET DESIGN BY MILA TAYLOR-YOUNG

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FRESH PRINTS

LOE W E

Fall’s boldest looks feature photographic collages, graphic clips of text and pop-style portraits.

MOS TE SSEN T I A L T R AV EL A P P : WA Z E .

MOS TUSED A P P : INS TAGR A M.

THE DOWNLOAD

ANTONI POROWSKI

The Queer Eye star, whose first cookbook, Antoni in the Kitchen, is just out, shares what’s on his phone. Number of unread emails Right now? 4,443. Number of contacts in your phone 2,408. Times when you stay off your phone Sundays; during meals. Sundays are for rest, and meals for being with humans. Favorite shopping app 1stdibs. Most-surprising app you depend on [The sneaker-buying app] GOAT. Favorite Instagram feeds you follow @jvntoni, @–nitch, @garyjanetti. Favorite Instagram photo The fi rst I ever posted. It’s still up there. Me in my previous apartment’s kitchen making dinner. It was a happy time. Alarm settings 6:50 a.m. on weekdays; 8:45 a.m. on weekends; no alarm on vacation. Favorite food-related app Caviar or Postmates. Favorite podcast Reply All. 62

Battery percentage at which you feel compelled to charge your phone 70 percent. I carry three extra batteries. Funniest text message you got this week “The closest I’ve come to drag was when my sister put me in a ballet skirt to help her sell lemonade.” Person you FaceTime most often [Queer Eye co-star] Jonathan Van Ness. Craziest place you’ve left your phone My freezer. Most-recent call To my best friend and agent, Ben Levine. App you wish someone would invent A dog park fi nder. (I do not own a dog.) Favorite ringtone I never have my ringtone on, but when I used to, it was the House of Cards theme. Strangest autocorrect mishap When I try to write “Tanny Banny” [a nickname for his co-star Tan France] and it corrects to “Tanny nanny.” Your most retweeted tweet “OMG Ranch dressing on everything is so good.”

PICTURE PERFECT Clockwise from top left: Stella McCartney shirt; MSGM coat; 8 Moncler Palm Angels scarf; Dior Men shirt; Christian Louboutin sneakers. For details see Sources, page 134.

VA L EN T INO

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ALESSANDRA OLANOW/ILLUSTRATION DIVISION (PHONE ILLUSTRATION); LESICHKALLL27/SHUTTERSTOCK (BACKGROUND); COURTESY OF VALENTINO; COURTESY OF LOEWE

OU TGOING VOICEM A IL ME SSAGE: “ I DON’ T T HINK I H AV E ONE .”


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FERTILE GROUND

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AST FEBRUARY Rodman Primack and Rudy F. Weissenberg put down roots in Mexico City, a place they felt was undergoing a renaissance in design. Primack had just left his position of five years as a director of Design Miami, and Weissenberg, a former telenovela producer who also worked with Rick Owens on his furniture, had recently received a master’s in design studies from Harvard. The couple got to work on their new gallery-cumincubator, AGO Projects, which debuts this fall. A profusion of homegrown and imported galleries has cemented Mexico City’s reputation of late as an international arts capital. It also remains an affordable place for creatives to live and work. “It’s so fertile,” says Weissenberg. “Design is everywhere.... It’s part of the whole ecosystem that we wanted to tap into.” AGO Projects’ light-filled Colonia Juárez space was designed by Mexican architect Tatiana Bilbao, whose firm sits just one floor below it in the 1970s

DOUBLE PLAY Rudy F. Weissenberg and Rodman Primack at their Mexico City gallery, AGO Projects.

modernist high-rise they share. Primack is also operating a branch of his 15-year-old interiors firm, RP Miller, out of the gallery, and Weissenberg is at work on designcentric real estate projects such as an 18-story Guatemala City tower, also designed by Bilbao. The inaugural AGO exhibition opens September 21 with newly commissioned work by Lanza Atelier, a local architecture studio helmed by Isabel Martínez Abascal and Alessandro Arienzo. Martínez Abascal says that Primack and Weissenberg gave the duo “complete freedom to research and propose pieces that are relevant to our times, that can appeal to the people, make them feel and think.” Lanza’s furniture, made from local hardwoods and powder-coated or painted metal, incorporates complicated hinges that allow it to fold and move in unexpected ways. “There are makers everywhere here,” says Primack. “At AGO, we’re open to exploring all different kinds of creative expression.” ago-projects.com. —Fanny Singer

MUSICAL NOTES From punk progenitors Patti Smith and Debbie Harry to indie darlings Liz Phair and Tegan and Sara, some of the most exciting women in rock have written four of the fall’s must-read memoirs. —Mark Yarm 64

Horror Stories Best known for her influential 1993 album, Exile in Guyville, rocker Liz Phair lays it bare in this poignant look back at pivotal moments in her life and career (Oct. 8).

High School Identical twins Tegan and Sara Quin’s document of their teenage years coincides with Hey, I’m Just Like You, new recordings of unreleased songs they wrote back then (Sept. 24).

Face It Now 74, Blondie frontwoman Debbie Harry tells all—from her former heroin addiction to her attempted kidnapping by a man she thinks was Ted Bundy to her star turns onscreen (Oct. 1).

Year of the Monkey Patti Smith, the National Book Award–winning author of Just Kids and M Train, blends fact and fiction as she reflects on her life and American politics during an eventful 2016 (Sept. 24). WSJ. M AGA ZINE

CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT: GUSTAVO GARCIA-VILLA; RICHARD E. AARON/GETTY; BRIAN COOKE/GETTY; STEFAN HOEDERATH/GETTY; JEFF KRAVITZ/GETTY

With their new Mexico City gallery, two design-world veterans are tapping into the capital’s thriving creative culture.


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ART TALK

DEPTH OF FIELD An interview with the widow of Roy DeCarava, whose sublime photographs go on view at David Zwirner this fall.

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N THE LATE ’60S I was working at the Brooklyn Museum, which was then this sleepy giant. I lectured on nonWestern art. One day, I was at a friend’s apartment, and he asked whether I knew of Roy DeCarava. He wanted to introduce us. So Roy and I met, but I had actually already sent a letter inviting him to speak for a series at the museum about contemporary African-American artists. And it turned out that Roy had seen me on public access television, interviewing people and showing African art, and reached out to an artist friend of his and said, “Why don’t you introduce me to nice people like this?” His friend had suggested I invite Roy to the museum, but of course he was already on my list. So it was always a little hard for me and Roy to determine who had contacted who fi rst. People carry their character on their face, and Roy was cool, quiet, observant and thoughtful. Everything you’d want a nice guy to be. He had very special qualities. And you couldn’t actually put your fi nger on exactly what it was about him, but he was different. Many years later, he’d say, “Look at me and see my work. Look at my work and see me.” He had this incredible union with photography. It allowed his eye, his spirit and his intellectual capacity to come through. He had been involved with art since childhood. By the time he was 5 he knew he wanted to be an artist, and the tough guys on his block in Harlem also recognized him as an artist. That status protected him. In high school, he took an art history class with a young teacher, and it blew his mind. He started painting seriously. It gave him time to develop that hand-eye coordination, which influenced his photography, his sensitivity to forms, shapes, structure and the image. He didn’t attend the École des Beaux-Arts—it was more like the street version. So when he switched to photography in the 1940s, he had this incredible foundation.

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He began freelancing and worked for a number of commercial magazines, including Sports Illustrated. People are surprised to hear that, but it was a steady job. What troubled Roy most was the lack of support from fellow photographers. He took his work to [the prestigious photo agency] Magnum, but they weren’t interested. One rewarding relationship he did have was with [photographer and MoMA curator] Edward Steichen, who saw this raw, unbelievable talent. I think he was operational in securing the Guggenheim Fellowship [for Roy], which allowed Roy to photograph for an entire year without interruption. But I can’t say that anyone ever fully accepted Roy and his work. Roy was fascinated by photographing couples. He felt that there was a magnetism between men and women that went unaddressed by photographers who were more interested in superficial aspects of relationships rather than the things people expressed in gestures, words and through interaction. He photographed the invisible. I was interested in music and had been taking piano lessons. I wasn’t a prodigy or anything. I don’t remember him taking the picture for Sherry Singing. All I remember is seeing it as a fi nished image and him titling it. I didn’t even realize I was singing. I thought I was just practicing [piano]. We often think of artists and artwork as expressing the deepest emotions of the artist, but Roy’s work expresses the deepest emotions of the subject and the artist. It’s kind of the ultimate couple. That’s part of his work, the kind of mystery of fi nding the subject and fi nding the thing that can’t be expressed openly. —As told to Thomas Gebremedhin

CANDID CAMERA Clockwise from top: Roy DeCarava’s 1952 photograph Woman and Children at Intersection, on view at David Zwirner’s 19th Street gallery in New York; the album covers for Big Bill Broonzy’s 1958 Big Bill’s Blues and Miles Davis’s 1959 Porgy and Bess, which feature DeCarava’s photography; Sherry Singing, a 1983 portrait he took of his wife, Sherry Turner DeCarava.

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CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT: ROY DECARAVA, WOMAN AND CHILDREN AT INTERSECTION, 1952 © 2019 THE ESTATE OF ROY DECARAVA. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED; F. MARTIN RAMIN (RECORDS); ROY DECARAVA, SHERRY SINGING, 1983 © 2019 THE ESTATE OF ROY DECARAVA. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The photographer Roy DeCarava (1919–2009) was known for his quietly moving black-and-white photographs of everyday life in Harlem. His affinity for music and musicians came through in his art; during his career he photographed jazz musicians such as Billie Holiday, John Coltrane and Duke Ellington, and his work appeared on covers for albums like Miles Davis’s Porgy and Bess and Mahalia Jackson’s Bless This House. This fall, the artist’s work is on view at two of David Zwirner’s New York City galleries in what is the most comprehensive survey of his work since MoMA’s 1996 retrospective. WSJ. spoke with art historian Sherry Turner DeCarava, the artist’s widow, whose writing appears in the books Zwirner is publishing to accompany each exhibition.


SEP TEMBER 2019

market report. LONG & SHORT OF IT Keep whites going with layers of caramel and camel. From left: Boss coat, Brunello Cucinelli turtleneck, Maximum Henry belt, Sandro jeans and Santoni shoes; Herno jacket, Loro Piana cardigan and trousers, Vince T-shirt and Sperry sneakers.

CULT CLASSICS As autumn approaches, the essential pieces for everyday wear include coats of every description. PHOTOGRAPHY BY KYLE WEEKS STYLING BY ALEXANDER FISHER

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M A RK E T REP OR T

DUFFEL TAKE Preppy-inspired pieces are all grown up. Below, from left: No. 21 coat, Bally sweater and Lanvin trousers (also in photo at left, with Sperry sneakers); Lanvin sweater, Margaret Howell trousers and Vans sneakers; Tod’s jacket and trousers, Sandro turtleneck and Maximum Henry belt (also in photo at left).

TRUNK CLUB Sleepwear that looks good enough to take to the streets. From left: Michael Kors Collection coat and Zimmerli of Switzerland pajamas; Tom Ford coat and Derek Rose pajamas; Etro coat and Sleepy Jones pajamas.

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M A RK E T REP OR T

M A RK E T REP OR T

SLICK MOVES Leather gets basic. From left: Tom Ford jacket and trousers and Buck Mason T-shirt; Brioni coat and Brunello Cucinelli sweater.

CABLE GUY A chunky knit that tops trousers with aplomb. Isabel Marant sweater, Missoni trousers and Santoni shoes.

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M A RK E T REP OR T

HOUSE PARTY Dress up denim with a topcoat, or match suits with sneakers. Above, from left: Gabriela Hearst jacket and trousers, Lacoste shirt, Dries Van Noten x Linda Farrow sunglasses and Sperry sneakers; Versace jacket and trousers, Lacoste shirt, Oliver Peoples sunglasses and Golden Goose sneakers; Brioni jacket and trousers, Lacoste shirt, Oliver Peoples sunglasses and Jimmy Choo sneakers. Right: Burberry clothing. Opposite, from left: Hermès coat, J. Crew shirt, B Sides jeans, Maximum Henry belt and Brioni shoes; John Varvatos coat, Vince T-shirt, Re/Done jeans and Golden Goose sneakers. Models, A’Shaun Benjamin at Red NYC, Alex Yañez at Akrav Agency and Rai Langlois at Midland Agency; grooming, Ingeborg. For details see Sources, page 134.

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SEP TEMBER 2019

the exchange. VEGAN, BABY Camilla Fayed at the Chefs Club Counter in SoHo, where her restaurant, Farmacy, has a residency this month.

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CAMILLA FAYED The vegan restaurateur, an avid convert to the healthy life, brings her London hot spot, Farmacy, to New York City. BY LANE FLORSHEIM PHOTOGRAPHY BY CAROLINE TOMPKINS

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’M A FARMER at heart,” says Camilla Fayed. It’s not the way most people would expect a Londonborn heiress to describe herself, but Fayed, 34, lives on a biodynamic farm in Kent, England. It supplies her three-year-old Notting Hill vegan restaurant, Farmacy—a favorite of Fayed’s friends, like Stella McCartney and Margherita Missoni— with much of its organic produce, including squash, strawberries, herbs and five varieties of lettuce. This month, Farmacy joins the restaurant-inresidence program at Chefs Club Counter in New York City’s SoHo neighborhood, serving “Earth bowls” of quinoa and kombu seaweed as well as seasonal pizzettas. It’s the first extended foray stateside for Fayed, who hopes to have a permanent location in New York by the end of 2020 and has her sights set on Los Angeles after that. One of four children of former Harrods owner Mohamed al-Fayed and former model Heini Wathén, Fayed grew up in Surrey. (She also had a half-brother, Dodi Fayed, who died alongside Princess Diana in a car crash in 1997 when Camilla was 12 years old.) She went to boarding school in Brighton, then worked at various family businesses. In 2011 she bought a controlling stake in the London-based clothing label Issa, whose wrap dress Kate Middleton wore to announce her 2010 engagement to Prince William. Fayed’s own conversion to veganism was spurred by her first pregnancy. (In addition to her daughter, Luna, now 9, Fayed and her husband, real estate developer Mohamed Esreb, have a 7-yearold son, Numair.) “I did everything to excess,” she explains. “My eating habits were predominantly fast food—I had high cholesterol. Having my daughter at a young age propelled me into thinking my relationship with food had to change.” She spent years educating herself about nutrition, veganism and fasting. Unable to find many restaurants in London that fit her new lifestyle, she started planning her own. In 2016, the year after Issa closed, she launched Farmacy. “I love restaurants, I’m social, I love eating out with friends,” she says. “It was a gap in the market.” Farmacy is popular, Fayed says, because it doesn’t feel like a vegan restaurant. “It’s not a preachy space,” she says. “It’s part of the restaurant industry. It’s not a hippie joint.” Transparency in food, she believes, is becoming standard. “It’s exciting to help define the new normal,” she says. >

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T R ACK ED

T HE E XCH A NGE

101 plants

10:45 a.m.

Left: Camilla Fayed meets with consultant Carlos Mota to discuss the interior design plans for Farmacy’s pop-up.

The leafy greens growing in Farmacy’s London location.

44,383 shots Amount sold this year of Farmacy’s herbal concoctions, taken orally but packaged in syringes.

12:02 p.m.

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Right: Fayed and Mota visit event design company Jerry Schwartz NY to look at fabrics, wallpaper and furniture.

a.m. The time that Fayed wakes up each day. “I’m usually twiddling my thumbs waiting for my kids to get up,” she says.

2:40 p.m.

Far left: Choosing table settings at the Chefs Club office. Fayed met Chefs Club co-owners Stephane De Baets and Sabrina Huls via friends. Left: A selection of plates and flatware.

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crops The different varieties of herbs, vegetables and fruit grown at her Kent farm.

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vitamins The supplements that Fayed takes daily, including spirulina and omega-3 fatty acids.

5:00 p.m.

Visiting John Derian West for decorating inspiration. “Do you have anything with mushrooms on it?” Fayed asks.

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suppliers The food vendors whom Fayed works with in London. She has 15 in New York.

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weeks The time that Fayed’s team spent on step-by-step videos of how to make dishes including berry ripple probiotic jars and kimchi bowls.

40%

of customers The percentage of guests whom Fayed estimates ask where Farmacy’s food is sourced to ensure it’s local.

3:26 p.m.

Above: Making a site visit to Chefs Club Counter, where Fayed meets biodynamic farmer Eric Starosielski of Old Village Farm in Milford, New Jersey.

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plastic straws The number that Farmacy’s London location has used since opening. š WSJ. M AGA ZINE


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ART TALK

SELF-PORTRAIT Artist Nathaniel Mary Quinn collages together his past and present to create expressionistic works, and his show at Gagosian’s Beverly Hills gallery has him primed for the big time. BY REBECCA BENGAL PHOTOGRAPH BY IKE EDEANI

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EFORE Nathaniel Mary Quinn became known as an artist, his friends urged him to do stand-up comedy—growing up on Chicago’s South Side, he was raised on Richard Pryor and Rudy Ray Moore. Now, Quinn, 42, sees that kind of searing comedy as a model for his portraits. “I want to make works like Redd Foxx. I want to make works like Dave Chappelle,” he says. He launches into a famous bit of Chappelle’s, “Mickey Mouse Is Mexican,” in which Chappelle knocks the head off a Disney World character, revealing the identity of the person underneath. “That kind of bait and switch, I find that so inspiring. How can I make works with that sort of fluidity and perfection?” In his studio in Brooklyn’s Crown Heights neighborhood, where he clocks 14-hour days, seven days a week, Quinn is dressed in sweats and a Tommy Hilfiger polo shirt, bearded, head shaved close. He calls himself short—he is 5 foot 8—but his sense of size may be skewed by the NBA players he’s hosted here, such as Carmelo Anthony and Amar’e Stoudemire. His collectors include Anderson Cooper, Ari Emanuel, Lenny Kravitz and Elton John. Quinn’s works, which have earned comparisons to those of old masters, cubist painters and more recent stars like Francis Bacon and John Currin, are in the collections of New York’s Whitney Museum of American Art and Brooklyn Museum, among others. Most people these days, including his wife of nine years, Donna Augustin-Quinn, an actress, writer and producer, simply call him Quinn. The Mary in his name is for his mother, who was illiterate and never finished school. After her sudden death in 1992, he folded her name into his, so that Mary Quinn effectively graduated from high school and college. Following a several-years-long streak of acclaimed exhibitions worldwide—including the 2017 Rhona Hoffman Gallery show Nothing’s Funny that included portraits of Pryor and Bill Cosby—Nathaniel Mary Quinn joined the Gagosian gallery roster of artists this spring. For his show with Gagosian, opening in its Beverly Hills location on September 11, his works focus on doubts and fears. “I thought Beverly Hills would be the perfect context for that,” Quinn says, deadpan. Viewing one of Quinn’s disjointed, expressionistic portraits is a startling and visceral experience. Whether a disproportionately large nose, an abstracted mouth or mismatched eyes, each feature is made jarring and human through a mix of photorealistic detail and handmade execution. “All along the edges there’s an element of surprise. There

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are things you wouldn’t expect but they all serve the purpose,” says Mark Pascale, Janet and Craig Duchossois Curator of Prints and Drawings at the Art Institute of Chicago, which has acquired works by Quinn. “There’s this amazing heat from his hand.” Six years ago, Quinn had the kind of breakthrough that artists dream about. At the time, he was teaching at-risk youth and tutoring on the side, making figurative works by night. A mother of a student was hosting a private art salon and had requested five paintings from him. By the day of the salon he had completed four, and in mere hours he’d need to produce a fifth. He sourced internet and magazine images and photos from personal albums, and began to draw and paint a face. The clock was ticking. He isolated only eyes, nose, mouth and a fur hat. “I remove the construction paper, and before me is a work unlike anything I’ve ever made,” he says. “And right away, the work told me, that’s my brother Charles—it was that smirk. “I thought, to hell with the overintellectualizing,” he says. “This is real freedom. And I’ve been working that way ever since.” More than two decades have passed since Quinn last saw Charles. Quinn’s biography is one of crushing loss, which he wrote about last year, at Elton John’s urging, in British Vogue. The singer, who owns three of Quinn’s works, invited him over to his home in L.A. “He’s in his Adidas jumpsuit and he’s all, ‘Hello, dahling, I’ve gone to talk to Vogue about you,’” Quinn recalls. Quinn grew up on Elton John; his four much-older half-brothers were big fans. Quinn was the baby; Charles was the second youngest. It was Charles who pointed out Quinn’s talent when their mother scolded him for drawing on the walls of the family’s apartment in Chicago’s Robert Taylor Homes. So she relented, washing away his sketches between sessions. “My mom was always cleaning—my parents didn’t have a lot of money, but she was very prideful,” Quinn says. “And she did all that with one arm! There’s people with two arms, lazy as hell, and here’s my mom with one arm doing all this work.” Two strokes had left Mary Quinn impaired. Quinn remembers her as a wisecracking woman who loved gospel music and church. The Thanksgiving dinners she cooked for gang members in the notoriously violent projects offered one measure of protection. “I was Mary Quinn’s son, and nobody messed with my mother,” he says. Art was another—gang members liked seeing themselves featured in the comic strips that “Lil Nate,” as they called him, drew for them.

All his half-brothers had dropped out of school, but Mary got Quinn on a tumbling team that performed at halftime shows for the Chicago Bulls. An assistant principal helped Quinn apply for a scholarship to Culver Academies, a boarding school in Indiana. In October of his freshman year at Culver, Mary Quinn died—possibly of another stroke. Quinn went home for her funeral and then back to Culver, feeling the gulf widen between himself and the other students. A month later, it would widen impossibly. When he returned home for Thanksgiving, Quinn discovered his family’s apartment empty, the door ajar. A neighbor told him his father and half-brothers had moved out weeks ago. “My family had abandoned me,” Quinn wrote in Vogue, “scattered by poverty, addiction and grief. I was 15.” He spent the night in the vestibule of another building and made his way back to Culver, the only place he had to live. After he earned a diploma, he kept going, all the way to an M.F.A. at NYU. Quinn says he takes nothing for granted now, least of all his wife. “Marriages are an everyday date,” he says. Therapy has revealed, he says, how abandonment had perhaps saved him: “I used to think I’d be dead by the time I was 18.” A few years ago, he finally spoke with Charles. “I said, ‘You knew I was coming home, so why weren’t you there?’ And he couldn’t own up,” Quinn says. He told his brother he forgave him, and added, “but after this phone call you will never hear from me again.” He now has some contact with a nephew, the son of his oldest half-brother, who is closer to his age. Works in the Gagosian show include Jekyll and Hyde, a diptych of asymmetrical halves of a face, with intensely watchful eyes. Quinn says it is, in part, about rage. “That’s me putting my wound on the table,” he says. Another new piece, Farewell, is based on a memory of his mother, waving goodbye as Quinn left for boarding school—the last time he’d see her alive. “The reality is, we all have to come face to face with things that are inescapable,” he says. “You too will confront death and loss. And you will confront heartbreak.... Even in the thicket of the gorgeous plan of beauty, this machine of pain is going to penetrate through all of that. It’s coming, and nothing can stop it.” He is smiling cheerfully as he says all of this. “We spend a lot of time presenting ourselves as super confident and strong, but we’re not,” Quinn says. There’s power, the work around him suggests, in making that fragmentation visible. “We don’t have it together. That’s OK. I think it’s beautiful to embrace that.” š

STUDIO AUDIENCE “That’s me putting my wound on the table,” says Nathaniel Mary Quinn, here in his Crown Heights, Brooklyn, studio, of one of his new autobiographical works.

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STANDING TALL Kevin Durant—a two-time NBA Finals MVP, 2014 League MVP and four-time scoring leader—wears his number for the Brooklyn Nets. Nike jersey and shorts.


MOVING ON “I’ve always been on a search,” says Durant, who in July signed a four-year $164 million deal with the Brooklyn Nets. Of his time with the Warriors, he says, “I came in there wanting to be part of a group, wanting to be part of a family, and definitely felt accepted. As time went on, I started to realize I’m just different from the rest of the guys.” Nike jersey.

NET GAINS

Kevin Durant’s final season with the Warriors ended with a ruptured Achilles and no championship. Now he’s focused on his recovery and elated to be coming to Brooklyn, so can everyone stop worrying about whether or not he’s happy?

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BY J.R. MOEHRINGER PHOTOGRAPHY BY MARIO SORRENTI STYLING BY SYDNEY ROSE THOMAS


LUCKY SEVEN Durant, who was on crutches for weeks after his injury, chose to wear No. 7 for the Nets because it represents completion in the Bible (God rested on the seventh day, after creating Heaven and Earth). Nike jersey and shorts.

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OME DAYS I HATE THE NBA ,” Kevin Durant says wearily.  

He’s facedown on a padded table, wearing dark workout shorts, a weathered gray DMX T-shirt, a Washington Redskins fleece draped over his shoulders. A physical therapist leans over him, wafting circulation-boosting lasers up and down his surgically repaired right calf. “Some days I hate the circus of the NBA,” he says. “Some days I hate that the players let the NBA business, the fame that comes with the business, alter their minds about the game. Sometimes I don’t like being around the executives and politics that come with it. I hate that.” Since June 10, when Durant crumpled to the floor with a ruptured Achilles, halting Game 5 of the NBA Finals and casting a pall over the rest of the series, it’s been The Question: Will the two-time Finals MVP, 2014 league MVP, four-time scoring leader, ever be the same? But listen to him for just a few minutes: He won’t. He’s already a different person.  The change is more than cosmetic, more than simply leaving the Golden State Warriors and signing a four-year $164 million deal with the Brooklyn Nets. It’s more than dropping his longtime number, 35, which possessed enormous symbolism. (A beloved youth coach and mentor was shot and killed at 35 years old.) The change feels elemental, as if Durant’s brush with basketball mortality made him see how fast it all might go away, how fast it will go away (he turns 31 this month), and it scared him, or matured him, or made him think.  And he was already a thinker. “I’ve always been on a search,” he says.  Producer Brian Grazer, a creative partner, says Durant is one of the most original, idiosyncratic minds you’re likely to meet in the world of sports. Grazer recalls a talk Durant gave at a Google retreat in Sicily. During the Q&A someone asked what made Durant so great. Coolly, Durant replied: “Paranoia.”  But all this is guesswork, and Durant hates the way people are forever guessing about his psyche, which is another reason he hates the NBA. So here’s another guess: Maybe he’s not changed, or not merely changed— maybe he’s also dead tired. He sounds tired, looks tired, with good reason. His 12-year NBA career has featured outsize doses of drama, scandal, injuries, gutting losses, fierce beefs, dramatic exits, emotional returns, burner accounts. Even his most devoted fans (Mom and Dad) say the ruptured Achilles and the yearlong layoff it will likely require might be a blessing.  In every sense of the word, the man needs to heal. The healing starts here, in this $24  million neo-brutalist mansion nailed to the side of a cliff above Beverly Hills. Level with the tops of the Santa Monica Mountains, eye-to-eye with the raptors that surf the swirly updrafts, this will be the setting for Phase One of Durant’s rebuild.  In some ways the place is mega-normal, just “WITHOUT another stately pleasure dome of superstardom BASKETBALL I (seven bedrooms, 12 bathrooms; rent: $90,000 WOULDN’T HAVE a month). But at moments there’s a weird vibe. DONE MUCH The house feels like a chrysalis, or a crypt, depending on your point of view, and not simply ON EARTH.... I because the front door is a giant sliding slab of WOULDN’T HAVE stone. Whatever comes next for Durant—a comSEEN STUFF promised skill set, a comeback for the ages—it THAT I’VE SEEN.” will be determined largely by what happens within these concrete walls, inside these unac–KEVIN DURANT countably dark rooms, and this inescapable truth can really throw off the feng shui.  Even the man installing the special low-resistance treadmill in the living room looks a little tense.  Team Durant’s plan is for him to hole up here all summer, then transition to his new home in New York City soon after Labor Day. He’s flying east tonight to look at a few places. Friends have urged him to consider Manhattan, but Dumbo, he thinks, might be more his speed. He wants high ceilings, a sick view, proximity to the Nets practice gym. He lives for a gym, prides himself on rolling out of bed straight into practice. “I don’t wear matching clothes…I don’t wash my face, I don’t brush my hair. I just come in there and go to work.” 

This morning, however, the only plan he cares about is the rehab plan. He’s laser focused on this laser. Somehow he even tunes out the blaring big-screen TV across the room. While his friends stretch out on big leather couches, watching White Boy Rick, discussing the plot twists, Durant stretches out on the table, subdued, quiet. This is the flip side of his hatred for the NBA: an almost pious devotion to the game itself and anything that can help him play it at the highest level. “Without basketball,” he says flatly, “I wouldn’t have done much on earth.” Wouldn’t have traveled the world, or met politicians, entrepreneurs, moguls, rappers, each of whom adds to his store of knowledge and advances his search. “I wouldn’t have seen stuff that I’ve seen, compared to my friends I grew up with. Wouldn’t have gone to India. Or Hawaii.” His words are suddenly punctuated by bone-shuddering gunshots in surround sound. Someone in White Boy Rick’s world is never going to Mumbai.  The physical therapist, Dave Hancock, cuts the laser, repositions Durant. He rubs around the eight-inch surgical scar on the back of Durant’s calf, kneading the soft tissue to increase blood flow and improve collagen formation. He then manipulates other muscles and tendons in the lower leg to keep them engaged and energized.  Next, Hancock slips Durant’s leg into a boot and sends him outside, into a walled backyard. On metal crutches that look like medieval jousting lances, Durant does a circuit, paces before an outdoor bar decorated with the logo of his new team. Just shy of 7 feet, without a shred of fat, he always traverses earth differently from other humans. (“You can feel his height,” Grazer says.) But with crutches and a boot, his halting-flowing stride is a jarring mix of fragility and athletic grace. Like a baby deer performing the Martha Graham technique. After the gingerly constitutional it’s time to slide into the infinity pool for one-minute cardio bursts. The infinity pool overlooks…infinity. Durant, however, shows no interest in the view. After easing into the silver-blue water he begins kicking, paddling, maneuvering a rubber ball. When he flags, Hancock nudges. Again. The 45-minute regimen leaves them both gasping.  Hancock hands Durant a basketball (black, Nets logo) and tells him to shoot. The hoop is at the far end of the pool. Floating backward, standing flamingo-style, talking, not talking, looking, not looking, no matter: Swish. Swish. Swish.  Grazer says he once asked Durant what it’s like to choke in a big game. I’ve never choked, Durant said. Everyone chokes, Grazer said. “[Durant] says, ‘I will always shoot the ball—choking is not shooting the ball. If I miss, it’s not my fault. It’s the environment. Or someone else’s fault.’ At first that sounded arrogant. But if you think about it, it makes sense. Choking is not shooting.”  Cardio over, summer sun directly overhead, Durant moves into the dark coolness of the house. A chef brings him a plate. Crispy black cod, parsnip-and-potato purée, chanterelle mushrooms, roasted fennel, followed by crème brûlée topped with fresh whipped cream and sliced strawberries. Durant takes two bites, sets the plate aside. He burrows into the couch recently abandoned by his friends. He has only a short time to rest and regroup. This morning’s regimen will be followed by another this afternoon. Two sessions, every day except Sunday, all summer. Another athlete might complain about the monotony, says Hancock, who’s worked privately with Odell Beckham Jr., David Beckham, Daniel Craig, U2. But Durant attacks it with an all-consuming fire, which Hancock calls the hallmark of an elite athlete.  In fact, for Durant, rehab began nanoseconds after the injury. He heard the tendon pop, felt the leg turn to lead, knew exactly what lay ahead. He stayed cool, collected, even back in the locker room, surrounded by teammates and executives looking like mourners at his wake. Only when doctors started talking blood clots and other bad outcomes did Durant’s mind go “to a crazy place.” His phone went crazy too. Calls and texts from everywhere. (Barack Obama: Speedy recovery.) Among the first was his mother, Wanda Durant, whom he immortalized as “the real MVP” in his 2014 MVP acceptance speech. She was watching the game at home in Maryland, in the house 89


THE BROOKLYN WAY Durant’s free agency decision this time did not require endless deliberations. After reviewing options again with his manager, he simply said, “All right. Well. I’m going with Brooklyn.” This page: Durant’s own clothing and jewelry and David Yurman chain. Opposite: Nike jersey and shorts.

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Durant bought her. She stepped out of the room for a moment, and when she came back she saw her phone fluttering. Fifteen texts? She looked at the first. It was from a friend. It just said: Oh no.  Frantic, she rewound the game, pressed pause, put her face close to the screen, looked deep into her son’s frozen eyes, trying to see how bad it was. It was bad.  She cried when he answered the phone. He told her it was OK, because that’s what the son of a single mother says. She said she was on her way, she’d be on a plane that night. He said no. The next day would be soon enough. She was at New York’s Hospital for Special Surgery 48 hours later, the last face he saw as they wheeled him into the operating room and one of the first he saw when he woke from the anesthesia. She then followed him to a suite at the Four Seasons, where she did all the things he couldn’t do for himself. “He was in the tub,” Wanda says, “and I was washing him, and we were talking, making sure his leg didn’t get wet and the bandage stayed dry, and he said: ‘Mom, it feels good to have you take care of me.’ And it just—”  She stops, overcome with emotion.  The moment was especially sweet because not long ago mother and son were on the outs. Wanda had been handling Durant’s financial affairs since he broke into the league, but in 2014 he decided to take control. It caused a rift, which took months, Durant says, to heal.  After several days Wanda went home, and Durant moved to a temporary apartment in SoHo. His father came. (Wayne Pratt wasn’t present for most of Durant’s childhood, but he’s now part of Durant’s small inner circle.) They ate vegetarian takeout, watched The Black Godfather, spent a whole afternoon together without once mentioning basketball, even though the NBA’s free agency period was days away. The basketball world was breathlessly waiting to hear which team Durant would choose, and Durant’s father was breathless too. But Durant was determined to keep his own counsel.  A far cry from three years ago, says Rich Kleiman, Durant’s manager, business partner and close friend. In the summer of 2016 he and Durant rented a palatial estate on Further Lane in the Hamptons and welcomed a procession of lobbying delegations from various teams, including a party of four stars from Golden State. This time around, shortly before the start of free agency, Kleiman met Durant for lunch at Cipriani, a chic restaurant in SoHo, and gave him one last overview of all the teams and all his options. Durant said: “All right. Well. I’m going with Brooklyn.” Just like that.  Kleiman was taken aback: For real? Yes, Durant said. End of discussion.  (Looking back on both free-agency crossroads, Kleiman laughs. “The Hamptons and Cipriani? How bougie can you get?”)  Durant says his decision-making process was as simple on the inside as it looked from the outside. Brooklyn was the right fit; he just knew. He didn’t even speak to the Nets before his decision, he says. He didn’t need a PowerPoint. He’s always felt big love as a visiting player at Barclays Center, he says, and he wondered what it might be like if he were on the home team. Plus, the Nets offered the opportunity to join his “best friend in the league,” Kyrie Irving.  Of course, Durant says, he was conflicted about leaving the Bay Area. “I came in there wanting to be part of a group, wanting to be part of a family, and definitely felt accepted,” he says. “But I’ll never be one of those guys. I didn’t get drafted there.… Steph Curry, obviously drafted there. Andre Iguodala, won the first Finals, first championship. Klay Thompson, drafted there. Draymond Green, drafted there. And the rest of the guys kind of rehabilitated their careers there. So me? Shit, how you going to rehabilitate me? What you going to teach me? How can you alter anything in my basketball life? I got an MVP already. I got scoring titles.”  That he stood out, stood apart from the group, felt preordained.  “As time went on,” he says, “I started to realize I’m just different from the rest of the guys. It’s not a bad thing. Just my circumstances and how I came up in the league. And on top of that, the media always looked at it like KD and the Warriors. So it’s like nobody could get a full acceptance of me there.” He scoffs at rumors that his public disagreement with Green, in the final moments of a game last November, was determinative. (Durant scolded Green for not passing him the ball; Green then berated Durant, repeatedly calling him a bitch.) It was “a bullshit argument,” he says, “that meant nothing. Absolutely nothing. We were good before it. We were great.” 92

And great, he insists, after. But there was also this: From a strictly competitive, strategic standpoint, Durant had come to fear that Golden State had hit a ceiling.  “The motion offense we run in Golden State, it only works to a certain point,” he says. “We can totally rely on only our system for maybe the first two rounds. Then the next two rounds we’re going to have to mix in individual play. We’ve got to throw teams off, because they’re smarter in that round of playoffs. So now I had to dive into my bag, deep, to create stuff on my own, off the dribble, isos, pick-and-rolls, more so than let the offense create my points for me.” He wanted to go someplace where he’d be free to hone that sort of improvisational game throughout the regular season. His tenure in the Bay Area was great, he says, but because of media speculation, fan anxiety, “it didn’t feel as great as it could have been.”

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SMALL DETAIL , perhaps telling: He hasn’t been back to the Bay Area since June, since the injury, and he has no plans to return. His staff cleaned out his apartment in San Francisco, packed up the furniture, the memorabilia, including the MVP trophies that sat on the mantel. He doesn’t know when he’ll return again. Meaningful? Merely logistical? People want to know. Desperately. Durant knows they want to know. Breakups represent change, and change represents death—naturally people obsess. Some still need clarity on Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt, the Beatles. What the hell did Yoko do? Durant has a Ph.D. in this phenomenon. When he left the Oklahoma City Thunder for Golden State, reaction was intense. Overnight he went from icon to traitor. The memory still pains him.  “People coming to my house and spray-painting on the for sale signs around my neighborhood,” he recalls. “People making videos in front of my house and burning my jerseys and calling me all types of crazy names.” At his first game in Oklahoma City as a visitor—February 2017—fans yowled for blood and brandished cupcakes, because Durant was supposedly soft. “Such a venomous toxic feeling when I walked into that arena,” he says. “And just the organization, the trainers and equipment managers, those dudes is pissed off at me? Ain’t talking to me? I’m like, Yo, this is where we going with this? Because I left a team and went to play with another team?” His mother recalls one particularly appalling piece of video: a Thunder fan firing bullets into a No. 35 jersey. Bullets—after she and Durant and half his extended family relocated to Oklahoma, after they embraced the community, after Durant gave a million dollars to tornado victims.  “I’ll never be attached to that city again because of that,” Durant says. “I eventually wanted to come back to that city and be part of that community and organization, but I don’t trust nobody there. That shit must have been fake, what they was doing. The organization, the GM, I ain’t talked to none of those people, even had a nice exchange with those people, since I left.” Though fans in Toronto roared with pleasure and glee the moment he ruptured his Achilles, he doesn’t view that behavior in the same light. On the contrary, it tickled him. Torontonians knew he was playing the best basketball of his life. “They was terrified that I was on the floor,” he says, suppressing a smile. “You could feel it the second I walked out there.” Does this same largesse extend to Toronto’s über booster, Drake, who trash-talked the Warriors and practically ran the floor on every fast break,  thus irking half a continent? It does, it does. “That’s my brother. I view him as, like, blood.” If you get upset about how Drake roots for his hometown team, he adds, “You need to reevaluate yourself.”  No, what Durant doesn’t like, what unnerves him, is when raw hatred poses as fandom. “We talk about mental health a lot. We only talk about it when it comes to players. We need to talk about it when it comes to executives, media, fans.” As with the ruptured Achilles, however, the bitter parting with Oklahoma City brought hidden boons. “It made me realize how big this whole shit is,” he says. The “shit,” he says, is “the machine,” a great big invisible generator of narratives, programmed by the powers that be to gin up controversy, conflict, whatever keeps people dialed in. He’s learned—he’s learning—to free himself from the machine, to separate the game he loves from the noise and nonsense surrounding it.

MAN IN FULL Laurene Powell Jobs, who helped Durant establish an educational program in Maryland near where he grew up, calls him “a deeply integrated individual.” Louis Vuitton jacket, Ralph Lauren turtleneck and Durant’s own pants and accessories.


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BACK TO FRONT “Some days I hate the circus of the NBA,” Durant says. “Some days I hate that the players let the NBA business, the fame that comes with the business, alter their minds about the game.” Durant’s own clothing and jewelry and David Yurman chain. Opposite: Durant’s own clothing.


Though he can sound stressed when discussing this stuff, though he can look downhearted, beard askew, doleful eyes fixed on the ground, Durant wants people to know he’s happy. More, he wants them to please for the love of God stop asking if he’s happy. Maybe it’s a function of his introversion. Maybe it’s his resting facial expression, which is that of a man who just found a parking ticket on his windshield. Whatever the reason, observers often think Durant is bummed, or numb, when in fact he’s just pleasantly idling in neutral. “People are always like, Are you happy? It’s like, Yo, what the f— does that mean right now?… That was the whole thing this year: Is KD happy where “PEOPLE ARE he is?” ALWAYS LIKE, ARE Such a highly personal question, he comYOU HAPPY? THAT plains. More, an unanswerable question. WAS THE WHOLE And whenever he tries to answer it, earnestly, honestly, no one’s satisfied, which THING THIS YEAR: makes them unhappy, which then makes IS KD HAPPY him unhappy.  WHERE HE IS?” Indeed, right after he announced his deal with Brooklyn, a typical story dominated one –DURANT or two news cycles. Warriors execs, behind the scenes, supposedly saying Durant wasn’t happy enough after winning two titles: Nothing’s good enough for this guy.  False, Durant says. “It’s very rare in our lives when we envision and picture something and it comes together the perfect way you envision it. [Winning a title] was the only time in my life that happened, and that summer was the most exhilarating time. Every day I woke up I just felt so good about myself, so good about life.… That was a defining moment in my life— not just my basketball life.” This is the one thing that doesn’t change about Durant. He still tries earnestly, honestly to correct the record, give real answers, put the truth out there. He doesn’t measure his words, doesn’t care if he says it wrong or contradicts himself. (Case in point: He’s spoken forgivingly about Oklahoma City in the past. But he’s not feeling that right now, and he’s not the least bit concerned if the paradox throws you.)   What matters more than continuity, more than happiness, more than titles—more than anything—is the search. Durant is one of the few NBA players who speaks of the game as a vehicle for gaining wisdom. 

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HEAD SPACE “We talk about mental health a lot,” Durant says. “We only talk about it when it comes to players. We need to talk about it when it comes to executives, media, fans.” Nike jersey and shorts. Hair, Eric Adams; grooming, Tasha Reiko Brown; manicure, Ashlie Johnson. For details see Sources, page 134.

HE RAPPER Q-TIP recently sent Durant an old black-and-white clip of Bruce Lee, which Durant devoured. Lee put it so beautifully, telling an interviewer about the secret of martial arts. “All types of knowledge,” Lee says, “ultimately mean selfknowledge.” The more you know about martial arts, the more you know about yourself, and the more you can then express yourself with your body—especially in “combat.” On any given night he has things to express. Angry things, scary things, joyful things, about his story.  He grew up in the roughest parts of Prince George’s County, Maryland. No money, no father. Lost a cherished aunt and a coach at a tender age. Lost friends to gun violence. Survived a bare, lonely two-room apartment, just his mom and brother, and now inhabits this ridiculous American schloss. Every step of that remarkable journey has left a mark, reshaped his soul. He wants to tell you how, wants to tell the world, and he does so with his beautiful game, a sui generis hybrid of length and strength, violence and accuracy and grace.  Laurene Powell Jobs, who helped Durant establish a multimillion-dollar program in Prince George’s County to help college-bound kids ready themselves—scholastically, emotionally, financially—says Durant is “a deeply integrated individual,” which makes him rare among all people, let alone celebrities. Integrated people, she says, “keep all the knowledge of their experience and bring it to their current awareness.… They use it as a source of knowledge, of power, and want to effect change that’s informed by their experience.” If basketball isn’t available, Durant finds expression through other means. Photography, music, art. He dabbles, or dives deep, depending. But he’s discovered a true passion for business. He seeks out founders, leaders,

CEOs and applies what he learns from them to the empire he’s building with Kleiman. Under the rubric of 35 Ventures—headquartered in New York City, staff of 15—they manage Durant’s lucrative endorsement deals, oversee an equity partnership with luxury audio company Master & Dynamic and create an eclectic investment portfolio (technology, hospitality, media) tailored to their shared interests. They also generate a lot of content. Just this year they produced a documentary about the San Quentin Warriors, a hoops team inside the maximum security prison; launched a six-episode series on ESPN called The Boardroom about the business of sports, along with related digital shorts; and began filming a scripted show called Swagger, loosely based on Durant’s days playing youth basketball, with Grazer as a co-producer. Through the Kevin Durant Charity Foundation they also help groups that take innovative approaches to fighting homelessness and easing hunger, and they do dazzling refurbishments of basketball courts in low-income neighborhoods around the world.  Above all, Durant expresses himself through social media. Instagram is one of his main portals to the world. It’s an introvert’s utopia, he says, a place to engage with people from a safe distance. Never mind the grief it’s caused him in the past. (In recent years, at times using fake accounts, he’s clashed with online critics, including at least one who still had a curfew.) He checks his direct messages twice daily, and though they number in the hundreds, he methodically works his way through, chatting with all sorts of folks about all sorts of subjects. Recently he conducted a two-week-long dialogue with a total stranger, a young man who detailed his many struggles and mental woes, ad nauseam, all of which Durant found fascinating.  He’ll also talk shop with anyone. The other day a middle school student reached out. “She’s like, I started to play at the free throw line, but I’m not very comfortable there, so I don’t really know what to do when I get inside the zone. It was such a nice-ass question. She blew my mind.”  He often parachutes into young people’s comments, doles out praise, congratulates them on a great game, a big win, “just encouraging them, letting them know they’re nice, and keep going. That shit does a lot for me. That’s why I like the Gram. A lot of young grass-roots basketball players, I build relationships through Instagram, so when we see each other it’s love.” He recalls having a drink with E-40, rapper, philosopher, who claims authorship of several everyday phrases, including “You feel me?” E-40 made a toast: I’m not above you, I’m not below you—I’m right beside you. “I’m like, That’s the approach I take with everybody!”  Maybe that utopian vision of the world will now come true. Maybe Durant’s unfiltered dialogue with humanity will reach new levels of intimacy and respect and mutual understanding. Just as the injury changed Durant, or accelerated changes already in process, maybe it will alter public perception. The knocks—that he was soft, that introvert was a fancy word for selfish—seemed to evaporate the moment he gave up his body for Golden State. Starting Game 5 with a strained calf, risking and then incurring catastrophic injury, seemed to instantly restore the hero status he enjoyed early in his career.  Or maybe the machine has other plans for his narrative.  It’s almost time for the afternoon session with Hancock. First, though, a quick interview with a film crew making a documentary about basketball in Prince George’s County. Time suddenly seems like the infinity pool. No edges, no horizon. Talking about the past, working on the future, hobbled in an uncertain present.  Durant says he’s decided to wear No. 7 in Brooklyn because it stands for completion in the Bible. (God rested on the seventh day after creating Heaven and Earth.) Clearly the completion of his career is on his mind. In which case, what next?  Kids, he says, maybe.  How many?  He throws out numbers. Maybe five. Maybe one.  First he needs to find a woman who can handle this crazy life.  He used to think that wasn’t such a tall order. But, as with so many things, his thinking on that has evolved.  “I thought this life was pretty simple,” he says. “But it’s not as simple as I thought it was.” š 97


The World According to David Hockney

The 82-year-old artist’s monumental new work, a meditation on the view from his Normandy home, demonstrates his singular way of seeing things.

BY LESLEY M.M. BLUME PHOTOGRAPHY BY JAMIE HAWKESWORTH


“i have the vanity of an artist. i want my work to be seen. but i don’t have to be seen.” –david hockney

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HE DRIVE UP to David Hockney’s Los Angeles home in the Hollywood Hills is a narrow, winding route, full of hairpin turns. At the top of a hill, his compound is fortressed away behind an expanse of fence, hidden within a barely tamed jungle of palm trees and bird of paradise plants. Nearly every surface—the walls, the walkways connecting the buildings, the handrails and the roofs—has been painted brilliant colors: bubblegum pink, cerulean, canary yellow, sea green. The color story continues inside Hockney’s studio, a cavernous space with soaring ceilings. Light filters in from a line of windows at the top of the room; paint spatters and cigarette burn marks form a scattershot pattern on the floor. Hockney sits in the center of the studio, wearing a gray suit and a spring-green cardigan, aqua-colored socks and bright yellow glasses with his signature round frames. Beneath his chair is an oversize carpet, littered with stubbed-out cigarettes. On the table in front of him sits a hefty tome about Rembrandt, the remains of several morning coffees and a pack of Davidoff cigarettes. He drops the butt of his just-finished cigarette onto the floor and lights another. “I’ve smoked for more than 60 years,” he says with a shrug. “But I think I’m quite healthy. I’m 82. How much longer do I have? I’m going to die of either a smoking-related illness or a non–smokingrelated illness.” Americans have become too censorious about smoking, he says—even in the country’s more libertine cities, like New York and Los Angeles. To that end, he is leaving in two days for less-puritanical France, where he has a house in Normandy. Last year, he bought the place essentially on a whim, after seeing it for only 25 minutes. He was visiting France after the unveiling of a stained-glass window he had created, on his iPad, for Westminster Abbey, in his native England. Hockney had been to Normandy before and thought it was a “lovely place,” but he became so freshly enchanted during his holiday that he decided to buy a house there. It was the only one he had looked at. “I fell in love with it,” he says. The house, whose main structure dates back to 1650, is named La Grande Cour, or “the big yard.” Its grounds, filled with cherry, pear and apple trees,

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CLOSE UP Artist David Hockney at his home and studio in Los Angeles. Previous page: Hockney with new work he’s showing at Pace Gallery’s Manhattan flagship this fall.


H LOCAL COLOR From top: Hollywood Hills vegetation; the paint-splotched floor in Hockney’s studio; a detail from the neighborhood surroundings.

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OCKNEY’S SUCCESS, which came early in his career, has been stratospheric. Exhibitions of his work draw huge crowds at museums and galleries around the world. Almost 1.5 million visitors viewed his retrospective at New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art, London’s Tate Britain and Paris’s Centre Pompidou. The recent Hockney exhibit at LACMA “struck gold” for that museum, says Barron, who noted that visitors lingered longer in front of Hockney’s paintings than she expected them to, looking carefully at each work. When his 1972 Portrait of an Artist (Pool With Two Figures) sold at auction in late 2018 for $90.3 million, it became the most expensive work of art by a living artist sold at auction. (The painting was reportedly sold by Bahamas-based billionaire Joe Lewis, who is said to have acquired it in 1995 from entertainment mogul and art collector David Geffen. Its original sale price, in 1972, was $18,000.)

“[the drawings] seem to exist fully formed. it’s like he bleeds them onto the page.” –arne glimcher

“The atmosphere was pretty electric,” says Katharine Arnold, international director, co-head of postwar and contemporary art, Europe, at Christie’s, which auctioned the painting. Christie’s will not disclose the buyer’s identity, but Arnold says it was a private individual. “It’s one of the most iconic images that Hockney painted,” she adds. “It’s tremendous for a living artist to see that kind of success during their own lifetime.” (A 1986 Jeff Koons piece, Rabbit, subsequently broke the Hockney record when it sold for $91.1 million this past spring.) Hockney has created a substantial body of work, beginning in the 1950s and consisting of many different chapters. “He challenges himself every decade, if not more frequently,” says Arnold, “and he’s still constantly innovating, despite his age.” Arnold is loath to categorize Hockney in terms of genre. Rather, he is, she says, one of “the greatest living international figurative painters.” Some credit him with helping revive figuration when most of his peers, from the 1960s onward, were working in the realms of abstraction, minimalism and conceptualism. “He’s a radical artist,” says Arne Glimcher, founder of Pace Gallery. “Imagine him in the ’60s, when everyone is making pop art, and he’s making these extraordinary portraits that don’t fit into time and space at all. They were decades ahead of themselves.” Hockney, on the other hand, sees his early work as almost fundamental. As a figurative artist in an abstract moment—one who had set up shop in Los Angeles, when New York City was then the center of the art world—he saw himself as a peripheral artist, but he still had confidence in what he was doing. “I had no influence, I thought,” he said. “The art schools were giving up drawing. I said that was a big mistake. Drawing—you can’t get rid of it. It’s like dancing and singing. There will always be dancing and singing, and there will always be drawing. They’re all ancient.” Despite the diversity of Hockney’s works, Hockney observers see discernible through lines within the oeuvre. His brilliant colors place him in the same category as unbridled colorists such as Matisse or Pierre Bonnard. There are the continued experiments with perspective. “Whatever medium he embraces, his curiosity is always headed in the same direction,” says Barron. Whether Hockney is working with paint, pen, video camera or iPad, his aesthetic is distinctive. He has found artistic utility in successive technological advances, even ones that turn out to be the most mundane and corporate of objects: He once created a print series, titled The Hollywood Sea Picture Supply Co., on fax machines, delighting in the distorted images that

FROM TOP: FROM A BIGGER SPLASH, BR 1974, (DAVID HOCKNEY, LEFT). PHOTO BY MARY EVANS/RONALD GRANT/EVERETT COLLECTION; CHRISTIE’S IMAGES LTD. 2019; MICHAEL CHILDERS/GETTY; DAVID HOCKNEY UNTITLED NO. 9 FROM THE YOSEMITE SUITE, 2010 IPAD DRAWING PRINTED ON PAPER 37" × 28" (94 CM × 71.1 CM) EDITION OF 25 PHOTO BY KERRY RYAN MCFATE & TOM BARRATT © DAVID HOCKNEY

hawthorn thickets and elderflower patches, immediately inspired Hockney to create a monumental work. This month, as part of the inaugural exhibition of its eight-story, 75,000-square-foot new Manhattan flagship, Pace Gallery—which has long represented Hockney—will showcase the immersive 24-panel panorama and four additional drawings depicting the arrival of spring in Normandy, as seen from his new home. It took Hockney 21 days to complete the panoramic work, which depicts the property in great detail. “The dots took a long time to do,” he says. “It was getting a little tedious at the end, but I was engrossed and I loved it.” Among his influences as he conceived and drew the work: the medieval Bayeux Tapestry, housed near his Normandy home, and Chinese scroll painting, which, with its absence of vanishing points, has long fascinated him and informed his work. “With Chinese landscape, they’d take a walk and then paint a memory of the walk,” he says. “They wouldn’t put shadows in, because when there are shadows in a landscape, you can tell the time.” In his multipanel Normandy drawing, Hockney largely omitted shadows, pulling the landscape out of time and space. The layman viewer might not detect the ancient Chinese approach in Hockney’s Normandy landscape. After all, despite the relative lack of shadows, it’s clearly a modern scene, with several cars and a swing set. But Hockney has always incorporated such historical references—some comparably subtle, others obvious, such as in his Henri Matisse–style The Dancers series. “His respect for art history is enormous,” says Stephanie Barron, senior curator of modern art at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, who organized the museum’s 2018 exhibition David Hockney: 82 Portraits and 1 Still-life. “This is an artist who reads and looks with deep intensity and intellectualism and curiosity. He studies the work of the masters: Manet, Monet, Rembrandt [and] Picasso, who he’s been in dialogue with for life. He has engaged art historians in serious discussions about perspective and technique. That’s a strong driver, and that grounds his looking, thinking and making. It’s easy to say that his work is beautiful and approachable, but it’s got real gravitas.”

resulted from the experiment. With his panoramic Normandy drawing, he returned to traditional media, using Sennelier ink on paper. Hockney stayed in close touch with Pace’s Glimcher by email as he developed the concept for it. “It was really quite thrilling,” Glimcher says. “No other artist does that.” When Glimcher saw the finished panels, he immediately asked to present them as a Pace Gallery inaugural exhibition. “They seem to exist fully formed,” he says. “It’s like he bleeds them onto the page. They’re a new kind of notation, the marks he makes, that gives you just the amount of information necessary to build a larger picture in your brain.” Hockney estimates that he has kept a third to a half of his works for himself, and the Normandy drawings in the Pace show will remain in his personal collection. “Sometimes I decide to keep what I consider to be the best ones,” he says. “I’m not sure what to do with [the collection] yet. I’ll probably give it away to museums.” He thinks the prices paid for his works sometimes border on madness. “I want to ignore it, mostly,” he says. “I’ve had sufficient money to do what I liked every day for the last 60 years. Even when I didn’t have much money, I’ve always managed. All I’m interested in is working, really. I’m going to go on working. Artists don’t retire.” Hockney contends that he doesn’t necessarily care who acquires his works at these highly publicized auctions and sales—even though some of the pieces contain deeply autobiographical content. Portrait of an Artist (Pool With Two Figures) famously depicts his former lover, Peter Schlesinger; it was painted after the couple had broken up. (Schlesinger has denied that Portrait is a “break-up picture.”) Those documented in 82 Portraits and 1 Still-life hail from his family and inner circle of friends. The series itself was precipitated by a personal tragedy: In 2013, a young Hockney studio assistant died accidentally at the artist’s home in England. Hockney retreated to his L.A. home and found himself mostly unable to work until he created a portrait of his equally grief-stricken studio manager and friend, Jean-Pierre Gonçalves de Lima. This first painting triggered the entire series. (Hockney declined to comment on these events.) The artist says that he feels a sense of ownership over his pieces even once they’ve sold: “They’re my paintings, regardless of who owns them.” And there is, in his view, one upside to the astronomical amounts of money shelled out for his works. “They’ll be looked after,” he says. “And if they get looked after, they’ll last.”

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RTIST ANDY WARHOL is credited with

saying that in the future, everyone would be world-famous for 15 minutes. The world has changed considerably in the 50 years since he allegedly made this prediction. Hockney, who has outlived his contemporary by more than three decades, has surveyed today’s cultural landscape and has arrived at a different conclusion. “In the future, probably nobody is going to be famous,” he asserts. The mass media has atomized, he says; information sources are becoming

niche. Celebrity was, he says, a creation of the onceomnipotent mass media. Now global fame of the Warholian vision will elude most limelight seekers, he predicts: “People will become famous locally.” Does this bother him? After all, Hockney has been world-famous for decades—not to mention instantly recognizable. “He’s a charismatic figure,” says LACMA’s Barron, who notes that this adds to the appeal of his work. Interest in the artist only continues to build: He inspired Catherine Cusset’s fictionalized biography, Life of David Hockney: A Novel, which was published in the U.S. this past spring. This summer, A Bigger Splash, a restored 1974 semifictional documentary-style film exploring Hockney’s rise, was rereleased. Yet Hockney claims that he couldn’t care less about fame. “I have the vanity of an artist,” he says. “I want my work to be seen. But I don’t have to be seen.” As for his still-distinctive look, “It’s always just to please myself,” he says. “I dress to please myself. I smoke to please myself. When people say, let’s take a photograph [of you] for this exhibition, I refuse, or say, ‘Why not print a picture, not of me, but of something I painted.’ I think that’s better.” He has worn some version of his signature round glasses since he was an 11-year-old in Bradford, West Yorkshire. He simply knew who he was, he says, and who he wanted to be, from an early age. He didn’t know where the confidence came from, he’s just always had it. By the time he was 8, for example, he knew he was going to be a painter. His father, an accounting clerk, and his mother, who raised him and his four siblings, supported his aspirations. “They didn’t know artists couldn’t earn a living,” he says, laughing. “Middle-class people said, ‘Anything to do with art, that’s hopeless.’ I never got that. I got encouragement all the time.” Far from courting fame, he just wants to cut himself off from people these days and get down to work, he says. Los Angeles, the city that first made him famous, has its merits; there is the big sky and the glorious light. But there are always visitors disturbing him. (Here, Hockney gives his interviewer a pointed look and lights another cigarette.) In Normandy, he is essentially left alone. Though he took the keys to La Grande Cour only nine months ago, it now feels like home to him. He already has a pleasing Normandy routine, he says. He wakes up early to watch the sun rise and then works all morning. At midday, he and Gonçalves de Lima, who oversaw construction on Hockney’s Normandy studio, break for a four-course, 13-euro lunch at a nearby cafe. It’s Hockney’s only meal of the day. Sometimes he takes a nap, and afterward he works into the evenings. “I can do twice as much work there, three times as much,” he says. There will be new experiments, new inspirations. The Normandy drawings being showcased at Pace are really about time, his preoccupation at the moment. “I’ve probably not much time left,” he says, “and because I don’t, I value it even more. “I’d like to just work and paint,” he says, lighting another cigarette. And to be able to smoke and eat in a restaurant at the same time, he adds. Thank God for Normandy, then: “The French know how to live. They know about pleasure.”š

LIFE FORCE From top: Hockney with Peter Schlesinger in 1973; Hockney’s 1972 painting Portrait of an Artist (Pool With Two Figures), which sold for a record $90.3 million in 2018; the artist with David Stoltz, circa 1982; a work from Hockney’s first iPad series, The Yosemite Suite, 2010.

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Fine & Dandy With romantic flourishes like fur-trimmed shirts and lace capes, the fall collections signal the return of the Byronic hero, complete with seductive pieces worth brooding over. PHOTOGRAPHY BY GREGORY HARRIS STYLING BY LUDIVINE POIBLANC

HUNT CLUB A poetic shirt is a counterpoint to a tailored topcoat. Raf Simons coat, Gucci shirt, Linder boxers, Polo Ralph Lauren scarf, Anthony Lent cuff links (worn as earrings), Wing & Weft gloves and Loewe waders.

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FULL SWING Satin and fur take classic looks out of the ordinary. Raf Simons coat and boots, Marni shirt, Bottega Veneta turtleneck and trousers, Wing & Weft gloves and Anthony Lent earrings. Opposite: Saint Laurent by Anthony Vaccarello jacket, pants and scarf, Prada belts, Wing & Weft gloves and Prounis earring.

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PEARL JAM Wear a tribute to Paris along with oversize earrings. Balenciaga jacket and turtleneck and Prounis earrings.


STONE COLD Styles worthy of a marble pedestal. Loewe shirt, pants and waders, Richard James scarf and Jennifer Fisher earrings. Opposite: Gucci cape and shirt, Prada pants, Polo Ralph Lauren scarf and Amato New York gloves.

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COSTUME DRAMA High necks and leather have an air of mystery. Salvatore Ferragamo jacket, Z Zegna sweater, Linder boxers, Anthony Lent earrings, Saint Laurent by Anthony Vaccarello scarf, Amato NewYork gloves and Loewe waders. Opposite: Givenchy shirt and jacket, Ralph Lauren scarf and Prounis earrings.


NEON DREAM Dries Van Noten jacket and pants, Richard James scarf, Gucci brooch, Wing & Weft gloves, John Hardy bracelet and Raf Simons boots. Opposite: Prada shirt and belts, Kolor turtleneck, Emporio Armani jeans, Tiffany & Co. necklace and Saint Laurent by Anthony Vaccarello scarf. Model, Henry Kitcher at Tomorrow Is Another Day; grooming, Tomo Jidai; set design, Nicholas Des Jardins. For details see Sources, page 134.

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Pawson’s Paradise

The man who elevated nothingness to an art form has just completed a project in the Cotswolds for his most demanding client: himself.

BY JOSHUA LEVINE PHOTOGRAPHY BY FRANÇOIS HALARD

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MASTER OF NONE A kitchen and dining room are housed in a barn. Hans Wegner’s Wishbone chairs are around the table. Against the wall are Donald Judd’s plywood chairs. Opposite: John Pawson in a connective space he calls “the link.”


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F THERE’S a thread that runs through most of

BARE ESSENTIALS Clockwise from top left: Donald Judd’s Bookshelf 14 in the master bedroom; a bathroom with a wood-faced marble counter; Catherine Pawson designed the garden; the drawing room with a Gustavian sofa and a table by Poul Kjaerholm; chairs by Donald Judd; a bed by Pawson in the master bedroom; Pawson designed details down to the sink basins; a view into the study with a table by Kjaerholm. Opposite: A view of Home Farm.

John Pawson’s work, it is his unwillingness to water down any part of his vision of how things ought to be. Pawson, 70, is a patriarch of minimalism in architecture. For the past 30-odd years he has explored the richness of empty space in stores for Calvin Klein and Jil Sander, hotels for Ian Schrager and various monasteries, churches and museums. But it’s mostly on behalf of private clients—Jann Wenner and Fabien Baron, to name two—who believe that, as the old saying goes, simplicity is the ultimate sophistication. Over that time, Pawson’s vision has been remarkably consistent, even narrow in the way it sweeps away ornamental distraction. But it more than compensates in its astonishing precision. Its power comes from its mastery of tightly controlled gestures, a Noh theater of design. Small compromises creep in, of course—a hairline seam in a kitchen countertop, say. Left to his own devices, Pawson would have found some herculean way to make that countertop seamless. But that’s life. There are always clients to contend with, and clients have habits and budgets (although in Pawson’s case, those budgets tend to be as pharaonic as his projects are plain). Few concessions to a reality that ensnares even the rich manage to intrude at Home Farm in Chastleton, smack in the center of the Cotswolds golden triangle between Stow-on-theWold, Moreton-in-Marsh and Chipping Norton. It took Pawson five years to transform this stone farmyard into a country retreat for himself, his wife, Catherine, 62, and their children. What you get here is pure Pawson, freed from even his own loose shackles. Take the sink in a guest bathroom. “Well, there is a certain contradiction in making the sink from a huge block of marble, then leaving just the edge visible and putting wood over the rest of the marble,” allows Pawson. “I’ve never done this before—a thin leading edge. It just appealed to me. It doesn’t make sense from a lot of points of view, but it made sense for me. It’s my own house, and I’m able to do it. When it comes to clients, they can decide. I didn’t want any restrictions.” That uncompromising spirit hovers over this cluster of farm buildings built over several centuries, starting in 1610, from warm, faintly golden Cotswold limestone. It was a daunting undertaking. Everything apart from the stone shells themselves had to be taken apart and put back together again—some 7,000 square feet of space with 57 windows. Except where he’s had a good reason not to, Pawson has designed just about everything inside the house himself—door handles, banisters, window sashes, everything. Door frames of raw Swedish stainless steel (“It’s the best”) were cut out from a single sheet, like a big rectangular doughnut. That may leave you wondering what to do

with all that steel in the middle, but it’s a good way to make sure there are no seams in the frame. Excessive? No doubt. Yes, you could probably have found something very much like that Pawsondesigned coat hook at Ikea—it’s just a dull-gray wedge, not much bigger than a thumb. Suggest as much to Pawson, and he will chuckle derisively in response. When you’re sifting the grain this fine, “very much like” doesn’t come remotely close. His fierce aesthetic notwithstanding, Pawson doesn’t come off as a fire-breathing John Brown of minimalism. He’s affable, funny, even a little dreamy. He can let his sentences trail off, seeming to lose interest before he hits the end. His evident toughmindedness is wrapped in a fuzzy layer of diffidence. He is very English. Pawson isn’t wild about the word

minimalism. It doesn’t mean very much. But he’s not going to be a bore and make a fuss about it either. “Journalists are always trying to connect people to movements, so they found people right on the edge, I would say, of simplicity—I mean, not at all simple—and bunched us all together as minimalists,” says Pawson. “It seemed odd to protest too much, so, I mean, I’ve just gone along with it.” The word works well enough as you follow the gravel driveway to Home Farm. There’s virtually nothing to sidetrack the eye from the straight lines of these beautiful stone buildings (well, straightish; in architectural jargon, this is a “disordered farmyard,” which means that buildings are not at right angles to one another). Across the courtyard, a

pretty, shovel-nosed punt sits on the cobbled landing to a small pond. It’s more sculpture than transportation: The pond is much too small for boating and was used only to wash the farm’s carts. On the banks is Pawson’s idea of a picnic table: a white marble slab and two side benches, all four inches thick (it’s part of a line of furniture Pawson designed for the Italian company Salvatori). The table and benches weigh almost two tons; Pawson had to put a special foundation underneath so they wouldn’t sink into the soil. Pawson likes his materials brawny, and he works them hard—“adventure in procurement” is how the English architecture critic Rowan Moore describes it. Pawson doesn’t disagree. “Well, I’ve always had that thing of pushing things a bit.” Then the English rim shot. “I just don’t like things that wobble, you see.” John and Catherine Pawson had been looking for a weekend place in the neighborhood for some time before they found Home Farm. She has family close by, so the couple had been to the area on trips from their home in London’s Notting Hill. They got wind of a working family farm with several dilapidated outbuildings for sale (the main one had most recently housed two thirsty old brothers with a cupboard full of empties that Pawson inherited). The property ticked off all the right boxes, or all of John’s boxes, anyway. “Catherine wanted a tiny cottage with a rose-covered thing. She said, ‘Well, this is what we don’t want,’” he says. “I took one look and said, ‘I think this is what we do want.’ I didn’t look at anything else and bought it straightaway.” They’ve been together for over 30 years and have a son, Ben, 29. By now, that kind of conjugal sparring has worked its way into Pawson’s patter. He grumbles that she messes up his pristine picnic bench with pillows. She loves to cook and leaves stuff around on his untouchable countertops. And why can’t he save a little money and just put Formica on the laundry room shelf? In this low-key English version of The Honeymooners, she’s the sensible, even-tempered one, and he’s the Etoneducated grump. There’s probably some truth there, but another side of things is on display. Catherine is an interior designer herself, and early on spent formative years with the florally inclined English firm of Colefax and Fowler. It’s hard to think of a sensibility further removed from Pawson’s. But once you know where to look, you can feel her gentle touch everywhere around the house—the straight-legged Gustavian sofa facing the big inglenook, for example. Catherine bought it, and it warms up the room better than the fireplace. And while it seems unlikely that Pawson has ever uttered the words “window treatment,” there they are: drapes! “Those are Catherine’s undyed boiled-wool curtains,” says Pawson. “The wool is very similar to the 119


tough white cloaks the Cistercian monks wear at the monastery” (he is referring to the solemn Nový Dvůr monastery in the Czech Republic that he refurbished in 2004). He points at the bare window on the opposite wall. “That’s how I proposed the covering should be. But I have to say, the drapes are very cozy. I rely on her taste and her knowledge as well.” The skeleton of the house, however, is all Pawson, and it bears the consistent hallmarks of his style. For one thing, it is long—very long. Pawson built a gallery to connect two side-by-side buildings, making it half a football field from one end to the other. “Well, I like continuation—things just going on, I suppose, and I like that form. There are two kitchens, one at either end, because it’s so long. Of course, Catherine says to me, ‘There’s no butter.’ It’s in the other fridge. We do our steps here for exercise. I got up to 8,000.” She wanders by. “Steps, Catherine?” The rooms all have the stringent simplicity Pawson favors, punctuated by a few pieces that rarely raise their voice above a whisper. In the guesthouse, he’s placed Hans Wegner’s famous Wishbone chairs around his own narrow dining table. The chairs show up in more than a few of Pawson’s projects. “He’s the man, and that’s his best chair. He said he designed 125 to get to this one.” Still, in Pawson’s universe, even the noblest furniture is not meant to be showcased. It is a handmaiden to the room that holds it. Standing near the dining table in the guest salon is an elegant draftsman’s filing cabinet by the 20th-century Swedish designer Poul Kjaerholm. It was a gift from a client, but Pawson says it will have to go, even if he can’t put his finger on exactly why. “It’s beautiful, and it would be useful, but it’s a bit awkward in this space. I’m not of that school where, if you have something really beautiful, you want to make it work no matter what.” The word monastic gets tossed around a lot to describe the rigors of Pawson’s style, but that isn’t really it at all, and certainly not at Home Farm. This is not about mortification of the flesh through design. The elm wood he uses all around Home Farm (including a kind of shrine-like shower you could live in) is profoundly soothing, and the pinkish-white plaster on the walls feels miles away from a monk’s cell. There’s no art on the walls of Home Farm. It gets in the way. “I’m happier without it,” says Pawson. “Of course, I go to galleries and I look at art all the time, but I find it difficult here. If you put something on the wall, the whole room, spatially, feels different. Your eye stops. It’s too intense.” Pawson has a new book, Anatomy of Minimum, coming out next month from Phaidon that focuses on some of his recent projects, including Home Farm. The 120

HOT ZONE “It’s sophisticated architectural simplicity,” says Pawson of his work. “This isn’t a religious thing, and it isn’t as simple as you can go. You can go a lot simpler than this.” A Jøtul F 118 wood stove.


house looks stunning in the photos, as it does here, but any photos miss a critical element of Pawson’s work. Pawson spends a great deal of time reflecting on what his rooms feel like, as opposed to what they look like. At his best, he achieves a kind of spatial harmony that exudes its own stripped-down sensuality. It can only really be experienced from inside. Pawson is just finishing work on a house carved out of a hillside in the Italian Tyrol. The owner is Michael Maharam, who sold his textile business in New York and moved there. “What John does is not a forgiving form of architecture. You have to get everything right. But what people don’t understand is that if you reduce the palette, and all the alignments are perfect, it has an extremely calming influence,” says Maharam. “It just feels good to be in it.” The way Pawson tells it, he didn’t really choose to become a minimalist. It was more like he had minimalism thrust upon him. Pawson’s father owned a thriving textile mill in Halifax, in Yorkshire’s West Riding, close to the north end of England. The family was rich, but the iron spine of Methodism ran through it: “nonconformist, stripped-back chapels, no musical accompaniment, you know,” says Pawson. “I had four sisters, and mine was the smallest room. It was only wide enough for the bed to get in,” he continues. “As my sisters left home, Dad knocked walls down, so I got a bigger room each time, but I didn’t acquire any more things, and I had very few clothes and such.” There was beauty, too. Pawson grew up in the shadow of the Piece Hall, a great square commercial arcade from the 18th century with row upon row of uniform columns. Not far away was that natural monument to nothingness, the treeless moors of North Yorkshire. It’s all inside him. “You can’t keep Halifax out of the lad,” says Pawson. Somebody else might have rebelled into decadence. Pawson ran away to become a Zen monk in Japan but ended up teaching English for three years. “It didn’t work out,” is all he says. Instead, in the mid-’70s he found a different kind of Zen master in the Japanese designer Shiro Kuramata, whose abstracted forms are often mere suggestions. “I think I owe it all to him,” says Pawson. “There was nobody doing something minimal or interesting, and then here it was—everything I thought about and dreamt about.” For several months, Pawson showed up at Kuramata’s studio, taking in his wisdom. Eventually Kuramata pushed Pawson out of the nest, so he enrolled in London’s prestigious Architectural Association School of Architecture. He left in 1981, one year short of his qualifying degree, and started practicing the trade whose name he is still forbidden to speak (technically, he’s not allowed to call himself an architect, and the profession’s gatekeepers can get sniffy when somebody else does). At the time, Pawson was living with the art dealer 12 2

Hester van Royen—they had a son, Caius, now 33— and a lot of Pawson’s early projects were for her and her friends. Which is how he came to refurbish a Belgravia garret for the celebrated writer Bruce Chatwin, another Yorkshire lad who was as clutterphobic as Pawson. Chatwin wrote glowingly about it in his 1984 essay “A Place to Hang Your Hat.” He also wrote Pawson a letter, and Pawson warmly anticipated the great man’s gratitude. “I got everything ready and opened it very carefully,” says Pawson, savoring the self-deflating punch line to come. “It was, like, Have you fixed the leak in the kitchen sink? It was Bruce Chatwin’s bloody punch list!” It took Calvin Klein to bust Pawson out of his tidy London ghetto. At the suggestion of Ian Schrager, the American hotelier, Klein hired Pawson in 1993 to

create his flagship store in New York City on Madison Avenue and 60th Street (the store was remodeled in 2017 and closed this year). “This was a very big deal,” Klein recalls. “John and I were on the same wavelength. I wanted John’s look so it would be about the clothes rather than the architecture. Form followed function. I was passionate about that store.” For his part, Pawson got a lesson in American chutzpah from Klein that has served him well. “It was extraordinary. He had this thing that nothing was impossible. When I said, as a joke, ‘You should just get one piece of glass for the 30-foot-high windows,’ he said, ‘Yes, do it,’ and I thought, Oh, damn, I’m sure I can’t do that,” recalls Pawson. The windows went in—each pane actually 34 feet tall—even though

they had to close down Madison Avenue. In its own way, the marble picnic table at Home Farm can thank Calvin Klein. The store, a study in black and white and lots of air, blew more than a few minds. It also made Pawson the instant avatar of a certain kind of look and, more important, a certain kind of thinking. All of a sudden, postmodernism started looking pretty dumb. That thinking sometimes takes it on the chin. As the New Yorker cartoon put it, “Only the rich can afford this much nothing.” Don’t expect a rebuttal from Pawson. “It is big, and it is expensive, you know. It’s sophisticated architectural simplicity. This isn’t a religious thing, and it isn’t as simple as you can go. You can go a lot simpler than this.” There are those, too, who say that Pawson’s rigorous aesthetic can lead to sameness and predictability, that one empty space looks much like another. Not so at all, says Schrager, who has worked with Pawson since the early ’90s and is currently finishing a hotel in West Hollywood with him. “There’s a very obvious and consistent sensibility there, but I could never tell what John’s work was going to turn out to be until I was in it,” says Schrager. “I’ve been around a long time, and I’ve seen architectural fashions come and go—shabby chic, high tech. John transcends fashion. He just continues to distill and refine his work over and over.” At first, Pawson meant to work out of Home Farm, too. What is now the guesthouse was conceived in part as a studio. The Kjaerholm filing cabinet is all that remains of that plan. “I was going to have people from London, maybe hire people locally. And then I get here, and I can’t even think of working. It’s like my brain just...which is nice.” He says he is having a hard time keeping up the pace of his early career. The constant travel wears him down. “It used to be easy, but now it’s.... Also, it’s very intense. You’re always trying to do something very special.” Slowing down for Pawson isn’t all that slow. He takes photos constantly and has always used the camera as his third eye. In 2017, Phaidon published Spectrum, a book of his photos, many of them first posted on his Instagram (“I said, ‘Well, I’m not a photographer,’ and they said, ‘You are a photographer,’ so now I’m a photographer”). A collection of black-andwhites from around Home Farm will be sold as prints by Phaidon this fall. And then there’s a new cookbook he’s collaborating on with Catherine (“a lot of vegetarian, but of course, you have to put in meat and things like that”). He keeps tinkering with Home Farm, too, even if that means shifting something an inch to the left or an inch to the right to catch a slant of afternoon sun. “There isn’t a point where you could just walk in and it’s done, you know?” It’s Pawson’s way of stopping to smell the roses. Except without the roses. š

ON GOLDEN POND A two-ton marble picnic table and benches sit atop specially fortified turf. Opposite: The Pawsons call their guesthouse the “wain” after the old English word for “wagon,” its earlier occupant.


STATE OF GRAY

Size up this fall with layers of luxurious woolens that expand suiting’s comfort zone into new territory.

PHOTOGRAPHY BY BRUNO STAUB STYLING BY JULIAN GANIO

FULL VOLUME Double down on double-breasted. Louis Vuitton 3-in-1 jacket, shirt, pants and shoes and Pendleton blanket. Opposite: Dolce & Gabbana coat, jacket, turtleneck and pants.

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TRUE STRIPES Pile on monochrome tailoring. Top, from left: Prada jacket and pants, Ralph Lauren throw blanket (worn as scarf) and Begg & Co. blanket; Prada jacket and pants and Begg & Co. blanket. Right: Berluti coat, jackets, shirt, pants and tie. Opposite: Ralph Lauren jacket, shirt, pants and tie and Edward Crutchley blanket.

126


LAYERS CLUB Rules have been loosened this season. Dior Men jacket, shirt, pants and blanket. Opposite: Valentino cape, knit jacket, shirt and pants.

128


VELVET GOLDMINE There’s a louche glamour in the new patterns of dressing. Right: Celine by Hedi Slimane coat and sunglasses; Celine by Hedi Slimane coat and scarves. Below: Balenciaga jacket, shirt and pants and Begg & Co. blanket. Opposite: Ermenegildo Zegna XXX coat and boots, Margaret Howell jacket and pants, Jil Sander top, blankets by Begg & Co. and Pendleton and model’s own earring.

131


BLANKET POLICY Bridge the seasons with extra warmth. Hermès jacket, turtleneck, pants, boots and blanket and Pink Shirtmaker socks. Opposite: Bottega Veneta coat, pants and shoes, Pink Shirtmaker socks and Woolrich blanket. Models, Lupo at Tomorrow Is Another Day, Ahmad Kontar at Elite Model Management, Anis Ayoub at Success Models; grooming, Patrick Glatthaar. For details see Sources, page 134.

13 3


SOURCE S

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PAGE 25 David Yurman chain, $3,500, David Yurman, 114 Prince Street, New York PAGE 28 Fendi coat, price upon request, shirt, $1,190, pants, price upon request, and Fendi Casa blanket, $4,090, fendi.com PAGE 30 Burberry jacket, $1,890, shirt, $690, pants, $760, and shoes, $790, us.burberry.com; Herno jacket, $3,465, Herno, 95 Greene Street, New York, Loro Piana cardigan, $1,995, and trousers, $585, loropiano.com, Vince T-shirt, $55, vince.com, Sperry sneakers, $60, sperry.com; Boss coat, $1,695, hugoboss.com, Brunello Cucinelli turtleneck, $3,175, shop.brunellocucinelli .com, Sandro jeans, $220, sandro-paris.com, Santoni shoes, $810, santonishoes.com

THE WSJ. FIVE

PAGE 41 Hermès boots, $1,300, Hermès stores nationwide PAGE 42 Fendi sunglasses, $495, fendi .com PAGE 44 Prada hat, $480, select Prada boutiques PAGE 46 Patek Philippe watch, $65,774, patekphilippe.com PAGE 48 Ermenegildo Zegna XXX bag, price upon request, Ermenegildo Zegna, 4 West 57th Street, New York

WHAT’S NEWS

PAGE 51 Ami jacket, $1,511, hoodie, $335, and pants, $340, amiparis.com, Vince T-shirt, $65, vince.com, Amiri socks, price upon request, amiri.com, Golden Goose sneakers, $550, goldengoose .com PAGE 52 Louis Vuitton jacket, $6,550, select Louis Vuitton stores, Vince T-shirt, $55, vince.com. Marni scarf, $530, Marni boutiques; Loro Piana scarf, $1,350, loropiana.com; Michael Kors Collection scarf, $298, michaelkors.com; Loewe scarf, similar styles at loewe.com; Moncler scarf, $1,015, moncler .com PAGE 56 Cartier watch, $22,400, cartier .com PAGE 58 Bottega Veneta coat, $4,650,

sweater, $1,190, pants, $1,350, and shoes, $630, bottegaveneta .com, MCM bag, $1,290, mcm .com, Ralph Lauren Collection bag, $29,500, ralphlauren.com, Michael Kors Collection bag, $2,350, select Michael Kors stores, Bottega Veneta bag, $3,250, bottegaveneta.com, Furla bag, $598, furla.com, Tod’s bag, $2,595, tods.com PAGE 60 Rolex watch, price upon request, rolex.com PAGE 62 Stella McCartney shirt, $600, Stella McCartney, 929 Madison Avenue, New York; MSGM coat, $1,235, msgm.it; 8 Moncler Palm Angels scarf, price upon request, moncler.com; Dior Men shirt, $1,600, Dior Men Boutiques; Christian Louboutin sneakers, $995, christianlouboutin.com

CULT CLASSICS

PAGE 69 Boss coat, $1,695, hugoboss .com, Brunello Cucinelli turtleneck, $3,175, Brunello Cucinelli, 136 Greene Street, New York, Maximum Henry belt, $125, maximumhenry.com, Sandro jeans, $220, sandroparis.com, Santoni shoes, $810, santonishoes.com; Herno jacket, $3,465, Herno, 95 Greene Street, New York, Loro Piana cardigan, $1,995, and trousers, $585, loropiano.com, Vince T-shirt, $55, vince.com, Sperry sneakers, $60, sperry.com PAGE 70 Michael Kors Collection coat, price upon request, similar styles at Michael Kors stores, Zimmerli of Switzerland pajamas, $275, zimmerli.com; Tom Ford coat, price upon request, tomford.com, Derek Rose pajamas, $260, derek-rose .com; Etro coat, $2,620, similar styles at Etro boutiques, Sleepy Jones pajamas, $518, shop .sleepyjones.com PAGE 71 No. 21 coat, $1,240, numeroventuno.com, Bally sweater, $600, bally.com, Lanvin trousers, $1,365, lanvin .com, Sperry sneakers, $60, sperry.com; Lanvin sweater, $1,395, lanvin.com, Margaret Howell trousers, $620, margarethowell.co.uk, Vans sneakers, $60, vans.com; Tod’s jacket, $1,725, and trousers, $545, tods.com, Sandro turtleneck, $295, Sandro-paris .com, Maximum Henry belt, $125, maximumhenry.com PAGE 72 Tom Ford jacket and trousers, prices upon request, tomford .com, Buck Mason T-shirt, $32, buckmason.com; Brioni coat, $9,800, brioni.com, Brunello

Cucinelli sweater, $2,595, Brunello Cucinelli, 136 Greene Street, New York PAGE 73 Isabel Marant sweater, $625, similar styles at isabelmarant .com, Missoni trousers, $1,250, missoni.com, Santoni shoes, $650, santonishoes.com PAGE 76 Hermès coat, $4,575, hermes .com, J. Crew shirt, $70, jcrew .com, B Sides jeans, price upon request, bsidesjeans .com, Maximum Henry belt, $125, maximumhenry.com, Brioni shoes, $1,100, brioni .com; John Varvatos coat, $1,698, johnvarvatos.com, Vince T-shirt, $55, vince.com, Re/Done x Levi’s jeans, $350, shopredone.com, Golden Goose sneakers, $460, goldengoose .com PAGE 77 Gabriela Hearst jacket, $2,990, and trousers, $1,000, Gabriela Hearst, 985 Madison Avenue, New York, Lacoste shirt, $90, lacoste.com, Dries Van Noten x Linda Farrow sunglasses, $355, lindafarrow.com, Sperry sneakers, $60, sperry.com; Versace jacket and trousers, prices upon request, versace .com, Lacoste shirt, $90, lacoste.com, Oliver Peoples sunglasses, $410, oliverpeoples .com, Golden Goose sneakers, $460, goldengoose.com; Brioni jacket and trousers, $6,450 for both, brioni.com, Lacoste shirt, $90, lacoste.com, Oliver Peoples sunglasses, $455, oliverpeoples .com, Jimmy Choo sneakers, $495, jimmychoo.com; Burberry jacket, $1,890, shirt, $690, and pants, $760, us.burberry.com

STANDING TALL

PAGE 85 Nike jersey, $110, and shorts, $100, nike.com

NET GAINS

PAGE 87 Nike jersey, $110, nike.com PAGE 88 Nike jersey, $110, and shorts, $100, nike.com PAGE 90 David Yurman chain, $3,500, David Yurman, 114 Prince Street, New York PAGE 91 Nike jersey, $110, and shorts, $100, nike.com PAGE 93 Louis Vuitton jacket, $4,150, select Louis Vuitton stores, Ralph Lauren turtleneck, $550, ralphlauren.com

PAGE 95 David Yurman chain, $3,500, David Yurman, 114 Prince Street, New York PAGE 96 Nike jersey, $110, and shorts, $100, nike.com

FINE & DANDY

PAGE 104 Raf Simons coat, $7,763, mrporter.com, Gucci shirt, $1,800, gucci.com, Linder boxers, $125, linder.nyc, Polo Ralph Lauren scarf, price upon request, ralphlauren.com, Anthony Lent cuff links, $2,900, anthonylent.com, Wing & Weft gloves, $300, wegloveyou.com, Loewe boots, $3,990, loewe.com PAGE 106 Raf Simons coat, $3,136, and boots, $1,790, mrporter.com, Marni shirt, $1,350, barneys .com, Bottega Veneta turtleneck, $1,350, and trousers, $1,200, bottegaveneta.com, Wing & Weft gloves, $300, wegloveyou .com, Anthony Lent earrings, $19,435, anthonylent.com PAGE 107 Saint Laurent by Anthony Vaccarello jacket, $2,990, pants, $1,190, and scarf, $2,495, Saint Laurent, 3 East 57th Street, New York, Prada belts, $525 and $440, select Prada boutiques, Wing & Weft gloves, $225, wegloveyou.com, Prounis earrings, $3,300, prounisjewelry .com PAGE 108–109 Balenciaga jacket, $2,600, and turtleneck, $1,175, Balenciaga, 620 Madison Avenue, New York, Prounis earrings, $3,300, prounisjewelry.com PAGE 110 Loewe shirt, $1,250, pants, $1,250, and boots, $3,990, loewe.com, Richard James scarf, $85, richard-james.com, Jennifer Fisher earrings, $120, jenniferfisherjewelry.com PAGE 111 Gucci cape, $2,900, and shirt, $4,600, gucci.com, Prada pants, $1,350, select Prada boutiques, Polo Ralph Lauren scarf, price upon request, ralphlauren.com, Amato NewYork gloves, $231, amatonewyork.com PAGE 112 Givenchy shirt and jacket, prices upon request, Givenchy, 747 Madison Avenue, New York, Ralph Lauren Collection scarf, price upon request, ralphlauren .com, Prounis earrings, $3,300, prounisjewelry.com PAGE 113 Salvatore Ferragamo jacket, price upon request, ferragamo .com, Z Zegna sweater, $355,

IN THE NE X T WS J. MAGA ZINE

STYLE & TECH ON SALE OCTOBER 12, 2019

Ermenegildo Zegna, 4 West 57th Street, New York, Linder boxers, $125, linder.nyc, Anthony Lent earrings, $19,435, anthonylent .com, Saint Laurent by Anthony Vaccarello scarf, $4,295, Saint Laurent, 3 East 57th Street, New York, Amato NewYork gloves, $231, amatonewyork.com, Loewe boots, $3,990, loewe.com PAGE 114 Dries Van Noten jacket, $1,010, and pants, $760, bergdorfgoodman.com, Richard James scarf, $225, richard-james .com, Gucci brooch, $720, gucci .com, Wing & Weft gloves, $225, wegloveyou.com, John Hardy bracelet, $995, johnhardy .com, Raf Simons boots, $1,790, mrporter.com PAGE 115 Prada shirt, $4,700, and belts, $440–$525, select Prada boutiques, Kolor turtleneck, similar styles at farfetch.com, Emporio Armani jeans, $345, armani.com, Tiffany & Co. necklace, $165,000, tiffany .com, Saint Laurent by Anthony Vaccarello scarf, $4,295, Saint Laurent, 3 East 57th Street, New York

STATE OF GRAY

PAGE 124 Dolce & Gabbana coat, $4,745, jacket, $2,395, turtleneck, $1,295, and pants, $795, select Dolce and Gabbana boutiques PAGE 125 Louis Vuitton jacket, $6,520, shirt, $1,465, pants, $1,185, and shoes, $1,190, select Louis Vuitton stores, Pendleton blanket, $139, pendleton-usa .com PAGE 126 Prada jacket, $3,100, and pants, $1,840, select Prada boutiques, Ralph Lauren throw blanket, $595, ralphlauren.com, Begg & Co. blanket, price upon request, beggandcompany.com; Prada jacket, $2,620, and pants, $980, select Prada boutiques, Begg & Co. blanket, $815, beggandcompany.com. Berluti coat, $8,750, jackets, prices upon request, shirt, $1,030,

pants, $960, and tie, $230, select Berluti stores PAGE 127 Ralph Lauren jacket, $2,495, shirt, $495, pants, $695, and tie, $195, ralphlauren.com, Edward Crutchley blanket, price upon request, matchesfashion.com PAGE 128 Dior Men jacket, $3,900, shirt, price upon request, pants, $1,000, and blanket, $1,500, 800-929-DIOR PAGE 129 Valentino cape, $3,150, knit jacket, $1,850, shirt, $995, and pants, $995, Valentino boutiques PAGE 130 Ermenegildo Zegna XXX coat, $4,450, and boots, $1,595, Ermenegildo Zegna, 4 West 57th Street, New York, Margaret Howell jacket, $1,035, and pants, $620, margarethowell .co.uk, Jil Sander top, $780, barneys.com, Begg & Co. blanket, $815, beggandcompany .com, Pendleton blanket, $139, pendleton-usa.com PAGE 131 Celine by Hedi Slimane coat, $4,950, and sunglasses, price upon request, celine.com; Celine by Hedi Slimane coat, $5,400, and scarves, $460 and $390, celine.com.; Balenciaga jacket, $2,190, shirt, $1,090, and pants, $1,190, Balenciaga, 338 N. Rodeo Drive, Beverly Hills, Begg & Co. blanket, $815, beggandcompany.com PAGE 132 Bottega Veneta coat,$2,900, pants, $1,350, shoes, $1,150, bottegaveneta.com, Pink Shirtmaker socks, $30, thomaspink.com, Woolrich blanket, similar styles at woolrich.com PAGE 133 Hermès jacket, $4,275, turtleneck, $1,750, pants, $1,025, boots, $1,300, and blanket, $1,050, Hermès stores nationwide, Pink Shirtmaker socks, $30, thomaspink.com

WSJ. Issue 111, September 2019 Men’s Fall Style, Copyright 2019, Dow Jones and Company, Inc. All rights reserved. See the magazine online at www.wsjmagazine.com. Reproduction in whole or in part without written permission is prohibited. WSJ. Magazine is provided as a supplement to The Wall Street Journal for subscribers who receive delivery of the Saturday Weekend Edition and on newsstands. Individual copies can be purchased at wsjshop.com. For Customer Service, please call 1-800-JOURNAL (1-800-568-7625), send email to wsjsupport@wsj.com or write us at: 200 Burnett Road, Chicopee, MA 01020. For advertising inquiries, please email us at wsjpublisher@wsj.com. For reprints, please call 800-843-0008, email customreprints@dowjones .com or visit our reprints web address at www.djreprints.com.

13 4


STILL LIFE

BRIAN GRAZER The Hollywood producer shares a few of his favorite things. PHOTOGRAPHY BY YE RIN MOK

“I SAW THAT Scott ‘Genius’ mountain bike in Aspen in

a store window. My wife, Veronica, bought it secretly and surprised me on my birthday. It’s so badass and super-pimpy. Those his-and-hers gold dog tags were another surprise from my wife. Mine makes me feel safe, because I go on dangerous bike rides and I surf. If there’s a 911, they know who I am. To the left is a 22-karat-gold pendant with St. Christopher on one side and a Jewish star on the other. My mom is Jewish, and my dad’s side was Catholic. My mother’s mom, little Sonia Schwartz, my mentor, gave it to me. The espresso cup is from Myanmar. This rural tribe handmade it, and every time I drink out of it, I think

about my experience there, which I loved. Next to it is one of my blowguns. In 1985, through Sting, I met an Amazonian tribesman named Raoni, who hunted with a blowgun. So I bought blowguns, and I became kind of an expert blowgun shooter. The story behind that Wu-Tang Clan sweatshirt is that about 25 years ago, I was in the backseat of a taxicab, and I heard this wild guy called Ol’ Dirty Bastard. I thought, I’m going to meet this guy, and I meet ODB, a member of Wu-Tang. And he became the beginning of a journey into understanding East Coast hip-hop. On the shelf is Chile Crunch, a condiment. I get crates of it from the Meat & Cheese Restaurant & Farm Shop in Aspen. I like spices

on my huevos rancheros. On top of that is a photo of me. About 30 years ago, I got invited to a party at the house of Marvin Davis, then the owner of 20th Century Fox. I brought a picture of myself in a kitschy frame that cost $1. I put it among his pictures of family and dignitaries, thinking it would be clever and distinctive. He was outraged. It scared me, but then I thought, Things that scare you, you should do. Since then, I’ve snuck in photos during visits with Fidel Castro, Bill Gates, George Clooney, Owen Wilson. I snuck one into three of Rupert Murdoch’s houses. If you invited me to your house, I’d put a framed photo of me in a place where you’d only find it later.” —As told to Mark Yarm WSJ. M AGA ZINE

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