Paris Apartment: La Vie en Rose

… and the pursuit of the perfect pink.

We were surprised and delighted that our favorite blog, Cote de Texas, featured the Paris Apartment Kitchen in a recent series on kitchen redos. And we were tickled pink with how many people commented on the pink chairs! Sure enough, that touch of pink is our favorite little exclamation point in the apartment. But it came about in a somewhat circuitous manner, with the help of many of our gallerinas. Here’s the story of pink:

As art gallery owners, it’s perhaps not unexpected that many of our interior decorating decisions first start with the art. It so happens that back in October, Linda and I, having one of the most fun flea marketing days of our lives (and no, this one didn’t involve bumping in to Catherine Deneuve …), found some paintings that we fell in love with and each had to have. The one I selected, whose provenance is unknown, jumped out at me so fast that I knew it belonged in the Paris apartment, and I knew it would have a significant role. I had it framed by our favorite Atlanta framer and for six months, it sat in a plastic bag in the bottom of a closet while I waited for the apartment to be finished, for the dust to settle and for its final destiny to be revealed.

Meanwhile, on another wonderful flea market excursion, this time in the South of France, I found six exquisite chairs that I just had to have. I loved the simple Louis XVI lines, the sturdiness of the frame, the patina of the wood and especially, the nubbly linen upholstery. They were a little pricey but worth it, and I decided to plan the Paris apartment around them.

I was very excited about the purchase and couldn’t wait to show them to Sam when she accompanied me on a trip to Les Murets, where I had decided to store the chairs until the apartment was ready.

And then the inevitable happened. We fell in love with the chairs all over again, but this time decided they had to stay at Les Murets, instead of Paris. We divided them up and spread them around the house, and no matter where we put them, they looked perfect:

Either as a desk chair in the office …

As an occasional chair in a bedroom:

As a pair, flanking a console or in a corner of the living room.

Who knew I needed so many chairs? (I didn’t!) But that left me scrambling to find some similar chairs for Paris, with the knowledge that, having already scoured all the antique markets, I’d have very little choice. In a leap of faith, I decided to order six chairs sight unseen, off of a prominent French website. I crossed my fingers and hoped they would be decent, especially since returning furniture in France is no easy feat.

When the chairs finally arrived, I was surprisingly pleased with the shape and structure and the pretty muted color, called “marron glace,” which means iced chestnut.

But when I grouped them around the kitchen table, and filled in around them with furniture and accessories in my favorite shades of grey, gold, taupe and beige, the room went flat. I knew that a pop of color was missing, but I couldn’t figure out which color. And of course, that is when art (and Sam!) came to the rescue.

The answer jumped out at me right from the canvas of that magical painting: it had to be pink! I went to bed that night dreaming of pink and woke up early to visit every flea market and fabric store I could find, for the right shade of pink. Have you ever tried to buy pink? It is a very tough color! I spent two days desperately scouring the French countryside only to come up with fuchsia, raspberry, melon, cranberry, and just about every fruit color on the planet but no perfect peony pink. I even called a Parisian antique store where I’d remembered seeing a gorgeous swath of antique pink silk fabric draped over a curtain rod in the back room, to ask if it was still available, to which the woman replied, “Of course not! It’s not for sale. It’s an original Louis XVI fabric.” My bad. It’s just that I thought if it was in a store, it might actually be for sale …

And then Sam came to the rescue. Three thousand miles away, she knew exactly what I was looking for, and found it buried in the sale rack of the silk remnants in a fancy Atlanta fabric store. When she sent me the picture of the pink and cream checked silk taffeta, I started jumping up and down. Although she apologized for the quality of the picture, I instantly remembered this fabric from having seen it years ago and wishing at the time that I had a room for it. It was 2 a.m. her time, but I frantically starting texting her: This is it! Buy it! Go get it! Break in! I’ll bail you out of jail!! Please don’t come without it!!

As luck would have it, she returned to the fabric store in the morning (having slept very little, since I’d kept her up with my frantic texting) and wouldn’t you know that out of the thousands of one-of-a-kind remnants in the store, a very pregnant woman was holding that particular swath, probably trying to figure out if it was enough to do her nursery. Sam kept her cool, walked around a little, and when the woman put the fabric down (probably just for a second to go get a measuring tape), Sam grabbed it and ran upstairs to pay for it. She didn’t check her bag on the plane and arrived safely, with fabric, the very next day in Paris. And that’s when our fun really began!

With the help of a thin backed spoon, Sam carefully lined the backs of the chairs in the silk taffeta and we’ve been holding our breaths ever since to make sure that it stays. (If not, there is a very nice upholsterer down the street in Paris, who assures me that for $400 per chair, he will back it properly! Ouch.)

With just a little touch of it, only on the backs of chairs (oh, and with a few peonies thrown in too), the pink has made all the difference in the kitchen, which instantly went from blah to ta dah! Just to add another touch of it in the living room we found a little lumbar pillow for the sofa.

We bought it in Paris but brought it back to Atlanta for the monogram, whose initials will be explained in the next (and final) blog on the Paris apartment.

And then of course the final piece de resistance, is the touch of pink in the geraniums on the window boxes!

This blog is dedicated to Linda, who helped me find the fabulous first painting that set the tone for the pink; to Sam, who knew how to make it all come together, and who climbed mountains and crossed oceans to deliver the perfect pink; and to Meg, whose unerring support through this whole process has been so generous and fun, and who coined the perfect phrase for the pink chairs when she responded to my fit of insecurity and wrote, “… Love em! They’re so sassy!”

Merci mesdames. Ma vie est en rose, thanks to you.

Ta ta,

AH

PS We’ll be issuing the final before-and-after blog on the Paris apartment next week, and with that, a little news of our own. Don’t go away!