This is an image of E1027, a Modernist house on the Cote d’Azur designed by Irish architect Eileen Gray, in 1929 when she was fifty-one years old. It was her first ever architectural work and was built for herself and her then lover, Jean Badovici. It has recently re-opened following restoration and in a lovely, satisfying article I read this afternoon, which you can read if you follow this link, Architecture Critic Rowan Moore describes his visit.
God is in the details: a tea trolley with a cork surface, to reduce the rattling of cups, another trolley for taking a gramophone outside, and the E1027 table, whose height can be adjusted to suit different situations. I so strongly believe in this well-worn cliché that it might be a testament for my life and work.
So much art is flawed because the detail is flawed; not just buildings, where they use imported French stone when they could have used the real thing, Portland Stone [why Norman?] or give the signage zero input so that once it is handed over, all crisp and clean, the client has no choice but to plaster every surface with cheap plastic signs and handwritten scraps of paper [why Norman?]: books where the author has forgotten to mention until the second-last page that the Mex who has been following her for 330-pages is actually a Special Forces operative sent to protect her. Films with dreadful casting [are you reading this Tonto/Depp?]; TV series which insist on someone being raped in every episode, even though that doesn’t happen in any of the books. Or imported programmes about randy advertising executives which state that the American Way of Life is best.
The details are so important; not saying fussy, just spend the extra time to get it right.