the dennis severs house is rich and layered, a great fat cake of visual detail, of dense narrative, decades in the making, overwhelming by design. david hockney called the experience of it ‘one of the world’s great operas’. for concentrated passion and sensory intensity, for high rococo-cuckoo, operatic seems about right.

the house is jam-packed, not only with objects, but also with object lessons. naming and claiming those lessons, in the face of such ‘too-much-ness’, is a tall order. luckily, i know how to tackle a cake: let’s take just one slice, and learn from dennis severs as host.

in all the ways it has been laid out, thought out, and dressed out, the house is a social space.  i paid 17 pounds for admission, but was referred to throughout as a ‘guest’. of the ten rooms, four (or five, counting the kitchen) are specifically for guests. where there are guests, there must be hosts, and here it gets tricky: i counted four layers of hosts that night.

first and most obvious (his name’s on it) is dennis severs himself, whose force of personality overcomes the fact that he’s been dead for 17 years. in every room, through handwritten notes, severs addresses us directly, laying out the house rules. don’t talk, don’t steal, and don’t touch (for a start). ‘you either see it or you don’t’ is the house motto, a theme he restates at every turn.

is severs a more mellow host these days, less demanding in death than in life? in his prime, tours lasted three hours or more, and he ejected (sometimes forceably) those deemed unworthy. the brochure still sniffs at ‘bored company director’s wives’ (meow, but yeah, i get it).

it does seem that the urgent ouija-board-tone of his book ’18 folgate street’ has softened. on a stair landing one of his notes asks us to ‘forgive the shallow who must chatter. silence brings to the fore deeper sensations with which many are unacquainted and ill at ease. they fear a lack of control; they talk.’ okay, dennis, we’ll cut the shallow some slack, but just this once.

the next set of hosts are the easiest to spot: the half dozen or so black-clad docents who slip out of the rooms as you enter, and silently point out the path. they take your admission fees, sell a few books, and count the spoons behind you. they also, every day the house is open, perform the preparation ritual: cooking food, laying fires, lighting candles, peeing in chamber pots; scores of tasks large and small. they  seemed to me like bunraku puppeteers, hiding in plain sight, rendered transparent by mutual agreement and submersion in their task.

the next host, though largely invisible, is crucial: the spitalfields trust (their motto slays: ‘do not be afraid to go in where others demur’). this is the registered charity to whom severs, in his last days, bequeathed his home. their name is on the deed; they deal with wardens from the fire brigade, maintain the website, and collect the fees. absent their embrace, the house would never have seen its second life. interestingly, the house is still officially classed a private residence, and so skirts some bureaucracies.

finally, yet most vibrantly, we’re hosted by those useful fictions, the gervais/jervis family. they’re absent but tangible; their voices and footsteps echo just out of sight; their portraits match the wigs dangling from chair backs (what better image of home is there– where you don’t just let your hair down, but slip it off entirely?)

spanning almost 200 years, each generation of jervises embody the spirit of their age, whether baroque or classical, romantic or rational. severs, in a telling, quirky turn of phrase said of the jervis family, ‘i live in proxy for them’.

on entering the dennis severs house, you join an evening already in progress. guests and hosts have just stepped away from their thoughtfully prepared social engagement.  severs knew that parties have a shape, whether intentional or not. manipulation and mastery of this shape is one mark of his evolved hosting.

we might think of a play divided into acts (three is a good number, but not the only one) each act with its own energy and purpose. he varied the music and lighting accordingly, and so can we.  he moves guests through a sequence of settings, each configured for best use. we can use this exercise as a way to think about and reset the spaces in our homes; these changes may well last beyond the evening of the party. things like napkins and barware find their best place and then live there.

dennis severs was sensitive to both social history and the shape of his home: a dining room, a withdrawing room, and a smoking room combine to provide the spine of an evening. but he also saw friends in more casual settings; many describe being most at ease in the basement kitchen. each of the public rooms has a table in the center, a variety of chairs, adjacent serving surfaces (sideboards and such), and close at hand a mix of occasional tables or stools (small enough to easily shift), for setting down a pipe or teacup or punch glass.

entertaining often has many advantages: you can try out variations (dennis severs’ repertoire included the ‘punch evening’, the smoker, the dinner party, the ‘at home’, the fundraiser, the neighborhood crawl, and the tea, for a start.) you’re invited out more often. no single event takes on undue pressure.

the best parties start out or end up in the kitchen. the perfect kitchen takes many forms, but is always personal. it should have space for more than just the chef, so cooking becomes social.

dennis severs knew that written invitations give an event greater weight and it still holds true.  perhaps just as well that he didn’t live to see the age of paperless posts and evites. to make an impression, put a stamp on it.

dennis severs learned about lighting from the georgians and we can learn from him. he arranged candles strategically, never evenly in the room, nor all at the same height. his candles are sometimes used en masse, as on the main floor landing.

there, an epergne (a footed display holding tiered bowls)  is studded with candles to reflect both the gleam of the service piece and the glowing candies, fruits, and nuts within. designing lights is a bit of a misnomer; what you’re really designing are shadows, reflection, and attention. the epergne is a great example. notice how it gleams off the paint (an ivory and a deep venetian red). here’s how our home looked last night, as we lived the lesson:

punch is central to the dennis severs experience. in room after room, from bowl after bowl, it glints and wafts, turning glassware to jewel tones, scenting the air with citrus and cinnamon. in this video (at about the 2:50 mark) we see severs hosting in life. note his reverence and delight as he takes the punchbowl from the footman.

‘i couldn’t afford very much and that helps a lot.’

perhaps the best lesson of them all. none of us is too poor to host. open your doors, call for help, buy five dollars worth of candles and shine up whatever you have. dennis severs, in one way, lived a life of poverty. in other ways, none in london were richer.

the lessons

rearrange your home for a party, then see what might stay. make guests welcome in the kitchen. ask friends to co-host. put a table in the middle. divide a party into acts; score and light accordingly. don’t skimp on candles; mass them, vary their heights and leave dark areas for contrast; pay attention to shadows and reflections. entertaining often makes hosting easier. punch is not only convivial, it’s also simple. put the invitation in writing. have and state house rules, but don’t be a dick about them. give care to the scents of a party; there’s no better back door to release: beeswax and wood smoke, spices and citrus unlock our defenses.

go further

this post from those smart remodelista friends gives a modern and thrifty take on party and holiday decor. dennis would approve.

leonard koren’s book ‘arranging things; a rhetoric of object placement’ is useful for framing the essence of severs’ craft.

rebecca purcell is, like dennis severs, a master of atmospheres. see her work here.

brian selznick (of ‘hugo’ fame) has just come out with ‘the marvels’, inspired by 18 folgate street.

(here’s part one of this post, and here’s a little transition from one to two)