A White House Through the Seasons

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We’re heading into the second half of August and I can already feel everything begin to shift. Partly because of the decided lack of rain we've had, all the stressed trees are already turning yellow and shedding their leaves here, but also because there is a shift in August... the light is lower, you start to notice the evenings drawing in and here on the marsh we get the return of the heavy morning dews.

September is definitely on the mind. There are people on Instagram talking about their autumn wardrobes and someone even mentioned the C word the other day- I am absolutely NOT ready for that.

I do love summer- I’m a July baby and I feel like summer is my season: I love the endless light, the French door always open, eating outside, walking around bare feet, the constant supply of flowers from the garden and that intoxicating feeling that the boundaries between the house and everything outside have almost disappeared.

People quite often say that my house feels like eternal summer. I actually take that as a huge compliment. Sometimes people even ask if it is our summer house- “do you have central heating?” they ask! Yes of course we do! We live here 365 days a year.

I think I may be a true English girl at heart, by which I mean I actually love the change of seasons. I love the long, low shadows of autumn and the crisp mornings winter brings. I love lighting the fire, cosying up and wearing a jumper again after floating around in linen and cotton all summer. It's nice to have a change, and that goes for the house too.

And that's the thing about white. One of the reasons I've lived with it, and loved it, for so many years is that it's so eternally adaptable. It acts as the backdrop to my compulsive stylist tendencies — I'm constantly tweaking, changing and rearranging things here — and the seasons provide a never-ending conveyor belt of inspiration.

Where we live, the seasons are very noticeable, you really feel them. Summer is all generosity and frothy abundance. Everything growing slightly out of control, long grass, cow parsley, flowers everywhere and the doors to the house permanently open. Autumn brings its rich colours and long shadows. There is still a warmth in the air that makes you want to hang on to being outside for as long as possible. Spring is so full of promise, although it can be horribly deceptive. My father aways says that April is the cruelest month, and I think he might be right. Many times I’ve seen the cherry blossom come out, decided winter is finally over and then, it snows. But I love winter here too. It has its own bleak beauty. The landscape becomes almost minimal — soft greys and alabasters, bare trees silhouetted against vast pale skies, and when the sun does appear, the light is low and crisp and because there are only a few precious hours of it in the depths of winter, it feels extra special.

And of course, I bring all those changes happening outside into the house.

As autumn arrives, the rugs come back out and sheepskins are thrown over the dining chairs. Huge branches come in from outside and the fire is lit again. By Christmas there are bundles of fir and greenery everywhere. Then in January I fill old tureens with forced bulbs — that little promise of something growing when the garden is still dormant.

When spring starts to creep in there are little pops of acid green and yellow at first and then as the season develops the jewel colours of tulips arrive. I like to mirror this inside, perhaps an antique lustreware jug full of daffodils, a vintage floral cushion on the sofa, even a teacup on the mantelpiece with a single camellia resting inside. Fresh and jolly shots of colour to celebrate its arrival after all the greyness of winter. When summer comes round again everything becomes lighter: white linen throws, glass vases, armfuls of flowers and greenery.

So yes, white is often associated with summer, Mediterranean houses, beach cottages, billowing curtains and bright sunlight, but I find it every bit as beautiful in November as I do in July. Old wood looks richer; wool, velvet and sheepskin take centre stage, candlelight glows warmly against it and darker pieces of furniture come into their own.

Getting the balance right in a white room is important. I have furniture that is pale and airy alongside pieces that are darker and more grounded, and both coexist all year. One gives weight to the other and as the light changes through the year, the balance between them shifts. This is what I love about white. It’s the blank canvas for a year full of seasonal changes and creative possibilities.

So when it’s summer, yes, I hope it does feel eternal here. But come back in November. It will still be white, but there’ll be a fire burning, a sheepskin on your chair and probably an enormous branch of something somewhere.

And it will feel eternally cosy.

Atlanta x

A little more on white…

As we’re talking about white this week, I’ve reduced my Decorating With White guide from £35 to £28 until Sunday.

It’s 40 pages of everything I’ve learnt about living and decorating with white — including choosing the right white, adding warmth and texture, working with light, white floors and four complete white palettes.

If this week’s Studio Notes has made you look at white differently, you can find the guide here.

Decorating With White — £28 until Sunday

Get Decorating with White here

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