The Living Rooms of Surrealism
A room can sometimes be as real as a dream, as fragile as a memory. With Vincent Darré, we went looking for the ways surrealism still breathes today: in the memory of objects, in the silence of spaces, and behind the invisible doors that imagination leaves ajar.
“Fantasy and the fantastic are another way of embellishing reality. And the border between them is a door we must open often, so as not to run out of breath.”
“A room is alive; its soul is a mirror of the people who live in it. Perhaps that is why I love abandoned houses and ruins. Those moments when human traces slowly fade away have always fascinated me.”
There is a door. A door Vincent Darré often speaks of. On one side lies reality; on the other, imagination. For him, this door must be opened often, because when we become too realistic, life grows hard to bear. That is why each space he designs is not a décor built to escape reality, but an invitation to look at it with different eyes. The moment you step into Vincent Darré’s world, nothing remains merely what it seems. A piece of furniture can become a memory, a mirror a stage, an old object a forgotten story.
A hundred years ago, when André Breton published the Manifesto of Surrealism, he was aiming at far more than proposing a new aesthetic. He believed that dreams, chance, the unconscious and imagination could once again become part of everyday life. Today, in an age when artificial intelligence can generate images in seconds, when algorithms anticipate our choices and aesthetic sensibilities grow ever more alike, this idea takes on new meaning. Perhaps what we need now is not new images, but new ways of seeing the world.
This is precisely why Vincent Darré’s interiors are never merely decoration. They are living universes of a kind, where memory and imagination work together. Salvador Dalí’s humour, Elsa Schiaparelli’s daring, Jean Cocteau’s poetry and the nameless objects one might stumble upon in the flea markets of Paris can all meet in the same room. In his hands, antiques, seashells, masks, jewels and unexpected objects cease to be mere things; they become characters carrying their pasts into the present. Time does not move in a straight line; different eras quietly blend into one another. What emerges is not nostalgia, but memory reimagined.
That is why Vincent Darré speaks of surprise rather than beauty. For surprise sets our habits aside, if only for a moment, and makes room for imagination. In his rooms, nothing exists for its function alone; every object becomes the beginning of a new association. At a time when design so often aims for perfection, Vincent Darré reminds us of curiosity rather than flawlessness. The world he builds says exactly this: imagination is not the opposite of reality, but another door that opens onto it. And that door, so that we do not suffocate, must always be left slightly ajar.
In this conversation for Numéro İstanbul, we spoke with Vincent Darré about imagination, the memory of objects, Paris, artificial intelligence, and whether surrealism still has something to tell us today.
Fantasy is often positioned in opposition to reality. Yet in your world the two do not exclude each other; on the contrary, fantasy becomes another way of understanding reality. Do you see it that way too?
If we surrender too much to reality, life becomes unbearable. Fantasy and the fantastic are another way of embellishing reality. And the border between them is a door we must open often, so as not to run out of breath.
In one interview you said that people today want to dream more than ever. Why do you think fantasy has become such a need in our times?
Hollywood produced its most fantastical films during the years of America’s Great Depression. In such anxious periods, it is entirely natural for dreaming to become an escape. Through my décors, I am prescribing exactly that kind of antidepressant.
Your interiors carry many references to the past, yet they never look nostalgic. Instead, they create the feeling that different eras can exist at the same time. How do you approach time when you design?
Actually, contrary to what you might think, I can sometimes be quite nostalgic. Hôtel Le Magnifique, which I recently designed, is one of the finest examples. The hotel is full of memories of the Rive Gauche, where I was born. The frescoes in the lobby are a tribute to La Coupole. The columns ending in giant hands are a nod to Slavik’s Drugstore. Many traces — from the artists who lived in Montparnasse, such as Giacometti, Picasso and Matisse, to the theatres of the Rue de la Gaîté — come back to life here. Together with my partner Pierre Chevalier, we created a mythological place nourished by a reimagined past.
You often speak of spaces as though they were living characters. Can a space, like a person, have a personality?
The moment I enter someone’s home, I can sense their state of mind. When I decode the décor, I can even see the neuroses behind the disorder and the inconsistencies. A room is alive; its soul is a mirror of the people who live in it. Perhaps that is why I love abandoned houses and ruins. Those moments when human traces slowly fade away have always fascinated me.
For many designers, beauty is a central concern. You, however, speak more of surprise. Is surprise more important than beauty?
Beauty inspires admiration, but it is also a classical notion. Surprise is a window onto the unexpected. Where there is surprise, the question of taste no longer exists.
Artificial intelligence can now generate surreal images in seconds. Does this democratise imagination, or standardise it?
In my experience, the aesthetic language of AI is terribly vulgar. When you ask it to dream, it overdoes everything. In the end, surrealism turns into Disneyland.
You once said that every morning you dress like an actor about to step onto the stage of Paris…
I was born in Paris. Whenever I return from a journey, I recognise even its smallest detail. For me, Paris is like a giant grey madeleine dipped into the Seine every morning. A living city. These days, though, it is rather grumpy, chaotic, choked with traffic and tense. Inevitably, that mood rubs off on Parisians too.
Collectors preserve objects. Do you think objects remember us, too?
I love chancing upon an old object. I believe each one carries a soul. Sometimes, in the hands of collectors, they have lived more than one life and gathered mysterious memories. I adore wandering through antique dealers and auction houses; for me, they are a living museum where anything is possible. One of my greatest fantasies is that, years after my death, someone will find a piece of furniture I designed at a flea market and say, “Who was the madman who made this?”
If Salvador Dalí walked into one of the spaces you design today, what do you think would make him smile?
When I designed the Schiaparelli salons with Inès de La Fressange, we placed at their centre a chiffonier in the shape of a lobster, carved from wood and covered in gold leaf. It was a small nod to the famous lobster Dalí designed for the Schiaparelli dress worn by the Duchess of Windsor. I thought this little wink to the masters of surrealism would make him smile.
“Imagination is the strongest thing that binds me to life. The endless labyrinth of my inspiration. The whole point is to be able to turn my dreams into reality.”