In Mats Gustafson’s Stockholm living room, antique and modern mingle freely. Photographs by Magnus Marding. Styled by Jacob Hertzell.
True North
Mats Gustafson
By PILAR VILADAS
November 4, 2011
When you walk into the artist and illustrator Mats Gustafson’s apartment in Stockholm, you’re not quite sure what era you’re in. In the foyer, a turn-of-the-century painting of a bourgeois Swedish interior hangs beneath one of Isamu Noguchi’s oversize paper lanterns, and underfoot is a colorful mid-20th-century rug by Barbro Nilsson for the renowned Swedish workshop MMF. Under a midcentury nude painted by Birger Ljungquist, Gustafson’s great-uncle, sits a simple 1950s stool by the Swedish designer Carl Malmsten. Walk through an angled doorway into the living room, a high-ceilinged space with the graceful proportions and architectural ornament typical of late-19th-century buildings, and the mix gets even richer. An upholstered 19th-century Swedish bench along the window and a group of slipper chairs, all from Gustafson’s family, blend easily with sheepskin-covered wood chairs designed in the 1930s by Bruno Mathsson and tables by Josef Frank. Vases by Scandinavian Modern ceramics masters like Axel Salto and Berndt Friberg are clustered atop a traditional tiled fireplace, and the immaculate plaster walls (which are painted, aptly enough, Stockholm White) are hung with Gustafson’s spare, elegant watercolors. Venture into the apartment’s long corridor, however, and you’ll find up-to-the-minute bathrooms and a sunny, south-facing kitchen in which crisp, utilitarian cabinets provide a clean backdrop for an antique wooden table and chairs. This is an interior that’s modern and old-fashioned at the same time, and in all the right ways.
Gustafson, a Swede who moved to New York in 1980 (and who now lives in a 19th-century farmhouse in Sag Harbor), had kept a small apartment in this building — an imposing structure in Stockholm’s Sodermalm neighborhood — since the 1970s, but when a two-bedroom apartment became available, he couldn’t resist. “I needed a more mature place,” he said, one that would give him a space to work, and which would also provide comfortable living quarters for him and his partner, the jewelry and product designer Ted Muehling. Gustafson treasured the Old World graciousness of the space and wanted to make it more functional while protecting its considerable charms, “not to make it into something it wasn’t,” he explained.
His allies in this effort, as they were in the renovation of the smaller apartment and the Sag Harbor house, were the husband-and-wife architects Neil Logan and Solveig Fernlund of the New York firm Fernlund + Logan. Gustafson and Fernlund, a fellow Swede, have been friends for years. They come from similar backgrounds — they both grew up in the countryside; his mother designed rugs and hers was an art historian — and Gustafson’s 1989 watercolor portrait of Fernlund hangs in the new apartment’s living room. The architects are known for their aesthetically obsessed clients, including artists like Rirkrit Tiravanija and the textile manufacturer Michael Maharam, as well as Muehling, whose new Manhattan shop they recently completed.
The Stockholm apartment had been occupied for decades by Hilding Linnqvist, a painter who died in 1984, and his wife, and the rooms were in need of renovation. The kitchen was small, with a separate entrance, and there was a maid’s room, as well as lots of storage that had been added awkwardly throughout the apartment. Fernlund and Logan reorganized this part of the space, enlarging the kitchen and adding a doorway at each end to connect it visually and functionally to the rest of the apartment, getting rid of the maid’s room and adding a laundry room and a modern bathroom (one of two). As Fernlund explained, “The goal for everything we did was to add things we need to live now, without making them feel cut off from the apartment.” Wiring was replaced, woodwork was stripped (and repainted with an oil-based paint to bring out its details), and what had been the service hallway was cleared of its cabinets to make a central corridor that connects the apartment’s studio, living room and master bedroom (which are enfilade, with generous doorways between) with the kitchen, bathrooms and guest room. It was important to the architects that the subtlety of natural light be felt in every room. “Without shadows,” Fernlund said, the light becomes flat and lifeless, “adding that there is no built-in or recessed lighting in the rooms because Gustafson and Muehling prefer the glow of lamps and candles.
Once the spaces were completed, it was time to decorate, and Gustafson had plenty to work with. In addition to his own collections of Scandinavian Modern furniture and decorative arts (which he bought at thrift shops and junk stores before they were rediscovered), he had antiques and paintings from his parents’ house and saw no obstacle to mixing periods. “Rather than get ‘new’ old things,” he said, “I’d reuse these. There’s more of a connection.” Both he and Muehling believe that decorating is layering: “It’s not about perfection. This is very much our territory,” he added. And Muehling brought a touch of humor to the serene rooms with the addition of pieces like a Royal Copenhagen blue-and-white vase painted with ships, which he describes as “kitsch, or bordering on it. It’s different from the extreme good taste that we both tend to do.”
The apartment’s palette consists mainly of grays, browns and ochers against the cool white walls, and though it’s tonally restrained, it’s texturally complex. Gustafson said that his idea of the apartment was less “Fanny and Alexander” and more Vilhelm Hammershoi, the Danish painter known for his monochromatic, nearly empty, ethereally lighted interiors. “The Swedish sense, even if 19th century,” he suggested, “is more homespun — a little drab, if you want — but it is a Nordic thing. It’s not silk and velvet, let’s put it that way.”
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