‘Everything is a prop’: interiors stylist Colin King talks taste

My personal style signifier is a signet ring I commissioned from my friend Kim Dunham. I haven’t taken it off since I moved back to New York six years ago. The bezel is a crown – my last name is King – and the inside is engraved with the words “Belong to where you are”.

The last thing I bought and loved was a book I saw at the Andrée Putman exhibition at Fondation CAB in Saint-Paul de Vence. They’d recreated her desk with a copy of French Style by Suzanne Slesin and Stafford Cliff: I ordered a copy and it was there when I got home. I’m constantly referencing books and photography because I love composition and interesting arrangements. I find myself returning to this one a lot.

The best gifts I’ve given recently are postcards. Whenever I get one, I save it and slip it in a book as a bookmark. So wherever I am, I gather postcards. When I’m on vacation or a work trip, I try to get up every morning, write a little note and send it to someone.

And the best gift I’ve received is a pair of petite patchwork pillows by an artist called Kiva Motnyk. They were commissioned by Abby Bangser of Object & Thing for an exhibition we worked on at Long House Reserve, the East Hampton home of the late textile designer Jack Lenor Larsen. They were inspired by his work; they’re very sweet. Two went to the exhibition, but Abby saw my affinity for them and commissioned two extras for me. 

The best book I’ve read in the past year is Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott. It’s a memoir but also has lessons on how to become a writer. She says that everything is material – a bit like that saying “everything is copy”. My version of that is everything is a prop: my kitchen is fully unfunctional because everything is a prop. She also says writing a novel is like driving a car at night: you can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way. It’s a great metaphor for writing, and for life. 

An object I would never part with is a tiny pair of bronze bird feet by Lee Hale; they’re candleholders, and probably the quirkiest thing I own. There’s something so peculiar about them, and everyone wants to touch them. They’re the first or last thing anyone notices when they come over.

Nothing exposes me as a bachelor – or maybe a serial killer – more than my fridge

The place that means a lot to me is Copenhagen. It was the first place I took myself as an adult on a solo vacation. It envelops you with its sensibility and colours – and even just its order. Coming from New York, where it’s a free for all, I find there’s something so beautiful about Copenhagen. On my last trip I went to the Rudolph Tegners Museum, an insane, octagonal museum that rises out of the countryside from nowhere. There’s no natural light other than through the skylights: I hadn’t felt that otherworldly in quite a bit.

My style icon is the choreographer and director Bob Fosse. He was a notorious tyrant but he took his deficits as a dancer – he was pigeon-toed and had these high shoulders – and created a whole new style of movement. I’m a classically trained ballet dancer, and when I think of style I think of dance. As a dancer, you study other people; you’re trying to pick up their style. I remember being seven or eight and watching Fosse’s routine “Rich Man’s Frug (Sweet Charity)”. The movement is so otherworldly and quirky but the style of it is beautiful. I find myself watching a lot of Fosse’s old performances for inspiration.

The podcast I’m listening to is SmartLess by Jason Bateman, Sean Hayes and Will Arnett; three American actors. It’s just a bunch of banter; I went to an all-boys school, so there’s something very nostalgic about it. How to Fail by Elizabeth Day is also beautiful. I’m never drawn to perfect things – whether that’s interiors or other human beings – and I’ve learnt so much from people’s honesty about their failures.

The works of art that changed everything for me were the Vilhelm Hammershøi paintings at the Ordrupgaard Museum in Copenhagen. I was already familiar with his work, but until I saw them in person, they hadn’t really affected me. The way he was able to paint light is wild – there’s a softness, but also a direct source of it. I realised I’ve been chasing a similar light quality in my work. 

I have a collection of Japanese bowls. A friend brought me one back from Japan that he picked up at a flea market, and now I have about 20. There’s a beautiful part of collecting where you start to see something everywhere. Now, whenever I go to an antique shop, there’s usually a Japanese bowl of some sort. I like to place them somewhere I can see the inside of them.

In my fridge you’ll always find water and some fruit for props. Nothing exposes me as a bachelor – or maybe a serial killer – more than my fridge. I love food but the joy of cooking is yet to find me.

The thing I couldn’t do without is my weekly Moves dance class. I retired from dancing at 23, which was a long time ago. I didn’t revisit it until about a year ago, when I discovered this class. It’s a very New York moment because it’s at night and is usually in a beautiful dance space; some of the classes have 100-plus people. I get transported to that scene in the film Center Stage where they leave ballet class and go to a jazz class in the city. Moving my body really changes the way I feel; it’s just working a whole other instrument. @movespurejoy

An indulgence I’d never forgo is dessert. I think people secretly love coming to dinner with me because I always order it. In New York it’s such a thing that people breeze past, but usually the people most reluctant to order dessert eat the most of it. If I had to pick one, it would be ice cream. I grew up in Columbus, Ohio, which is an ice-cream mecca. It has a shop called Graeter’s that has permeated the country, and one called Jeni’s Splendid Ice Creams that’s also now everywhere.

The one artist whose work I would collect if I could is Lucio Fontana, the Argentine-Italian painter known for slashing his canvases. There was an exhibition of his work at the Met Breuer a couple of years ago: seeing the slashes up close and how he put gauze behind them – that rigid modernity is beautiful. I’d love to have a mix of his art and ceramics. And a big John Chamberlain somewhere, just one. 

The beauty staple I’m never without is Biologique Recherche’s Lotion P50. That’s the only thing I do – that and an AquaGold facial twice a year. I don’t know what it is exactly – it’s some sort of laser – but it’s really painful.

My favourite room in my house is my bedroom. I painted it Farrow & Ball’s Deep Reddish Brown, so there’s a cocoon-like aspect when you’re in there. I’ve always loved small spaces: growing up in an 1830s farmhouse, we didn’t even have a hallway. You walked up the stairs and landed right in my parents’ room, and you had to walk through my brother’s room to get to mine. 

The last item of clothing I added to my wardrobe is a pair of pants from Stein. They’re the perfect travel trousers – they don’t wrinkle. Even when I’m on a plane or on set, they hold their shape perfectly.

In another life, I would have been a painter or sculptor. I love rocks and carving things.

My favourite website is LiveAuctioneers. I’m a recovering fanatic. I love watching auctions and seeing what’s coming up, whether that’s sourcing for myself or for clients. The best thing I’ve bought is a travertine table, which arrived the week before the world shut down. It became this altar that I returned to every day and made still lifes with. I don’t know what I would have done without it.

My favourite building is 101 Spring Street, where Donald Judd lived in New York. The way the Judd Foundation has restored it is mind-blowing, from repouring all the glass in the windows to preserving the way he lived there. I find it fascinating seeing the way artists live – not only what they collect, but how they arrange things. 

When I need to feel inspired, I go to water. It doesn’t even have to be that dramatic; it could be the shower. There’s a meditative, cleansing, healing property to it. Walking down to the West Side Highway, sitting there feeling the breeze and watching the water, is clearing. It’s helpful in my creative process.

The last music I downloaded was “Never Too Much” by Luther Vandross. There’s movement and choreography to what I do; I can find silence almost deafening on set. I like to have a melody to move through.

The best souvenirs I’ve brought home are stones. I love to travel light – I only ever take a carry-on – but I always bring back stones. It reminds me of being a kid, collecting things and arranging them on a windowsill. The best one I found was in Malibu: it’s beautifully flat and has a great size to it. I keep it on my coffee table.   

One of the best bits of advice I ever received was “help is not on the way”. If you’re waiting for help, there’s a problem. I can ask for help, which I’ve found invaluable; the discretion of when to help yourself and ask for help is really important. But if I waited for assistance on all the things I didn’t know how to do in a day, I’d be screwed. 

Variations, Colin King’s furniture collection for The Future Perfect, launches on 19 October