The Art of Looking Again
Don & Ruben, and the house they saw beyond its imperfections.
“Sometimes we feel like artists, and the walls are our canvas.”
The first time we saw Hacienda Amor, we weren't looking for a house.
It had been on and off the market for years. Some thought it was too big; others, too far from the center of town. The vegetation had grown so wild that the house was almost hidden, every wall was a different color, and the furniture wasn't doing it any favors. At first glance, it was hard to see what was there. But something about that house made us want to take a second look.
We had just decided to live in Mexico full-time and weren't looking to move, much less leave the center of town. But we fell in love with the house, and with everything it could become.
We've always preferred houses that haven't been renovated. There's nothing worse than paying full price for a bad renovation. Hacienda Amor was almost exactly as it had been left, and the project turned out to be far bigger than we'd imagined: a year and a half of work, inside and out. But as we went along, the house started giving things back.
Thirty boxes of its original tiles in a basement. Stacks of Saltillo clay tiles behind the garage. And in the garage itself, six executive chairs by Afra and Tobia Scarpa, two of the very designers whose work we collect.
That's when we thought: this house was meant for us.
The Hunt
Almost nothing here was bought new. We've always loved the search.
Flea markets, secondhand shops, estate sales. When we lived in Los Angeles, almost every Sunday meant another flea market. We've loved Italian design from the seventies for years: Mario Bellini, Joe Colombo, the Scarpas and the Maralunga sofas. Long before any of it came back into fashion.
We once spotted a Soriana sofa by the Scarpas at an open house. We asked if it was for sale. The owner was Italian and had bought it in Naples in the early seventies. We took it home.
The Paul Evans credenza came to us differently. It was part of a house we bought in Rancho Mirage: faceted chrome, steel, and even its original sales receipt. It's been traveling with us from house to house ever since.
"If we could only take one piece of furniture with us, that would be it".
It's much the same with art, although our rule is considerably less serious: we don't collect what everyone else likes. We collect what makes us laugh.
Most of it is figurative, a little strange, full of personality. We have two paintings by Margot Bergman, who used to paint over pictures she found at flea markets, leaving parts of the originals peeking through. One of ours is a portrait of Dolly Parton.
“We don’t collect what everyone else likes. We collect what makes us laugh.”Don & Ruben
Since moving to San Miguel, the collection has kept growing: a large wire face by Pablo and David, works by Alex Lazzard, a piece by Lucas Rise, textiles by our friend Patricia Robles, a sculpture by Edward Swift, and pieces by Melissa Cobb.
There are also three ceramic pieces that look as though they've come straight from the bottom of the sea. And from the California desert came works by friends whose art has been part of our lives for years. A John Baldessari shares space with paintings by Don's daughter.
And nothing stays in one place for long.
A piece might be on one wall this week and another two weeks later. The living room sofa is modular. One day Don came home to find that Ruben had rearranged everything.
Some things we didn't find. We made them.
Don put together the mosaic at the entrance, inspired by a Rufino Tamayo painting, using yellow tiles and leftover pieces from those boxes we'd discovered in the basement. Our friend Barry convinced us to take down the chandeliers in the living room. All of them. Leave just one in the dining room and let the ceiling speak for itself. That chandelier was made by Casamidy, with cut philodendron leaves. Now it's the one everyone stops to look at.
The Life Within
Weekends are our favorite days. We're still working, but the house is ours alone. No gardener, no housekeeper. Just the two of us, our three rescue dogs from the Centro de Control Canino, and Teo, the cat who lives on the roof and comes down to have breakfast with us every morning.
When we open the door to let the dogs out, the garden smells of sage, rosemary, lavender and orange blossom. We let Teo have his breakfast in peace while the dogs are outside. They love terrorizing him.
And then there's the light. Don has spent his life behind the camera, yet there are still mornings when the light in San Miguel manages to surprise him. The old stone building is now our studio, half ceramics, half photography.
He also loves tending the vegetable garden. There are flowers for cutting, but mostly tomatoes. Because as far as he's concerned, few things compare to a really good tomato.
And then there are days when Hacienda Amor does the exact opposite and fills with people. One evening, we moved every piece of furniture out of the living room and set tables for ninety. It was the donors' dinner for the Writers' Conference. Margaret Atwood, John Irving and Ruth Reichl ended up sitting in our living room. And the house seemed made for it.
"Maybe that's what we love most about living here. Hacienda Amor has never made us choose between one thing and another".
Nothing here has to stay exactly where it was.
There can be ninety people in the living room and, a few days later, just the two of us having breakfast while Teo comes down from the roof. A Baldessari can share space with the tomatoes growing in the garden. And a seventies Italian sofa can move across the room simply because Ruben woke up that morning with an idea. That's why we still see the house the way we did on that second visit. We keep finding new ways to enjoy it.
