A Home with a History: Lucas Rufin’s romantically revived rental

The mimosa is out when we visit Lucas Rufin. It clambers up the railings that lead to his front door, though the perfume of its petite golden pompoms isn’t discernible in the March rain. Inside, however, it’s a different story. In the kitchen, stems arranged in an old milk bottle lend the air a heady scent, intensified by that of the potted muscari and narcissi nearby.

There is, of course, nothing particularly dramatic about spring blooms. They are, quite simply, lovely – enduring classics. Their appearance in this flat is thus entirely natural, for Lucas is a champion of the timelessly beautiful, as a nosy around his rented rooms reveals. On the fringes of Bloomsbury and set over two split levels, this apartment was his first project (he has been working on a family house in his native Normandy, as well as a few bits dotted around the UK) and therefore has come to signify a distinct distillation of his style – albeit expressed with a personal inflection.

Now working under the moniker Caligula Supernova, Lucas came to interiors having cut his teeth as a costumier for theatre and film in France. With the hope of working on bigger jobs, he moved to London in March 2020 and… You can guess the rest. While filming did continue throughout the lockdowns, Lucas said that as a relative stranger to the UK industry, it was nigh on impossible to find work in the skeleton costume departments that were in action. He realised he needed to forge a new path.

“I don’t see making costumes and doing interiors as all that different,” he says. There is, Lucas believes, something intrinsically theatrical about both, with both forming part of the mise-en-scène – whether dramatic or domestic. “There’s also an intimacy to them,” he adds. “With costumes – particularly in ballet – often the performer you’re dressing is entirely naked in the fitting sessions. With interiors, you’re tasked with distilling someone’s aspirations into something visual, with creating a backdrop to their most personal moments. In both instances, you have to enter another sphere, to observe like the quietest little mouse – and you have to do a lot of listening. That’s what I like the most.”

Lucas and his partner, a lawyer, found this place after the first lockdown lifted. It had a rather seedy backstory (on which more later) and was in dire need of a makeover, which – to Lucas’ horror – the landlord was about to embark on. “We said we would manage the work if he would let us do it ourselves.” Looking at the newly installed dado rail, the stair hall’s Cole & Son ‘Glastonbury’ stripes and the thankfully intact wooden kitchen, we thoroughly approve of the intervention.

“I shall never forget the first time we met our new neighbours. They were very welcoming, as they told us with relief that they thought things ‘would be a lot quieter’ with us around. We asked them why, to which they replied: ‘Don’t you know? This place used to be a sex dungeon!’ It turns out it was the premises of a dominatrix who lived upstairs and ran a ‘schoolroom’ in the basement, complete with a blackboard. It was popular with many of the lawyers and judges that work near here. They’d come to be tested on their times tables…

“At first, we thought it was a joke. Then, early one morning, I saw a man in a suit sniffing around the basement door. He was quite surprised when I told him it was a house now!

“The proprietor had painted what’s now the dining room a hideous fuchsia. The kitchen was blue and yellow – and rather nicotine-stained – while the stairs were covered with a grimy fitted carpet. I dread to think what the stains on it were. And I similarly dread to think what the landlord would have done to it all if we hadn’t stepped in – it would have been much more shiny, I think. The actual bones of the apartment are wonderful; the rooms are all good sizes and, because it’s a Georgian building, we’ve got lovely floorboards upstairs, original shutters and high ceilings. My partner and I knew that they could all be torn out, so we decided to step in.

“In order to do it, we had to be quite creative with what we bought. You wouldn’t necessarily know it, but the dado rail in the dining room was actually the picture rail; we just detached it and brought it down. And almost everything here is an antique. A lot of luck goes into finding such things, I think. I spend too many hours on auction sites, but more often than not, it’s a case of ‘right place, right time’. The parquet floor in the basement, for instance, came from a Victorian school in north London that was being done up. We got it for £80!

“Much of the furniture I’ve bought for this place is French or Italian, 18^th or 19^th century. One of my most treasured items is the 18^th-century Piedmontese screen in the dining room. It’s made of leather and is painted with scenes from the Commedia dell’Arte. I don’t think I could ever part with it.

“Other things, however, I will eventually sell on. I am in the process of compiling a collection of 10 things for an exhibition. I’m doing it on the advice of the late Robert Kime, who I was lucky enough to meet. He told me it was a way to make a name for yourself, to meet other people and to show them your taste. He said: ‘It doesn’t matter if people buy them. If they do, that’s great. If they don’t, at least people have seen what you can do.’ I’ve nearly got my 10 pieces – I’m on seven. I’m proudest of my 17^th-century painting showing the story of the lovesick Antiochus and his stepmother (and object of his affection), Stratonice. It’s supposedly from the studio of Pietro da Cortona, but I’ve got some more research to do.

“The collection currently has one contemporary piece in it – a photorealistic painting of a matador – but most of the items are antiques. I don’t think that’s because I am especially drawn to old things, rather I interested in things with stories, tales of a period or a person. I suppose, as with the costumes I used to make, I like the drama. And I like seeing those stories work in balance with others, like the Luke Edward Hall painting next to the Louis XV gilt chair in the sitting room. Hubert de Givenchy was the master of mixing like that; he’s a great hero of mine. He knew how to pair extraordinary historic panelling with a Chagall or a Picasso, for instance.

“I find it interesting how my style – very classic – can work well in a country house, but it can also feel at home in a not-very-big rented flat in London. It’s a reminder of the amazing things you can do with a small space. Our bedroom is a good example of that. It’s not a large room by any stretch, but I really wanted to make a feature of it. I hung the bed with silk damask, made using some old curtains a friend found on eBay and sewed together, and bought small amounts of De Gournay wallpaper for the cupboard doors.

“The name Caligula Supernova comes in part from the 1979 film – as a child I was both horrified and fascinated by the cover of the VHS my parents had, with the coin dripping blood – but also from the play by Camus. It’s always been my Instagram handle – I like the drama and strength of it – so when it came to creating a business, I thought I’d keep it, adding ‘Interiors’ at the end to make it sound professional. I’m not sure it worked; when I met Carlos Garcia, the first thing he asked me was if it was my drag name.

“I think people would be surprised to learn that, alongside Givenchy, I’m a huge fan of Slim Aarons – not something you’d necessarily guess from looking at my Napoleon III furniture. He had the most brilliant eye for detail, and his photographs of the glamour of 1960s California are so full of atmosphere. He also had that mouselike quality I mentioned: he created extraordinary scenes seemingly without anyone noticing he’d been there, just by observing carefully. That’s what I try to do.”

Further reading

Caligula Supernova Interiors

Caligula Supernova Interiors on Instagram

‘10 Objects’ is on display at 69 New Kings Road, London SW6, 2-12 June