I GRAVITATE TOWARD THINGS that are made by hand," John Derian, the king of the decoupage plate, tells me while we are discussing his home accessories store on Manhattan's East 2nd Street. The space, which he has occupied since 1994, has become a mecca for a dedicated group of followers—and a showcase for the many artisans who sell their designs there. Derian originally took on the shop as his studio, but put up a curtain to divide the space; in the front he displayed some of his plates and a few antiques, thinking to himself, If I sell a plate a week, I can pay the rent. As more pieces sold he was able to acquire better and better things, allowing his inventory to grow in a very natural way. It seems such a simple theory, and when Derian speaks about how he selects designers, that, too, has a thorough simplicity: He doesn't go looking for talent, but when he comes across it, he makes it part of his world. This allows Derian to stand apart from other stores that sell charming bits of ephemera; he straddles the divide between being an artist himself and acting as a patron or gallerist for other artists.
Derian is generally quick to know what he likes. Leanne Shapton, a well-known illustrator with her own following, remembers the first time she showed him the wooden books she now sells at his store. "What was nice was that he was so decisive about ordering a ton of them," she says. "He understood what I like about them—the poetry and emotional impact of the titles." Livia Cetti had a similar experience when she arrived at his store unannounced to show him her paper flowers. "I knew dropping by was the worst thing to do, and I could tell he was annoyed," Cetti says. "He went back into his office and two minutes later he poked his head out and said, 'I love them! I want this, this and this!' "
It's this confidence that has led Derian to become something of a global sensation among a tremendously loyal fan base that not only desires but understands and appreciates the value of the treasures he collects.
Hugo Guinness is probably the best-known fixture of Derian's shop. Although they now have a strong bond, it's funny to discover that their friendship started with a relatively weak thread. Derian, who was introduced to Guinness through a mutual friend, admits that he was unsure at the start. "When I first met Hugo, he was 'Tom's friend with the little pictures,' " he says. "When he came to see me, I sent him to a nearby gallery, but he came back and said he wanted to sell here. So I put a picture of his in the shop, and it sold!" Both he and Guinness seemed equally surprised by this. "And they kept on selling, and now, what Ralph Lauren or J. Crew store doesn't have Hugo's prints on the wall?"
"I don't think John was interested to begin with," Guinness remembers. "But I was so excited about getting a check, and that encouraged me, so I did more and more, we had a show and people liked my work. I feel very lucky." Since then, Guinness's shows have become an annual event held at the beginning of May. Every year Guinness produces a new variation on his black-and-white theme. His pictures have a strong identity and are fun to collect because each yearthey have a very different look.
In contrast to Guinness's monochrome prints, Nathalie Lété's paintings, ceramics and textiles are a riot of Technicolor. At her studio in Paris—part of a converted factory that once produced metal parts for the Eiffel Tower—it's easy to see the aesthetic bond between her and Derian. The space makes a fabulous union of industry, nature and the handmade; with roses climbing old girders, wisteria ascending elsewhere and lots of bamboo, the place is positively tropical in its lushness.
Derian first spotted Lété's work on a trip to Paris. "I fell in love with her things in the window of a shop called Absinthe," he recalls. "It had all kinds of sausage dolls made from papier-mâché. It looked like a butcher shop, but the meat was animated—the hanging meat was funny and whimsical." Derian and Lété started an e-mail correspondence, and after a visit to her studio, a relationship bloomed. He held a show for her at his store, as he does with so many of his artists, but unlike many shop events and openings, Derian's parties are done without a team of publicists. They are simple celebrations of the artists he's found and wants to introduce to his friends and clients, done in a familial way with his open-arm charm and appeal.
Lété mostly paints toys, animals and flowers. "My work is like a protection," she says. "The world outside doesn't interest me so I create this one to feel comfortable and protected." She is incredibly industrious, and her products are sent everywhere. This seems at odds with her artistic and slightly hermit-like character until you realize that her reproductions allow her to keep the originals in her studio.
Astier de Villatte, a venerable design house also from Paris, has been showcased in Derian's shop the longest—at 14 years—and Derian in turn has made pieces for Astier. "Some of the Astier shapes are from the 18th century," Derian explains, when asked about their longtime partnership. "I am attracted to things that look old, almost period."
Benoît Astier de Villatte and Ivan Pericoli—the vital organs of the Astier de Villatte group—met at the École des Beaux-Arts in Paris and are similarly attracted to period things. The two live in the same apartment building from the early 17th century and have created a mix of practicality with ancient beauty. (One of the things that most excites Derian about his recent collaboration with Astier is that he has finally produced something that can go in the dishwasher.) Derian's marble pieces for them are chic, the colors are beautiful and mix well with the rest of their sought-after white ceramics. One of the most interesting aspects of the Astier studio is the packing area, with boxes labeled for Australia, Japan, Hong Kong, New York, Holland and England.
Livia Cetti, with her charming paper flowers, is something of a powerhouse and has worked for brands like Bobbi Brown, Anthropologie and Kate Spade. But what she creates for Derian is different. "It was a dream come true to sell something in John's store, and it's one of the things I am most proud of in my career." Derian's curatorial eye has had an effect on her work too. "When I started working for John, it really cemented the way I make my flowers," she recalls. "Now I have solidified my look, which I would say is naturalistic with my own twist." Her foxgloves, dahlias and fritillaria are a festival—the colors are cheerful, and each one is different. She also does Derian's signature scraggly geraniums (exclusively for him), which have become a hit in the store.
The artists that work with Derian not only talk about his talent, but his generosity. Stephanie Housley, who sells aprons, linens, stationary and pocket dolls from her Coral & Tusk line, is one of these artists. Having been given one of Housley's aprons as a gift, Derian approached her to sell her products in the shop. "By then I had a small library of designs, and I was struggling to harness it," she says. "John had such brilliant ideas about how to direct the collection." Although he has an eye for what's likely to sell, he also knows when to disregard that instinct: Housley made a custom pocket doll of Derian's cat, Skip, and is now producing a line of them for the shop, each with its own trading cards.
One of the things about Derian's shop is its level of consistency, and yet within that there is always room for the new and the offbeat. It is a shop that you can use reliably as a source for both gift buying (most happily for oneself) and interior design. The store has Moroccan rugs, brightly colored leather poufs, fine lamps and linens—and Derian knows exactly how to arrange all these elements. Shapton puts her finger on it when she says, "I wouldn't have taken two glances at the poufs, but he has a way of contextualizing things without forcing them upon you."
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