Through My Eyes
Clémence Pirajean, co-founder of Pirajean Lees, shares the influences that have shaped her uniquely narrative approach to design.
For me, a space should be timeless. It needs to be curated, bespoke and coherent. I don’t look at trends and I avoid typical aesthetic references. Instead, I craft a narrative, a story that becomes as much the designer as I am. There should be layers to every space — they define individuality. It can be as simple as constructing a certain atmosphere, or as complex as working around a set of inherited objects, or the unearthed history of a home. A narrative story is as vital to structuring a design as bones are to a human. Because like humans, spaces don’t exist in isolation. Experiences leave an imprint, an atmosphere, a depth. Good design should be a conversation between a place and the people that move through it. In sharing my story — my own imprint if you will — I hope you will get a sense of my influences and my vision for Pirajean Lees.
I grew up in Paris, in a haze of light and colour. Music echoed in the streets, my home, my blood, even. My grandfather on my mother’s side came from an Italian family. He was one of the most famous French jazz drummers of the 1940s, playing everywhere from La Bastille to St Germain. He met my grandmother at a jazz evening during the age of Parisian salons — of deep conversations and evenings spent gathering to listen to music or poetry or literature. Growing up, I remember my grandmother sang more than she spoke. She’d make up the lyrics, speaking to me through song. The radio was always playing, interspersed with my grandfather’s jazz records.
I spent a lot of time with my grandparents as a child. My parents worked incredibly hard. They were creative butterflies. We lived on a houseboat moored along the Seine. My mother was an artistic director for some of the most famous fashion design houses; my father worked in hospitality. Then they went into business together and started creating restaurants and hotels. When they opened their first restaurant, I’d earn pocket money by cleaning glasses with white vinegar and polishing the cutlery. For me, home was a feeling more than a place — it was being with my family, whether that was at a restaurant, or gathered around a kitchen worktop looking at plans for a new project. That’s how my interest in design started: one day, I found myself poring over blueprints my parents had left at home. The next thing I knew, I had a passion and was following it from one design school to another.
A narrative story is as vital to structuring a design as bones are to a human. Because like humans, spaces don't exist in isolation.
Moving to London felt inevitable. In my late teens and early twenties, I’d take the Eurostar from Paris whenever I could to see American DJs like Theo Parrish or Moodymann. The place to go was Plastic People, on Curtain Road in Shoreditch. It was a moody, dimly lit basement club with the most incredible sound system; the kind that makes your whole body shake if you’re standing too close to the speakers. London felt like a place where things happened; where paths crossed and people from all over the world gathered in a vibrant cultural medley. It still feels like that, which is why I’ve never left. I chose to study first at Central Saint Martins, then at Kingston University, where I met my husband and Pirajean Lees co-founder, James.
We jumped straight into the deep end of a design partnership, heading off to Marrakech to work on a hotel together. Perhaps we ought to have spent a few years in someone else’s practice, but our experience was gained on-the-hoof. That project snowballed into others. We never moulded our style after someone else’s influence, or adhered to by-the-book principles of what design should look like. Our journey was authentic to us; freewheeling, spontaneous and holistic. After designing together for over fifteen years, founding Pirajean Lees in 2017 was a natural evolution. James and I don’t limit ourselves with labels but I suppose I’m the creative director — the one with the broad vision — and James is the design director, his eye picking out the minute details. We have a very different way of looking at things. If we’re walking down the street, I will be looking at human level. James, however, will have his eyes fixed on the skyline, searching out gilding on the rooftops or an architectural quirk. He makes me look at the world slightly differently. Maybe that’s why we work so well together.
I love the beginning of a project. When I visit a space for the first time, I’m looking for a brain connection, a soul connection — something that sticks out that I can’t ignore. At some point, I’ll imagine my progression through that space. What would I see if I put a table here? What if I put one on the other side? How different might my experience be? I might be looking at an empty car park or a Georgian home, but either way, every Pirajean Lees project begins with a period of deep research.
Today, Pirajean Lees works with a mix of hospitality and residential projects. The two complement each other. Any space, whether commercial or private, needs to work at a very sensory, human level. It needs to capture your interest, to take you on a journey, whether that’s walking through your front door after a long day of work and taking the quickest route to the sofa, or stepping through the doors of a restaurant for a meal. You should always be curious about what might come next. I want to create spaces that give space for discovery, however many times you see them. When you’re designing, you have to move softly and understand how people live, how they want to experience a place. You need to tailor a narrative to shape that vision.
Every narrative we shape is different. It’s all too easy to fall into the cliché of an obvious design. The layers that make a place special come with subtlety and refinement. You need more imaginative references. Usually, with our team’s sleuthing, we don’t need to make up any of the details. I’ll draw on literary, artistic and musical references to shape a mood. I love poetry and any kind of music. I’m obsessed with the power of light and shadow; texture and flow. I imagine the scents — musky perfume, fresh flowers, meals simmering in a kitchen — and sounds. Are people talking? Laughing? Is someone playing jazz, like my grandfather used to? There’s such beauty in the unspooling of a story. Every element should glow. Sometimes a project narrative is built around a single character; sometimes a film. Other times it’s a group of people, or even just a feeling. We’re working on a library project at the moment where the story is built around the invisible thread that binds sound and people. It’s about connecting with silence, and how the way you move through a space might resonate. How ambient sound might naturally develop, whether you’re reading or writing or just passing through.
Despite our digital world, I maintain that the best discoveries are those you can’t find online. The team and I make our way to the library, archives, museums — wherever we might find information on the location we’re taking on. Take the residential property we’re currently working on near London’s The Regent’s Park for instance; a large, five-storey home. In the local library, we found the original blueprints of that house. We found old records of the stretch of street that it sits on, complete with details you’d never find online. Then there’s the project I’m working on at the moment for a wonderful French family who live in Camden. They want to mix two worlds together — Paris and London. It has echoes of my own experience. With every project, we take those kinds of details and pin them onto huge boards. Each element builds out, one connection leading to another until you have entire walls covered in people, experiences, values, feelings, music — all spanning from a single starting point.
With mindmaps complete, we’ll sit down for a roundtable with the whole Pirajean Lees team sharing ideas. They’re all very different. We seek individuality in our people — they’re film majors, musicians, art history buffs. I’m not interested in qualifications from the best schools or number of projects under a belt. Swerving so many elements of the typical design studio makes us more exciting, more unique. I want to find storytellers, because once you’ve distilled the essence of intention, the design is self-fulfilling.
I learn from every project; take something new from every craftsman I work with. Collaboration is fundamental.
I wouldn’t say I have a particular design style. There are, of course, overarching values that are important to any of my narratives; a deep connection to the space, warmth, atmosphere, light and dimensions, to name a few. But when it comes to a specific tone, Pirajean Lees doesn’t try to impose a studio brand. My worst nightmare is when a client walks in and asks — with no context — what colour they should paint a room: I have no idea! Anything might be nice! Nothing is fixed. I learn from every project; take something new from each craftsman I work with. Collaboration is fundamental. I approach residential and hospitality projects with the same ethos: just like when I was growing up, anywhere should feel like home, as long as you’re with people you love. By the time I’ve spent four or five years on a project, like I did with House of Koko, it doesn’t matter if I’ve shaped a private home, a public restaurant or a member’s club — the space should be intimate, immersive, experiential.
Of course as a creative, I could keep going forever on a single project. You spend so much time creating a small universe within the wider world. Then suddenly, it’s not yours anymore. I’ve had to learn how to let go. If I’ve done my job right, the story will be strong enough to carry on without me, developing its own momentum. By the time I finish, I’m ready to become one imprint among many.
