A fresh take on Home Farm, John Pawson’s country house in the Cotswolds

Words Charlie Monaghan
Photography Rich Stapleton

Our series ‘The Classics’ features its first contemporary project: Home Farm, John Pawson’s instantly iconic country house in the Cotswolds. But, while it may have secured its place in the annals of architecture’s great self-designed homes, its story is far from being definitively told. Here, in a story taken from Issue No.5 of The Modern House Magazine, photographer Rich Stapleton brings a fresh lens to a space well documented (not least of all by John himself), while our editor, Charlie Monaghan, tells of the far-from-minimal experience of being there. While we have you, discover more of Rich’s work by taking a virtual tour of our collaborative exhibition, Drawing Room, which along with images of Home Farm, features other modern living spaces across the country too.

It’s 8am on a sunny July morning and I’m in the car, Oxfordshire bound, to the countryside home of John Pawson. It’s quiet on the roads and the driving is easy, which allows me to focus on what I’ve put on the stereo: John being interviewed about his house by The Modern House co-founder Matt Gibberd on our podcast. A quiet sense of panic is setting in.

What, I think to myself, could I possibly ask John that Matt didn’t? In the special episode on Home Farm – the name given to a collection of farm buildings dating from the 17th century that John restored over a six-year period from 2013 – Matt expertly steers the conversation over the course of one hour 20 minutes, covering the house in microscopic detail: the limited but exceptional use of materials (white marble, European elm and lime plaster, mostly); John’s use and perception of colour (he’s not keen on pure white); how close plants should be planted to buildings (not very); and even the taps (Vola, because John’s range for Cocoon wasn’t yet available).

Everything, it seems, right down to the window coverings, which were made in undyed pure wool sourced from Lyon – incidentally the same material worn by the Cistercians monks John has designed monasteries for – is discussed. “Is there anything left?”, I ask myself. Well, you can imagine my relief when, after I arrive and am being shown around by “the master of minimum”, that I discover, for seemingly such a pared-back space, which press coverage has loved to brand as ‘clutter-free’ and ‘reductionist’, there is, it turns out, an awful lot to say.

That, in some part, is because there is an awful lot to see. We start with a tour around the carp pond, which predates the farm buildings and is today used by the Pawsons for swimming. Standing at the back of the pond reveals the scale of the house: a long sequence of now interconnected Cotswolds stone buildings, plus a converted wain house and a former store. In total, there are 29 rooms across 6,000 sq ft, plus 24 acres of garden and farmland.

After touring it all (which you can too, by listening to the episode), we sit down and I explain to John that, while we have covered the house on the podcast, with The Modern House being such a photography-led brand, I’ve been keen to publish Rich Stapleton’s work in this magazine as a way of telling the story of Home Farm visually. It lands on sympathetic ears. John is well known for his use of photography, most notably via Instagram, where he records observations of light, shadow, colour, materials, landscapes and buildings, with Home Farm appearing frequently. Looking at his feed, it is as though recording the light here – in reflections, at different times of the day and year, on different surfaces – has become an integral part of being at Home Farm.

We begin looking at Rich’s images, which John is yet to see. He lights up as he flicks through them, clearly taking pleasure in seeing the spaces via Rich’s lens, with its quietly atmospheric quality. “Years ago, when we finished the Cathay Pacific Lounges at Hong Kong airport, I insisted that five photographers shoot it, so we got five viewpoints,” John explains. “I find it enriching to see how different photographers capture this place. And not just professionals. I’m amazed when we have two or three people over for the weekend to see what they put on Instagram afterwards. It’s of the same space, but it’s always completely different,” he says.

I can almost hear the cynics – “Different perspectives on the same empty room?!” But anyone who has experienced minimalism done badly will know that it’s not simply about removal. “Architecture should make you feel something,” says John, and his genius is being able to do that with seemingly very little. Take, for example, the main kitchen, housed in a cavernous former barn. There is some elm, some stainless steel, some Wegner chairs and some lights designed by his practice. But it’s the way these have been thought about and put together that makes them special. The elm, for example, all in hardwood form, has been selected to match the original floors and structure of the barn, and is of the highest quality. The steel countertops are 10mm thick and have a rounded edge, which matches the 900kg tabletop. The lights are comprised of just two handmade glass pieces, the Platonic ideal of a pendant light.

We return to looking at Rich’s images and I point out that the most represented designer here apart from himself is Donald Judd. There are the 84 chairs in the main kitchen, a daybed in the adjoining living space and a red-painted metal bookshelf in the main bedroom. “They are difficult things to place because you need a lot of space around them. Any furniture you put in a space changes it immediately, makes it very different,” says John. “Judd knew that. Everything would be carefully positioned and repositioned until he got it right, and then not really moved.” Has the same happened here? “So much thought goes into thinking what’s going to happen when you design a house but you move in, learn the choreography, adapt to the design and just live in it. So no, it doesn’t really change, but all the rooms get used.”

John tells me of his experience of lockdown with his wife, Catherine, his two sons and their partners, all living at Home Farm, working, eating together, swimming in the pond. And, while that stage of the house’s use is over, his sons still visit regularly, friends stay for the weekend and clients come for dinner. I’m reminded of a trip I took to Judd’s home and studios in Marfa, Texas, earlier this year. There are parallels: two minimalist designers, designing everything from spaces to chairs, living in the city (Judd at his cast-iron building on Spring Street, New York, John in Notting Hill, London), and finding more space in the country. I think of the life the designer enjoyed out of the city: dinner parties, conversations, friends for the weekend, swims in the outdoor pool he built, work blending into life, all taking place in a former army barracks in the middle of the desert. Or, in this case, the Cotswolds.

The cliché is that minimalists would prefer the messy reality of life to be hidden away, out of sight, so that they can walk around in their barren white cubes, where even a vase would look gratuitously decorative. Mean, sterile places that take themselves too seriously. But the feeling I get at Home Farm is the opposite.

One thing John said on our podcast sums it all up for me. He confessed that if he had to choose between good architecture and good food, he’d pick good food. Home Farm gave rise to a cookbook in 2021, Home Farm Cooking, inspired by the seasonal dishes John and Catherine like to cook their guests, and is a follow-up to 2001’s Living and Eating, made with friend Annie Bell. A designer with two cookbooks, who prefers food to architecture? “Well, I think it’s the whole thing, isn’t it?” he says when I ask him about it. “Home doesn’t have to be squashy sofas, but I think it has to be comfortable, aesthetically and physically, in every way. And part of comfort is proportion and space and light and materials, but obviously food is a big part of making people feel comfortable. I just try and do everything. Because everything’s an experience. Taking a bath or shower should be a really pleasant thing.”

There is a generosity, then, to Home Farm. Of space for sure. But also an impression of warmth – kindness, even – knowing that everything, from the bedding (which John designed for Tekla and that he describes as being like “folded mountains”) to the marble shelves in the larder and even down to the cutlery (also a Pawson design), has been given attention and care. But more than John’s approach – about being thoughtful – the sentiment seems to be a very human one. That attention to detail shouldn’t be in service of itself, but directed to enhancing people’s experience, giving them just enough to take pleasure in elemental but nourishing things: observation of light, nature, a good meal, taking a bath. Minimal pleasures indeed.