EDWARD WATSON

With The Theodore Armchair

Edward Watson has played many iconic roles for the Royal Ballet, from Lewis Carroll/ e White Rabbit in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland to Leontes in e Winter’s Tale. Watson describes his 27-year career in dance as one of “blood, sweat and tears. It’s been a lifetime of hanging in there and picking myself up.” A er celebrating his final performance as principal dancer with the company back in 2021, he now spends his time coaching and mentoring emerging talent as the Royal Ballet’s répétiteur.

Sharon June With The Horton Armchair

Sharon June began her career dancing on popular children’s television shows in her home country of the Netherlands. As a teen, she auditioned devotedly, sometimes spending up to 18 hours on a coach to travel across Europe. “Movement has always been my therapy,” she says. “It helps me to express myself.”

Her persistence paid o , and in 2012 she booked a job dancing for Taylor Swi . A decade later, she has just finished a year touring the world as Dua Lipa’s dance captain.

Ellie Smythe With The Molina Upholstered Armchairs

Ellie’s love of dance dates back to when she was just three. For the next 15 years, she trained regularly and at 18 she decided to move to London to pursue a career in dance. She describes dance as the “one constant” in her life, adding, “[It] focuses my mind and body and allows me to feel both present and completely free.” On the horizon comes filming for a major new film and a European tour with a big-name musician – watch this space.

Saul Nash With The Jonas Armchair

Hailing from north-east London, Nash is a movement director, choreographer and menswear designer specialising in luxury sportswear.

“Movement has always been healing for me,” he explains. “It li s me up to a euphoric place.” rough his designs, Nash tells personal stories of the cultural and societal landscape he grew up in. Each of his collections a empt to challenge limiting ideas around masculinity – while allowing for full creative expression through movement, of course.

By Stuart McGurk

When Richard Browning – inventor, ultramarathon runner and now best known as the “real-life Iron Man” – bought a jet engine in 2016, it was more out of curiosity rather than with any grand plan in mind. He was an oil trader at the time, working for BP, but his father (an inventor) and grandfathers (both pilots) had instilled in him a taste for the extraordinary.

He ordered it o the internet, paid £2,500 and a small, kerosene-fuelled micro gas turbine, just over a foot in length, 1.9kg in weight (essentially a shrunken plane engine), arrived a few days later. is type was mostly used by model plane enthusiasts. However, Browning knew that advances in these engines had been huge, thanks to them being unencumbered by the regulations applied to their larger counterparts. He calculated that, together, six or so engines could do what had never been done in any practical way before – they could allow someone to fly.

In his garage, the 44-year-old strapped the engine to his arm, fed a fuel pipe into a bucket and turned it on. It cleared the room and sent a 100kg washing machine flying. Yet the force itself – 20kg of thrust, like leaning on a table – was entirely manageable. He realised: it could work.

Seven years and countless iterations and bruises later, his “jet suit” has made that age-old lament – wewere promised jetpacks – a reality. One pack, made up of three jets, is worn on the back for stability, while two on each arm control the direction, allowing the wearer to fly like a superhero. Browning demonstrates, arms straight to his side: there is a roar, then, suddenly, he’s in the sky.

e obvious question that arises is: what can it actually be used for? Browning’s jet suit may be more practical than jetpacks of the past – ones that simply shot you skywards like a human firework – but with a total flying time of around seven minutes, you’re not about to be using one for your morning commute. e main use, Browning tells me from the workshop in his garden in Salisbury, England – which remains Gravity Industries’ de facto HQ – is for the military. Specifically, the special forces, where stealth and speed is key. With a record speed of 85mph (“it wants to go 200” – but, Browning says, the air pressure at that point starts to crush your neck back into your shoulders), you could easily cover eight miles in that time. “It doesn’t look real, but you can get in out of nowhere, perform a task and get yourself back out again, going over minefields, rivers, lakes, accessing buildings, whatever,” he explains.

According to Browning, the Gravity team is “working with six different special forces around the world. We’ve got Tier 1 US special forces involved.” In February, eight special forces soldiers from a “friendly European nation” travelled over to train with the suits, with a view to using them in operations by the end of the year. Meanwhile, “the biggest allied marine group”, Browning says, “has talked at a very senior level of this being the revolution it needs”. He thinks he is two or three years away from the first military contract, which would surely start in the tens of millions of pounds and go from there.

One concern from the military, he adds, was that using both arms to fly le soldiers vulnerable and unable to fire weapons. So Browning developed a shoulder-mounted, “helmet-steered” weapon system that tracks your head movement and aims accordingly. You shoot via a bite-trigger. e patent is currently pending.

After seeing videos of his jet suit, which invariably go viral, other industries started to get in touch. ere was interest in the medical uses. A jet suit can only propel one person into the air, so the wearer couldn’t fly someone to hospital, but it could allow a trained professional to reach them within moments and get their heart started. e team plans to fly up Ben Nevis in Scotland at some point to show how the suit could be used in mountaineering emergencies.

For now, Gravity Industries, which has a full-time sta of five, makes most of its income from entertainment. Punters can book a half-day Flight Experience (£2,200 plus VAT), in which you get three “flights” but are safely tethered so you can’t dri o . You can also sign up for Flight Training (£6,600 plus VAT), which is a course of eight to 12 flights.

Browning and his team, meanwhile, routinely charge six figures for literal flying visits, livening up the celebrations and birthdays of the rich and famous. He was once hired to fly around at Je Bezos’s garden party (“Jeff loved it. I keep in touch with him. His girlfriend wants to learn to fly at some point”). Even the Kardashians booked a fly-by, but he “le that to someone else”. To transport a jet suit abroad, he says, it is taken apart and packed into large suitcases to be checked in. He often takes the jet engines on as hand luggage, which he says causes great consternation at security. “When you say that it’s a jet engine, you can see them thinking, This can’t be allowed. But it’s not on their list next to lighters and knives.” Browning still has plans for a “Gravity race series”, which was originally cancelled just as Covid struck and will see flyers compete in tracks over water. “It looks like a Marvel episode,” he says. And the jet suit is about to come full circle. For an invention that looks too Hollywood to be real – Is that guy, you think when you first see it, flying with his arms? – Hollywood has come calling. Tom Cruise got a demo, albeit a safe one (“ ey put him in an armour-plated box because they were worried about me killing Tom Cruise”). Its debut will be in an action blockbuster he won’t mention, except to say, “It’s not Bond or Mission Impossible, but a big film has used it.”

Back in the UK, Gravity Industries has mostly shunned startup funding, choosing instead to pay its own way via what Browning thinks of as the entertainment division. But a new major r ound of funding, he says, will soon see the company moving to a much bigger multimillion-pound dedicated facility, which will house both training and testing. It does sound, let’s face it, more than a li le Tony Stark…

“I mean there’s definitely no point in fighting it. I can’t deny, I liked the first Iron Man film…”

By Hanna Woodside

Golden Globe nominee and Soho Summit speaker Emma D’Arcy on the life-changing role that brought them to the a ention of a global audience

Stepping into the Game of Thrones universe – arguably this century’s biggest entertainment phenomena –was a risky business for the cast of its prequel series House of the Dragon. But British actor Emma D’Arcy is up for taking risks. “ e whole cast was aware that we were borrowing treasured possessions when we took on the roles, and that takes trust,” says D’Arcy, who plays Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, one of the central players (and most fascinating characters) fighting for power in the fantasy world of Westeros. “As a newcomer to the universe, I felt very moved to be so kindly welcomed.”

Since House of the Dragon aired last summer (production on season two is imminent) the 30-year-old has established themself (D’Arcy is non-binary and uses the pronouns they/them) as one of the most exciting new actors working right now. And thanks to the global promo juggernaut behind the show, D’Arcy is an exciting red carpet presence whose avant garde looks are a much-needed breath of fresh air.

On screen as Rhaenyra – whose claim to the throne is disputed mainly because she is a woman – D’Arcy has a quiet ferocity and mesmerising power, which makes them shine among an impressive cast. eir co-stars include Ma Smith, Paddy Considine and Olivia Cooke, who play Rhaenyra’s uncle/lover, her father and her BFF-turned-stepmother-turnednemesis respectively. It’s complicated.

“ I think what is interesting about Rhaenyra, and I hope very relevant, is that she presents an opportunity for an audience to watch a woman navigate a patriarchal system,” says D’Arcy. “She has a clear insight into how that system operates against her. But, ironically, that kind of insigh ul thinking does nothing to remove the systemic obstacles.”

Bookending D’Arcy’s Golden Globenominated performance in season one are two very visceral birth scenes, which caused more consternation for their brutality than the beheadings and other bloody acts of violence that li er the series. D’Arcy drew on poet and literary critic Maggie Nelson’s eArgonauts for those scenes: “She calls [birth] a ‘going to pieces’ of sorts, of both the psyche and the body.” Anyone who has watched those scenes, heart in mouth, will know how powerfully D’Arcy conveyed this.

D’Arcy came from a predominantly theatrical background (having studied at Ruskin School of Art, they went into set design before moving into acting and unique and unexpected. ey’re o en devised with stylist Rose Forde: “We have a lovely conversation about what character, what persona would feel most freeing. I have an extraordinary capacity for awkwardness, so it really is a case of finding what will be the most releasing.”

With a spotlight shone on D’Arcy’s considerable talents, other projects must be beckoning. “I have a fairly good barometer for bad writing. I want to be thrilled by what is on the page,” they say. But having been joint artistic director for a theatre company, working behind directing) and had previously made some appearances on TV (in Amazon’s Truthseekers and as Toni Cole e’s daughter in BBC’s Wanderlust), but nothing near the scale of HouseoftheDragon. Being in the public eye “is hard to prepare for”. For instance, who could have guessed that a clip of D’Arcy sharing their favourite drink, a negroni sbagliato, would go viral, causing a surge in online searches for the recipe? “I like to be prepared for any event, but [fame is] one you have to just muddle through as you go along.”

A ending the Golden Globes “felt like such a foreign environment. It’s a bit like being a child taken to a party by a parent and suddenly rubbing shoulders with adults you don’t know.” eir approach to red carpet events has been to create characters through fashion, playing with experimental make-up and theatrical silhoue es. ink: a voluminous Vetements suit with pla orm Balenciaga crocs. Or head-to-toe Alexander McQueen biker leathers. And for the Globes: blue hair, an Acne Studios tuxedo with exaggerated lapels, a skirt over the trousers and studded boots.

Aside from what is becoming D’Arcy’s signature accessory – a statement glove – each red-carpet appearance is the camera could be on the cards, too. “I don’t know if it’s writing or directing, but I know that I have to spend some time sort-of in charge. Being in charge and being incredibly stressed makes the moments where you’re not in charge, and crises are not your problem, feel like miracles. So they serve one another. I definitely require both sides of the coin.”

Seeing what D’Arcy is able to achieve in any arena – from subverting style expectations to bringing nuance to a blockbuster franchise – you can be sure the next step in their creative journey will be nothing less than extraordinary.

By Ajesh Patalay

Internationally renowned artist Yinka Ilori is set to reveal his outdoor installation at Soho Farmhouse as part of Soho Visionaries, powered by Porsche. Here, he shares how a recent visit to the German car marque’s headquarters in Stu gart inspired the creation ou can expect a few eyebrows to be raised when BritishNigerian designer Yinka Ilori unveils his latest outdoor sculpture at Soho Farmhouse later this year, as part of the Soho Visionaries series powered by Porsche. e 36-year-old Londoner recently shared what he had in mind with a few of his closest friends. “Wow!” and “Really?” were their responses. “ ey were really surprised,” Ilori confirms from his studio in west London. “But that is the reaction I want.” e reason for their surprise is simple. e work represents a major departure for Ilori, who over the last 10 years has earned a reputation for being an exuberant and playful colourist. One newspaper profile likened him to Willy Wonka from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, a book that happens to be an obsession of his, along with Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland Among his many projects, Ilori is perhaps best known for ‘ e Colour Palace’ (2019), a 10m-high temporary pavilion on the lawn outside Dulwich Picture Gallery, London, which boasted a multi-hued façade inspired by the vibrant fabrics found in markets in Lagos and nearby Peckham (AKA “Li le Lagos”).

Ilori was also responsible for the colourful ‘Be er Days Are Coming I Promise’ mural (2020) on Blackfriars Road, London, intended as a message of hope for key workers during the pandemic; he transformed an underpass in Ba ersea into the kaleidoscopic ‘Happy Street’ (2019); and installed the pop-tastic ‘Laundere e of Dreams’ (2021) in east London, incorporating hopscotch on the floor, vending machines, slides and more than 200,000 bricks of Lego. An ongoing exhibition at London’s Design Museum dedicated to his work is a gleeful explosion of colour. at graphic pale e carries through to his wardrobe, too. Today, he is sporting a bright orange cap and fuchsia pink hoodie that match the technicolour shelving unit behind him. e rest of his o ice is a similar splash of rainbow.

His latest commission for Soho Farmhouse appears to lie in stark contrast. “Yinka was a natural choice because his work is so distinctive; he really knows who he is as an artist,” says Kate Bryan, Soho House’s Global Director of Art. “ e piece will add a real point of di erence at Farmhouse while also managing to be universal in its language and message.” At first glance, the giant structure seems to be devoid of colour – its ribbed exterior the purest, monolithic white. “Last year was very fast-paced,” says Ilori, explaining the origins of the idea. As well as installing the show at the Design Museum, he spent 2022 finalising a maze-like piece for the V&A Dundee and working on commissions for premium clients. “ e whole world was fast. is year, I wanted to step back and process my thoughts.” e final work, which he calls a “shell of peace”, will be a large conch-like structure split down the middle, which visitors ca n enter via a spiralling ramp. Once inside, they can take a seat and listen to a specially recorded soundscape, which may incorporate a recitation of poetry. e sculpture’s inner chamber will be a space where visitors can stop and reflect. is aspect of the installation was inspired by his recent visit to the Porsche Museum in Stu gart, where this photoshoot took place. As a car enthusiast, this part of the commission was particularly fun. As well as drawing from colours used in the Porsche range, Ilori was inspired by the story of the founder’s son, Ferry Porsche. “ e reason [he built the first Porsche],” says Ilori, “was because he couldn’t find the car he wanted. He decided to design his own. He had this dream. Essentially, I think everyone would love to create something or do something based on their dreams.”

In discussions with his team about mindfulness, the name Eckhart Tolle came up. Ilori picked up his 1997 bestseller e Power of Now and its teachings got him thinking about how we all stay present and in the moment. His mind went back to a childhood memory: “Going to the seaside, picking up a seashell, pu ing that to [my] ear and just being still.” As an experience, it exemplified what he was searching for – a moment when he could “really stand still and collect my thoughts and tap into Yinka”. Could that seashell be the starting point for his piece at Soho Farmhouse?

“I want it to be a beacon,” says Ilori, “to facilitate meditation.” Only there will visitors encounter any colour – in fact, “A kaleidoscopic array of colours that reflect mindfulness,” says Ilori of a textured interior filled with pinks, oranges, yellows and greens.

Dreaming – and the joy implicit in that - has always been central to Ilori’s work. But while his previous designs evoked dreaming and joy through splashes of colours that were writ large for all to see, this piece references the inner dreams that nourish and sustain us, and the colour that radiates from within. “ e reason I decided to take the colours internally is because joy doesn’t have to be loud,” he says. “You don’t have to wear joy. You can experience joy inside. at is its power and the message I wanted to get out.”

Ilori cites the example of his parents. “My mum and dad came [to the UK] as immigrants,” he says. “ ey are in their sixties. And they are just starting to dream. eir dream is not to grow old and retire here. eir dream is to go back to Nigeria, build a school, a nursery, have a farm, tend chickens and goats, [plant] a cashew tree. at is joy for them. And I love that that is their dream. ey have found something that makes them happy, something they have thought about and worked hard to build up. It’s all about those internal dreams and internal joy.”

“When I started out,” he continues, “I really wanted to express my culture and my in-between heritage as British-Nigerian. I wanted to belong to something. at meant being super loud and expressive [in my designs] because the clothes [Nigerians] wear are very loud. Now I’m at a place where I don’t have to express my joy to the public. For me, it’s more about presenting the unexpected and trying to make people rethink how we look at and internalise joy.” Does he see this as a turning point for him as a designer? “A hundred percent. I think it’s just growth.”

Ilori grew up around “geezers and cockneys” on a council estate on Essex Road in north London. His father was a store manager for B&Q and his mother ran a corner shop and later worked as an events caterer. e vibrant Nigerian garments they wore to church and other social gatherings – and which he and his siblings were sometimes made to wear themselves – would be a major influence on his work.

“I remember my sister’s birthday party when she was maybe 10. I was 12 and my older brother was 14. It was held at a community hall in north London – one of those multipurpose spaces where people throw weddings and hold church meetings that has all these layers of experience and memories, which I love. Well, it was my sister’s birthday and my brother and I wore these beautiful purple and lilac traditional Nigerian ou its: a hat, trousers, a top. My brother was two years older but we dressed in matching clothes like twins. at is very Nigerian. And cost e ective. It also causes less arguments,” he adds, laughing.

“All my friends were in their Nike tops and Ralph Lauren trousers. I was in traditional Nigerian a ire. I didn’t get it. I was too young. But as I got older and saw the way my parents dressed – my dad in pink and other colours that maybe were considered feminine, but which he wore so well – it made me more comfortable wanting to wear traditional Nigerian clothes and fabrics. And those clothes weren’t cheap. My parents wore Swiss voile lace and jacquard weaves. ey saved up and invested their hard-earned cash into making sure they looked their best.” Trips to Nigeria only deepened his appreciation for “the richness of [Nigerian] culture and people. Everyone was wearing colour,” he recalls. “I didn’t see one person in black. It was pre y special. e energy. en sun. e smells. e noise. For me, it all made sense.”

A er high school, Ilori enrolled at London Metropolitan University to study product and furniture design. Inspired by Italian designer Martino Gamper’s project to make 100 chairs in 100 days, he started dismantling old chairs and refashioning them as new chairs with their own layered narratives. It opened his eyes to the possibility of telling stories through furniture. It led to his Parable Collection (2013), a series of upcycled chairs that referenced Nigerian parables, and his breakthrough project If Chairs Could Talk (2015), exhibited at London concept store Bluebird, which comprised a collection of multicoloured upcycled chairs inspired by boyhood friends. His embracing of colour was partly for dramatic effect. “I remember experimenting with colour and [understanding] how it could tell a story about a feeling or emotion,” he says. Being adventurous with colour was also something that came easily: “I grew up with it. It was around me every day. Going to church on a Sunday was like a rave; a celebration. I found it easy to mix colours [because I understood] there were no rules.”

In some ways, adopting a vivid colour pale e was also a cultural stamp: “When I finished university, I was like, the work I’m seeing around me doesn’t reflect Yinka and my heritage, why is that? ere was no one telling stories I could connect with,” he explains. “When I was studying, my reference points were Picasso, Bacon, Ron Arad. I love and respect [those artists]. But you want to see yourself.” Black creatives were largely absent from the canon. ey were certainly scarce in contemporary design. He understood the British scene was crying out for an injection of colour. And why shouldn’t he be the one to administer it?

Responses to Ilori’s work over the years have been almost universally positive. His recent public commissions struck notes of a irmation that felt particularly welcome in the wake of the pandemic. Since his show at the Design Museum opened in September, he’s been receiving a daily “influx of direct messages filled with positive words”. He explains: “Everyone has taken something away from the use of colour. People want to experience joy [through colour], whether in a mural, their phone case or the clothes they are wearing.”

But not every reaction has been celebratory. When ‘ e Colour Palace’ was unveiled in Dulwich in 2019, one MP wrote a le er to the architects saying the piece would be be er suited to a Lagos shanty town. “It’s interesting to see how space and culture give people a sense of entitlement,” Ilori observes. “It gives them a sense that they own space. No one owns space. We share space. In everything I do, I try to educate people and tell stores. Dulwich is middle class and posh, which is cool. But we live in London, a multicultural city [with] di erent cultures and languages. at is why I love London. You didn’t see that diversity or cultural exchange in Dulwich. What I wanted to do [with ‘ e Colour Palace’] was bring people from Dulwich into Peckham and people from Peckham into Dulwich.”

To that extent, his use of colour has sometimes been a political act as well as a personal one. But ultimately, colour for him is a means of bringing people together, particular when you use it in your wardrobe. “ e thing I have learned about colour is that when you wear it, you open yourself up to conversations,” he says. “People want to talk to you. ey want to comment on what you are wearing. Colour makes you approachable.” e beauty of his latest shell-like installation at Soho Farmhouse is that it also celebrates colour as the language of private passion, and the stuff that all our dreams are made of.