Written by Martha McCully • Styled by Carlos Mota • Photographed by Roger Davies
When Cynthia Rowley moved from Chicago to Manhattan back in the early 1980s, the up-and-coming fashion designer drove a U-Haul straight to a loft on Varick Street. As she remembers, she thought it was "Seventh Avenue, fashion capital of the world." Technically Varick is Seventh Avenue -- but it is an extension about 30 blocks south of the garment district. That geographical mishap notwithstanding, within three weeks of her arrival Rowley had created a ready-to-wear collection, printed invitations to her first show, and bumped into Andy Warhol, handing him an invite. A fashion force was born -- so was a domestic goddess.
Friends declare themselves amazed by her resourcefulness and ability to multitask. When she's taking a break she will whip out her iPhone to track down the perfect crown molding, and whenever she is across the country on business, Rowley always boards a red-eye back to spend an hour with her kids and husband in the morning before heading to the office. It is her whirlwind mix of energy and warmth that so many people find endearing.
Today Rowley still lives near Seventh Avenue, but home now is an 1845 Greek Revival townhouse in the West Village that she shares with her husband, writer Bill Powers, and daughters Kit and Gigi. The interiors are totally reflective of the woman behind them -- traditional yet modern, utilitarian yet artistic, solid yet whimsical. There is a bit of history here too. "Fiorello La Guardia lived around the corner," says Powers, referring to a celebrated mayor of New York. "So did the inventor of Jujubes," adds his wife.
The brick structure Rowley purchased three years ago needed a total renovation, since for many years it had been divided into apartments. The designer wanted it to be an easygoing place for indoor/outdoor living as well as a traditional family home -- and a great backyard was key. One logical addition was a pool, of course, which required an excavation of the house's overgrown property. "It was like the Addams family's garden," Rowley says. Now there is a long, lean lap pool where she takes dips with her daughters; it's also the perfect backdrop to showcase her collections (Rowley staged her 2009 resort presentation here). From one tree hangs a swing, while the branches of another form a kid-perfect route: Nine-year-old Kit can make a grand entrance through the balcony and then shinny down to the garden.
The glass-walled open kitchen-and-dining area flows straight into the yard, visually and aesthetically. Rowley designed images of flowering cherry trees and had Flavor Paper, a New Orleans firm, turn them into a silvery wall covering to install above the banquette. "It's traditional Japanese and modern at the same time," she says. The dining table was inspired by the quirky work of artist Andrea Zittel, with plates nestling into round cutouts in its surface, the designer explains, "just kind of for fun."
The so-called grown-ups' floor serves as a stage for Rowley and Powers's love of art, an enthusiasm that has led him to become a founding partner of Half Gallery with novelist James Frey and fashion entrepreneur Andy Spade. In the living room Will Cotton's portrait of Gigi, three, hangs next to a Rachel Feinstein drawing, and nearby is a Gregory Crewdson photograph and a Rowley drawing (the designer's glamorous, loopy artwork illustrates the latest of her five books, Slim: A Fantasy Memoir). A bookcase was constructed to store volumes inscribed by artists, including Jeff Koons, Robert Rauschenberg, and Warhol. On one wall a self-portrait by Rowley's grandmother is displayed below an Elizabeth Peyton painting of British rocker Pete Doherty. Why the weird juxtaposition? "They're both creative geniuses," the designer says proudly.
Guarding a staircase is a mom-and-pop pair of stuffed geese; Rowley had them shipped from Deyrolle, the legendary Paris taxidermy shop -- only to have the feathered duo nearly confiscated by U.S. Customs officials. "They tried to take them because of the bird flu," the designer says, rolling her eyes at the improbability.
Since the grown-ups' floor is used for entertaining as well, the inoperable baby grand doubles as a giant wine cooler (its body is lined with plastic). The piano bench is a Gaston Marticorena creation -- a bale of hay wrapped in plastic. Rowley is pretty good at do-it-yourself projects too. She made her daughters' bunk beds resemble a petit four by frosting the unit's frame with bathroom caulk squeezed through a pastry bag. Kit, however, chose the room's art, including a Yoshitomo Nara painting emblazoned with the phrase ROCK 'N' ROLL WILL NEVER DIE.
So what's Rowley's favorite part of her homemade house? "The living things, of course: the people," she says, looking astonished. And with that, this diva of Seventh Avenue is off to take the girls to school, shop for groceries, run her empire, throw a taco party, then put Kit and Gigi to bed. When she rests is anybody's guess.
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