Grattan (right) with his sister Lauren in 1995. 
Grattan and his family getting ready to dance, shortly after moving in, in 1993. 
Grattan, in the 1990s. 
Grattan (left) with his father, in the 1990s.
Mark Grattan is a multidisciplinary designer based in New York, who will soon have his first solo show at the Manhattan gallery Superhouse.
“I grew up in the prissiest little suburb—Hudson, Ohio—in the south of Cleveland. It sat right outside of Cuyahoga Valley, which is a national park that the Cuyahoga River runs through. Everyone cuts the grass at the same time. Everyone drives a minivan. It’s like Pleasantville. But it’s super beautiful, rural, with so much lushness and density, which made it really great as a child.
Our home was white with black shutters. The garden always looked immaculate and the grass, fabulous, thanks to my dad. He taught me how to use my hands: He built everything in our backyard, including a shed and the deck. Most of the objects in the home were also built by him. He built my bed, my sister’s bed, and the dining table, and had a wood shop in the basement. His furniture was super functional, but also beautifully proportional. Those things still work: I slept on that bed for ages. He was also a painter, who did murals around Cleveland.
It was really easy for me to sneak out at night because my parents’ room was downstairs, and mine was all the way on the other side of the house, and I was close to the garage. So I could easily just go down the stairs and leave without them knowing. That was sort of the best thing about the layout.
My mom was a bread-baker, so there was always the smell of bread. Cooking was very important. Like most families, people congregated in the kitchen, which was massive. It was a Black family, so there was some soul always moving around. Some soul in the music, some soul in the food—the place always felt very warm. The colors were also warm. My mom had this big brown velvet sofa, and was very decadent in the way that she decorated. She loved Ethan Allen, and Amish- and Shaker-inspired stuff. There were Longaberger baskets everywhere. Everywhere.
Grattan (far right) with his sister and courins, in 1997. 
Christmas at the Grattans, in the late 1990s.
Maybe Mom took risks for that time and space, but it felt very her. That’s something people neglect and overlook: the power in creating something that speaks to who you are and what your personality is. A lack of personality in a space, a sort of permanent temporary living—it’s just soul-sucking. Maybe there’s not enough emphasis on the psychological [detriments], or the psychological warfare [in store], if you don’t design your home for you. Which is one of the reasons why I don’t care if I have a rental: I’m still renovating it. It’s ridiculous, but it is so important. Every day, you have to sleep in it. You have to wake up in it.
I had a conversation with a friend about this the other day: It’s so easy to buy a $3,000 coat. But nobody wants to buy a $3,000 sofa. And that’s not even nothing. It’s just—I don’t get it. The clothes can go. They’re fun, but, like, they’re sitting in the closet most of the time. The home is the home.
The first thing most people want to do when they have an empty place is to buy whatever the fuck they can and make it work, which doesn’t really serve a purpose because it immediately feels inauthentic and superficial. It’s important to sit in your home, understand how you feel in it, acknowledge how you move around the space, and identify things that will make you feel better in it.
Another thing my mother was super crazy about is cleanliness: order and having pride in [domestic] things. There’s something spiritual about it, too. Putting things away was sort of the concept of my collection of case goods, shown at Milan Design Week last year. It’s about engaging, or promoting, the act of putting shit away. With organization, you think more clearly. You can find things. Cleanliness makes you want to have visitors, maybe, makes you more open to share this world that you live in. It’s like that Luther Vandross song: ‘A House Is Not a Home,’ he sings, without love inside it.”
This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity. (Photos: Courtesy Mark Grattan)