IFDM meets the Paris interior style makers – Chapter 4: Guillaume Rolland/Christian Liaigre

You have been with Liaigre for more than twenty years. When you joined, did you ever imagine you would one day become creative director?
No, it wasn’t something I had in mind. But just a few months after I arrived, Christian Liaigre made me his right hand. There was already a strong relationship, a shared way of thinking. He had more of a decorator’s background, an extraordinary talent for objects, and a very special attention to them – at the end of a project, he would photograph only the furniture. At the same time, he had a highly refined sense of space, though without the rigidity of architectural training. Architecture can sometimes give you conditioned reflexes: you think in a certain way, you make decisions almost automatically. Our collaboration was precisely about merging two perspectives. I unlearned certain habits, while bringing in my own architectural vision. Out of that blend, a different way of designing emerged.

Is that the best way to work?
Yes, because it takes you further. You have to let go of certainties, of things you know well, and accept another vision that expands your perspective.

Looking back, how has the role of the interior designer changed?
When I arrived, Liaigre was already a style icon. His furniture had changed some of the rules of the industry and was already widely copied. The Mercer Hotel in New York and other iconic projects had made him very well known. The studio was small – we were twelve; today we are about fifty. What has really changed is public perception. With phenomena like Instagram, people have become extremely attentive to the visual aspect of interiors. But this can be superficial: something can be very seductive in a photograph, yet not work when you actually live in it. Our projects photograph well, but when you experience them, there is a deeper dimension. Spatial scenography is like a film – you have to think like a director. Architecture, like cinema, is about precision. I feel that this obsession with precision is sometimes being lost. You may not see it in a picture, but you feel it in space – and that’s when it becomes emotion.

In what sense are architecture and cinema connected?
For me, both generate emotion through sequences. It’s about orchestrating a journey: a succession of moments, compressions and openings, anticipation and revelation. It’s the same principle as directing. But even more important than precision in execution is precision in thinking. The organization of functions, the relationships between volumes, the geometry, the axes – how a rectangle and a circle come together perfectly. Architecture is almost a science, but infused with poetry. It’s the combination of the two that creates something truly powerful. Our approach is also rooted in classical culture: the 18th century, interiors built on symmetry, correspondence, balance. It’s a very rich vocabulary, which is why I speak of poetry. Understanding the language of classical architecture gives you tools to express yourself more clearly. Poetry, cinema, music and architecture share similar conceptual structures – you have to say the most with the least. That’s when something memorable emerges.

What is the relationship between space and furniture?
They are inseparable. A project always begins with a plan, a two-dimensional layout. And already at that stage we place every piece of furniture, with centimetric precision. There must be perfect resonance between the “script” created by the furniture and the overall spatial composition: objects respond to flow and use, but they also create dynamics. I like to think of interiors as small cities. Designing an interior is like urban planning on a reduced scale. We immediately draw circulation lines, to understand how people will move. The voids tell us where objects should go. The ergonomics of flow is the starting point; then inspiration comes in to guide aesthetic choices.

Is this the “signature” of the Christian Liaigre studio?
We don’t try to be original. We simply try to do our job well, as it was done two centuries ago, without chasing effects. I believe beauty emerges this way. There is no special talent, except the ability to see what is wrong and correct it. Design is largely about seeing – and also about listening. We all have an innate sense of balance and harmony: proportions, correspondences, relationships between objects are everything.

You work on both residential and hospitality projects. How does your approach differ?
We feel very comfortable with residential work. Even in hospitality, our approach remains almost residential – we aim to build a close, intimate relationship with the owner. We prefer independent, visionary clients. In those cases, it’s almost like designing a home. It’s very different when working with corporate structures: boards, managers, multiple stakeholders. Everything becomes diluted. You end up producing endless versions, and the project loses strength – you’re lost in translation. We prefer direct, spontaneous input. Even when working with a brand, we want a single visionary counterpart. With too many voices around the table, it’s no longer tailor-made – it becomes corporate. It’s not about refusing input, but too much input weakens the result. We prefer to do less, but with a strong bond with the client.

Where does the creative process begin?
With listening – and with the plan. We look at the layout and try to build the most accomplished architectural scenario, the one that solves the problem best. It’s essentially a problem-solving approach. I like to compare a plan to a business plan. You have fixed constraints – the constants – and around them you can work with variables: perspective, flow, quality of use. At a certain point, there is a combination that gives you the best result. Architecture is both mathematical and poetic. Without poetry, it becomes engineering – it works, but it doesn’t move you.

Is there a field you haven’t explored yet but would like to?
Nightclubs. I’d love to design one. They are highly theatrical spaces, entirely built on sequences – compression, expansion, corridors, rooms, large halls. It’s like sculpting space from within, almost like carving a grotto. Without windows, you can shape a complete world. It’s incredibly intense.

What projects are you currently working on?
A major hotel in Florence, opening in about two years – a resort in the heart of the city, in a former hospital. That’s one of the key projects. Then there’s an exceptional apartment in Miami. We have a great deal going on at the moment.

What motivates you to come to work every day?
The excitement of problem-solving. When you find the solution, there’s a kind of dopamine rush – it’s almost addictive. You arrive, something feels wrong. Why? Then you find it. You adjust a line, correct an angle, shift an entrance – and suddenly everything falls into place. That’s the real pleasure. Not beauty itself, but the fact that one right decision can resolve everything.