Joseph Beuys’s famous statement: "Everyone is an artist" was not meant to suggest that all people should or could be creators of traditional artworks. Rather, he meant creativity was not simply the exclusive realm of ‘artists’, but that everyone should apply creative thinking to his or her own area of specialization-- whether it be gardening, physics, education, design or the fine arts. In this sense the makers Bridget Dwyer and David Grocott perfectly fulfil Beuys’s brief.

Their shop in Porchester Place, a charming bijou street in west London, is not really a shop, for there is nothing on sale, and they are not, by their own admission, really designers. They don’t do up people’s houses or visit clients with paint charts and colour swatches or actually make anything themselves. When I visit their premises I’m surrounded by, and invited to sit on, their highly individualised furniture. It radiates uniqueness, iconoclasm and expensive detail.

So who are Dwyer and Grocott, and what do they actually do?

Dwyer has always had a feel for fashion. Although her original training was in Social Rehabilitation in Boston she came to England, became co-owner of the visionary fashion retail concept Yasmin Cho, and sat on the board of the British Fashion Council before becoming consultant buyer of women’s wear at Liberty. It was there she met the idiosyncratic Grocott who, despite admitting to no formal qualifications, developed a unique eye over 30 years dealing in antique furniture before starting Plinth. There he sourced antiques to create one off pieces for select clients and fine art fairs, which led him to an invitation to run the first independent furniture concession in Liberty. Dwyer and Grocott soon realised that they shared a nostalgic, romantic, and slightly eccentric aesthetic and began working together, which they have done now for about seven years. They took their mother’s maiden names so it would sound as though they might be doing anything from selling sweets to being undertakers. So far their main clients have been in London and Los Angeles; collectors who have fallen for the mix of historic narrative, craftsmanship and individuality that defines their work.

They don’t so much restore old furniture as re-interpret it. David’s taste is essentially English and pivots around the 18th century, while Bridgette’s tends towards the 1930s. They work in series and accentuate the importance of quality. Period items are reborn as the sort of pieces that might grace the pages of a Vogue fashion shoot, a restored Shoreditch loft or Tuscan barn featured in The World of Interiors. They have been bought by artists and bankers alike. Craft matters to them. It takes weeks to stitch one of their pieces; the people they use are guardians of dying skills. Recent themes have included bound items. A small Victorian parlour chair has been revamped with swathes of antique Chinese silk that has been endlessly repaired, then draped and wrapped, bondage style, around its frame. The piece is as much about what is hidden as what is revealed.  Even if it splits, they insist, it will disclose its secrets, the fabric underneath. That is part of the process of the work. All their pieces are meant to be used.

Their newer White Collection, inspired by research in museums such as the V&A, takes its mood from abandoned country houses where unused furniture is covered in dustsheets. They suggest that this is a metaphor for those outside society. There is a long white sofa where the cushion took 40 hours to stitch and a work in progress: an old hospital wheelchair draped in white cloth. It is in these pieces that they get closest to working with the metaphors and concepts of art.

With their team of fine artists and upholsterers the pieces they produce will not be to everyone’s taste. It takes a sophisticated eye to appreciate their idiosyncratic use of colour and textiles. But for those who want something unique, Grocott and Dwyer provide a blend of historic nostalgia with a unique contemporary take.

– Sue Hubbard