Robert was a lifelong collector of textiles and, by example, he taught us how using them adds great depth to a room's palette. As with a rug, an antique textile draws the eye to something old and generally something beautiful.

The Anatolian and Persian weaves, Greek embroideries, French linens, Indian silks and Bakaras all bring 3D texture that helps to soften a room's crispness. I think of it like an instant feeling of comfort, particularly the old velvets, the tassels, the trims. What you notice about them might be the luster of a tiny bit of gold thread, or it could be the wear that gives it power. The quirks and fades, areas that have rubbed out or been patched and mended. Robert would make a mental map of how he might use them in a room. Then we might change it all around, adding to the curation and layering of comfort.

Of course, using an antique textile in the workroom is like working on a jigsaw in reverse. You start with something that's finished and you kind of have to workout where you can use it, how you can use it, and what to add in to make the quantity work. There were many moments when Robert insisted we could figure out how to take a finite piece of fabric and make it work. All kinds of tricks were employed and still are—false pelmets, ribbon detail to hide a fray. But the most important thing was watching how Robert approached these textiles with ease. He'd say, 'Don't work against it. Don't force it.'

And his Golden Rule: 'Never cut an old textile, just make the element fit it.'

There are so many times I wonder what he'd say about this or that. Robert's voice is still in all of our minds and with us in what we do.

-Claire Jackson