The Poolside Bureau, Part I
Courtesy of Fadi Al Shami
Courtesy of Sofia Hartmann
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Courtesy of Mick De Paola
Courtesy of the artist (c) VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn 2025. Photography by Jens Ziehe.
Courtesy of Yasamine June
Courtesy of Rawisara Prachaksubhanit
Courtesy of Mariia Dred for Berlin Fashion Week
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Courtesy of Antonia Tewes
Courtesy of Antonia Tewes
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Courtesy of Campione d’Italia’s Classic Circuit
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omewhere behind the hills of the Côte d’Azur, someone arrived early. The sun had not yet risen, but the chairs were already waiting. A drink was set. A book unopened. Silence, effortless and complete.
The Poolside Bureau opened not with announcements, but with absence: no schedules, no name tags, no noise. Just the quiet certainty that summer has its own language.
Later, the house revealed itself. Shutters half-open, a pale breeze drifting through still air. Two chairs in the garden, marble cool beneath untouched olives. Here, explanations dissolve. The scene speaks first, and the only sound is the one you carry with you.
By midday, the shoreline disappeared. Water stretched out like it had all the time in the world. Two glasses waited in the sun, undisturbed. No signal, no clocks. On days like this, conversation doesn’t begin. It unfolds, softly, as though time had stepped aside.
Afternoon brought rituals of its own. Not the loud ones, but the ones chosen carefully: a racket, a serve, a glass placed just so. The match was quiet. No scores called. Only glances, laughter, and a second pour. If elegance could take a break, this was its game.
By evening, distance had become design. The island was close, yet it felt far enough to pause. A glass caught the last light, olives as always remained. Stillness chose its location and called it paradise.
On Sunday, everything was already in place. Two chairs. One cup. A folded paper untouched. The kind of morning where silence itself feels curated. Nothing improvised. Just intention, light, and a slight breeze. Some tables speak before anyone sits down.
By Monday, the lines grew sharper. Not colder, just quieter. A gallery without crowds or gift shops. Only a bench, a wall, and frames for something older than trends. Some rooms wait for you to notice. Some silences are meant to be carried away.
Midweek, movement returned. A suitcase at the door, the engine still warm. No valet, no announcement. Just the moment before the next place begins. Some arrivals don’t need a welcome. Some destinations feel like recognition.
And by Saturday, the light had changed. Shadows stretched further across the table, the glasses nearly empty, the olives almost gone. No one rushed to leave, no one hurried to stay. The evening itself decided it was over. The Poolside Bureau closed as it began: quietly, deliberately, leaving only the memory of stillness.
A Bureau Without Walls
The Poolside Bureau is not a place but a rhythm. It opens every summer not to fill calendars, but to erase them. It is the art of arrival without hurry, of conversation without noise, of elegance at rest.
This was only Part I. Next summer, the doors open again. Not in the same place, but in the same spirit: an invitation to pause, and to belong to a season that speaks its own language.
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