Ingrid Weir, photographer and interior design expert, captured seaside locations for her inspirational book, New Coastal. Here, she explores a captivating cabin in the Bay of Fires...
I set out on a journey – to remote beaches, islands, working coastal areas. To see how people live by the sea.
I’ve always had a fascination with how original thinkers shape their surrounds. How they take what is offered, bend it, and work it so that it suits them. As an interior designer, I see good design as thinking made visual. How were people and their design worlds evolving and adapting when it came to coastal living? I was curious to find out.
I grew up on a beach north of Sydney. A coastal childhood: building intricate sandcastles, meeting friends at the beach, learning to swim in ocean pools. Constantly in and out of the surf, going under and over the waves. Something a lot of Australians share – the beach and ocean as a presence woven into your life.
Esperance. King Island. The Bay of Fires. Places by the sea often have evocative names. Warmly welcomed into the homes of strangers – people I had connected with through friends or on Instagram – invited into their worlds and into spaces that responded to different coastlines. It was stimulating – we had wide-ranging conversations about design and life.
Throughout this journey I’ve been surprised along the way. I’ve come to realise the power of remote coastal places. Coastal is more than just being immersed in the water. It’s also walking along the beaches in winter. Breathing in the salt air. Being calmed by the rhythmic power of the waves.
I returned from these places filled with energy. The mood and feel of these sweeping coastlines harmonised with the design I was being drawn to – a kind of warm modernism with an organic edge. A calm and simplicity. And always, always, an embrace of the natural world.
Bays of Fites
Tasmania | Larapuna
Traditional Owners and continuing Custodians: Palawa people
It feels like the cabin of a fisherman, maybe one who is also an artist. It could be in a remote village on the coast of Japan.
But it’s not. It’s a short-term rental house called Sabi Stays in the Bay of Fires. The best design evokes feelings and mood. It stimulates the imagination.
It would be a good place to write a novel – even calling it Sabi Stays. I see the author, up early, writing for several hours. Then a long walk through the beaches, lagoons, and rocky bluffs. Climbing over the dramatic boulders covered with orange-coloured lichen. A shot of Japanese whisky in the evening; correcting proofs. Weekends heading into St Helens, the nearby fishing village, to get provisions. Maybe a stop at the Lifebuoy Café to have coffee and cake and chat with the locals.
But only a prolific author could get much done because time at Sabi Stays is at a premium. It gets booked out fast. People recognise something unique and handcrafted, and the love that has gone into creating it. It was designed and renovated by Jessica Eggleston and her husband Fred. A forensic psychologist in her day job, this project gave Jessica the opportunity to cross over from her left brain into her right.
There’s a general greyness to Tasmania; the landscape, the skies. This pierced by the brilliant red and gold sunsets and the fiery boulders
The inspiration flowed after Jessica discovered the Japanese philosophy of wabi-sabi, and she spent months researching its principal tenets. Beauty in imperfection, impermanence, simplicity, honesty.
Rough pavers are used for the interior flooring – it’s an unusual choice and evokes a Japanese temple. Jessica describes how the landscaping supply shop was surprised by her wanting the chipped pavers. She even asked them to hammer off some more fragments.
People think that the Bay of Fires is named for the orange-red colour of the rocks. It’s not. It came from British navigator Tobias Furneaux who saw the fires of the First Nations people from his ship. There’s a general greyness to Tasmania; the landscape, the skies. This pierced by the brilliant red and gold sunsets and the same fiery boulders. There’s poetry in this contrast; the severity and plainness with the passionate colour. That same poetry is in the Sabi Stays cottage, linking it intimately to the surrounding nature.
On design, life, and the sea
Returning home, I feel enlivened from this great trip along different coastlines. Travel freshens you up, brightens your energy. There are the hard times; when things don’t go right. Everyone has had those. But firsthand experience of the world – meeting people who are doing things, trying things – that is precious.
Design is constantly evolving. Seeing new things leads to growth. During my trip some things I knew were reinforced. Others, I realised for the first time.
The cold-water swimming movement has changed coastal experiences. Letting go of the need for comfort leads to a brutal cold shock, then the greater experience of health and vitality. There’s something wonderful in the combination of comfort with a stimulation of the mind. Soft cosy textiles, a comfortable chair, a fire. A stack of books to choose from.
I once read a piece in the New Yorker about the great British travel writer Patrick Leigh Fermor, who led an extraordinary and adventurous life. Interviewed when he was 91, he told of his upcoming travel plans to get to Athens from Crete. Rather than take a plane he chose to take the ferry – the night crossing. He didn’t book a cabin. When questioned by the journalist, he said he preferred to sit up on deck: he had a bottle of wine and a good book – what more could he want?
I like to think of him there, sitting all rugged up on a deck chair under the stars. Reading by the light of the ship’s lamp and drinking his wine, surrounded by the power of the great sea.
For more seaside inspiration, pick up a copy of New Coastal, published by Hardie Grant Books.
WORDS & PHOTOGRAPHY: Ingrid Weir
