The Eames’ were not like most mid-century couples. Charles was not the sole breadwinner, Ray was hardly Mrs Happy Homemaker, and they did not live in one of the ticky-tacky houses that proliferated Los Angeles at the time. They were pioneers in many ways, their life and work a distinct reaction to the post-war growth spurt burgeoning around them.

And while they are most well known for their furniture and design philosophy, the more I familiarized myself with Ray’s approach to life in general, the more intrigued I became.

Ray, while often overshadowed by her husband in the press, was an independently creative modern woman. She studied painting under Hans Hoffman and eventually went on to become a founding member of American Abstract Artists in 1936. The New York collective included Josef Albers, Burgoyne Diller and Alice Trumbull Mason amongst others, and set about cultivating an appreciation for stateside abstract art. They were bold modernists who knew that opportunities to exhibit their work would be hard to come by, and so they rolled up their sleeves and built a framework within which to exhibit their art themselves.

Once Ray met Charles, an up-and-coming architect teaching at Cranbrook Academy of Art in 1940, the pair explored a plethora of new pursuits. From furniture design and architecture, to film making and toy construction, they developed an incredibly collaborative practice that blurred the lines between their individual contributions. They worked as one, seamlessly and without ego.

Ray’s undoubted gift for color and composition guided her every decision. And while some of her contemporaries felt that she had forgone her art, she was quick to reply, “I never gave up painting, I just changed my palette.” She seemed thoroughly unphased by the opinions of others, eager to forge her own path.

My first physical encounter with the duo’s work came about when I moved to Los Angeles and visited Eames House. I was fascinated by this quirky couple who seemed to march to the beat of their own drum in a period that was distinctly marked by homogenization. Within a year, and with thorough training provided by the Eames Foundation, I found myself a docent, guiding visitors through the property, imparting tidbits about the lives of the humans who made their home there.

The more I observed the house, the more I became transfixed by small details. In particular, the kitchen seemed to be a space that people were magnetized to. There is something unifying about the domesticity of a kitchen – a reminder that no matter how profound a person’s work may have been, they would still sit down three times a day to commune over a meal. And as I was already familiar with how nuanced the Eames’ design practice was, it came as no surprise that Ray was equally as fastidious when it came to entertaining.

The role of the host was at the forefront of Ray and Charles’ approach to everything. Their desire to anticipate the needs of any guest meant that the opinion and experience of every person was considered, be it when designing a chair or preparing a sandwich. Ray, in particular, was meticulous when it came to keeping notes. Not only was she interested in direct feedback, but she paid attention to what people did not say and what their body language revealed.

For instance, when hosting a dinner party, Ray would pay attention to which dishes each guest consumed, what they had been served last time, and what aroused audiblue delight when it arrived at the table. She preferred serving a myriad of dishes on innumerable small plates, meaning everyone at the table could easily reach what they wished to try and politely avoid what they preferred to decline. Tables were festooned with hand-painted place settings and smatterings of flowers in small vases, so as not to obstruct conversation. Outwardly she projected carefree jubilance, whilst always maintaining a watchful eye, eager to understand exactly what worked and what she could improve upon next time.

None of this should be seen to imply that Ray herself was a keen cook or dutiful homemaker. In fact, it seems that her cooking skills were somewhat rudimentary, meaning meals were often a melange of cold cuts, picnic favourites and finger foods. Yet instead of being discouraged by this shortcoming, it fortified her impeccable devotion to her guests’ pleasure and enjoyment. When I imagine a summer picnic in their Pacific Palisades meadow, friends playing with toy prototypes while noshing on cheeses and chocolate cake, I’m reminded that the simple pleasures in life are those that often bring the most joy.

Entertainment was another element of most soirées. Both at the Eames’ home and at the office, visitors were often privy to impromptu film screenings. Ray and Charles always seemed to be tinkering away at something behind the camera and any feedback would of course be catalogued, considered and then incorporated into new edits.

I think the pair both recognized that great ideas can come from anywhere. And as an incentive for constructive conversation, they were both eager to ensure everyone had some fun along the way. That unlike the more pedestrian nine-to-five grind, work could be leisure, and leisure could be wonderfully fruitful.

There is something about Eames House itself that feels innately welcoming. Perhaps it is the enormous panels of glass that allow visitors to soak up every inch of its interior, the happy swathes of primary colours above the front door, or even the location itself; an open field of green, dotted with wildflowers in the summer. It is a space that says, “Hi there, thanks for swinging by! Why don’t you come in and stay a while.”

As the only residence the couple ever built, it remains a testament to their way of working. A beacon of collaboration and a home that to this day feels as though it lives and breathes. Ray had the foresight during her life to recognize the importance of preserving the space, not as a museum, but as an example of another way to do things. For me, it reflects how important she felt the responsibility of the host was – one that centered around entertainment, play and participation. And in a world that feels increasingly marked by digitization and social isolation, her legacy acts as a reminder that human connection is the root of all good work. ▪