Walking into Leighton House, I feel as if Frederick Leighton has welcomed me into his home, but at first, I can’t imagine how anyone could actually live here. We walk through the opulent entry, past a tiny fountain, which is sputtering to keep up with the grandiose tiles that surround it. A stuffed peacock greets us as we climb the stairs; its natural beauty is perfectly matched by the manmade art that surrounds it. I look down, and the floor is a mosaic stitched together from a million tiny parts. I look up to find gold leaf pressed into unimaginably intricate shapes. Tiny statues of exquisite bronze men flank the halls, and every corner of the home is beautiful.

As we progress through to the study, I begin to understand. Leighton’s study, while gorgeous, is not overwhelming like the front of the house. There’s a hint of the natural light that ordinarily envelops the space, and the beauty is much simpler. The drapery sketches that sit in the window call my attention. I remember my Observational Drawing class from last term, when I sat by a window for hours, trying desperately to achieve a fraction of his skill with my untrained hand. The ethereal drapery sits, translucent, upon the bodies of women he’s sketched. There is no hesitation in his work. The Death of Brunelleschi, completed when Leighton was only twenty-two for his graduation, leaves me in awe in my own inferiority. This room has brought the house to life for me; it feels lived in.

Exploring the house, I feel as if I have seen Leighton’s psyche. This place is a representation of his mind, with each of his tastes serving a perfect function, but exceptional beauty throughout. The areas where he entertained are as beautiful as they are functional, and the more private spaces where he worked are airy and inspiring. The William Morris wallpaper in his bedroom speaks to his philosophy on art, and the room doesn’t seem plain to me, as the guide suggests, but rather a simple place for him to relax at the end of his day. Once we return to the grand foyer, I look at it with fresh eyes, imagining Queen Victoria circling the fountain while the Prince of Wales takes another glass of champagne, with tinkling piano keys echoing down from the study.