One trip to the Middle East remains etched in French interior designer Jean-Louis Deniot’s memory. Nearly 20 years ago, he was approached to design a boutique hotel in Damascus. “It was to be housed in two palaces – a Jewish one on one side and a Muslim one on the other,” he recalls. “Their architectural vocabulary was very similar, just the colours changed.”
Unfortunately, the project never came to fruition. The Syrian civil war that broke out in 2011 put an end to it. But that didn't stop Deniot from developing strong links with the region ever since. He has worked for Kuwaiti and Jordanian royal families, has outfitted a grand Parisian pied-à-terre for a Saudi princess and is currently working on a “very eccentric” residence in Riyadh. Also on his drawing board are the interiors of Four Seasons Private Residences DIFC, located in a building designed by Sir David Chipperfield.
Most recently, he finished decorating a palace in Doha for a member of the Qatari royal family. “One of the things I loved about it was that it was based on classical Moorish architecture,” he says. The property consists of four distinct buildings designed by Egyptian architect and director of The King’s Foundation School of Traditional Arts in London, Khaled Azzam. “There’s great poise and refinement in his work,” enthuses Deniot. “He manages to design large-scale buildings while endowing them with a genuine lightness.” Deniot is no stranger to monumental projects. In the past, he has created a Versailles-like house on the outskirts of New Delhi for clients. He recently unveiled the 375 apartments and over 5,000 square metres of amenities he designed for the long-anticipated Waldorf Astoria Residences in Manhattan. Still, the Qatar palace took things to a whole new level. “I think it’s one of the most accomplished projects I’ve worked on,” he declares.
The time-honoured architectural adage states that a project is only ever as good as the client. Here, he certainly hit the jackpot. Deniot describes the residence’s proprietor as “a wonderful aesthete with a sharp eye” and “an astute collector”. Among the items she had already collected are an ornate Louis XIV Boulle desk from the 1700s, an 18th-century cabinet from India, a panel of 17th-century Damascus pottery tiles and a wrought iron and marble console by Art Deco master Edgar Brandt. There were more contemporary pieces too – a pair of cabinets by French designer Erwan Boulloud, an Élisabeth Garouste sofa and a Gabriella Crespi mirror. She also has an impressive collection of Orientalist paintings by Frederick Arthur Bridgman and Léon François Comerre. “For decorating the interior, I used about 90 per cent of what she had,” he says. “I don’t think she expected me to integrate so much.”
Before that, however, the designer had to get to grips with the architectural framework, which meant not only dealing with immense spaces, but also a multitude of different rooms. He made the lofty volumes feel less capacious by splitting most of the walls into two. “You have a décor piece on the bottom half, which is more elaborate, and a more geometric one above,” he shares. “It helps to break things up.” Based on its function, Deniot also sought to give each room its own character. The public spaces are more ornamental and Oriental, while the private quarters are more subdued and European. “Each space has its own colourway,” the designer continues. “The casual, daytime rooms have a softer palette while the formal ones have intense and bold colours.”
Deniot’s inspiration came from numerous sources. He referred to books on Moorish architecture and designed several carpets based on Aboriginal art. The designer shared that he also recreated a motif for the formal dining room ceiling from the Church of Saint-Germain-des-Prés in Paris. He describes the handrail of the main staircase as “Merovingian” in reference to the first dynasty of French kings, who ruled from the fifth to the mid-eighth century and called upon craftspeople from different locations. Much of the woodwork was conceived in Lebanon. He found artisans in Turkey to create the mashrabiya and the door handles were forged in Paris. “What you touch is just as important as what you see,” he asserts. “Hardware is like jewels for a house.” Several common elements run throughout the space. They include striped motifs, arches and marble. All the doors on the ground floor are made of hammered metal, several rooms incorporate arresting chandeliers designed by his friend Hervé Van der Straeten, while shield-shaped wall lights hang in many areas. The ones in the formal dining room were made from back-painted glass by Parisian artist Florence Girette. Those in a sitting room off the winter garden are the work of mosaicist Béatrice Serre. “They look like little comets,” muses Deniot.
In typical Deniot style, dramatic gestures abound. Each of the four posters of a bed in a guest room is shaped like a palm tree. The walls in a gaming room used by the owner’s sons are made from raw concrete and a grand sitting room used for parties has an extremely complex ceiling – faceted to resemble the shape of a desert rose.
Creating such an exuberantly rich décor could easily have been cacophonous. However, Deniot managed to keep things in check, particularly by limiting the palette in each room to just a handful of tones. “It was rather a precarious exercise which required a certain level of refinement, but also that no single element would overpower another,” he adds. “The key was finding just the right equilibrium.”
This article was originally published in the March 2026 issue of Vogue Arabia.
