Visionary Creative Director Maguelone Marcenac Speaks on The Mysteries of The Mandrake

Maguelone Marcenac shot by Kim Budd. Wardrobe: Light House Soho. Image credit: Kim Budd.

Four green plush sofas and four jagged mirrors reminiscent of the shapes of high-rise apartment buildings, themselves of an unplaceable art deco quality, greet a Mandrake guest as they enter the library. The mirrors are slightly smoky, as if trying to obstruct what they are reflecting, keeping up the mystery of one of London’s most exclusive hotels, The Mandrake. It’s here Maguelone Marcenac sits comfortably forward, speaking with confidence about her creative ethos, that she prefers for The Mandrake to be talked about in whispers rather than yells so the hotel can keep a sense of mystery. This makes an astute philosophy for someone who doesn’t try to make a lot of noise about what they do, and prioritises seamless execution and authenticity above all. 

That approach shapes most of her work there. She treats hospitality as a form of storytelling, bringing together art, fashion, music and performance across the hotel in a way that goes beyond the usual idea of luxury. Her programme of residencies, exhibitions and collaborations has included artists and names like Brooke Candy, Coucou Chloé, and Martin Eder. As more hotels try to position themselves as cultural spaces and not just places to stay, Maguelone's work at The Mandrake is a clear and perhaps the best example of what that actually looks like in practice.

The Library at The Mandrake. Image credit: The Mandrake.

For readers who might not know your work, what does your role as Creative Director of The Mandrake actually involve, and are there any aspects of the job that might surprise people?

There's firstly the obvious job description of a creative director in overseeing the branding of the hotel, making sure that across everything we produce, whether it's a photo shoot, a menu, the reopening of the restaurant, or the interiors, that we maintain a creative direction that's true to the brand. Even when we're approached by magazines, photographers, or other collaborators, we need to make sure they're aligned with what we stand for.

But what I always keep in mind is that I'm interpreting the mind of our owner Rami Fustock. It took him seven years to build this hotel, from the first day he thought about it to the day it opened its doors. He appointed me as creative director because I understand his vision and his taste. So the first part of my job is translating that vision and activating it across everything hospitality-related. Rami is also a serious art collector and a philanthropist, so we built a real program of culture and arts into the hotel, mainly through the artist-in-residence program, which I curate and produce. We do around five to ten a year. And then there's entertainment, because Rami loves nightlife, so I'm always thinking about our events, performances, and our big Halloween party each year, which blurs the line between party and performance.

For most of the events I put on I work with artists whose practice genuinely connects to the theme. Last year our Halloween party was built around Samhain, the pagan Halloween, and I brought in artists whose practice is rooted in witchcraft and folklore. I think it's really important not to borrow aesthetics but to work with those who practice these in their true essence. That's probably the difference between an actual creative director curating something versus a marketing team.

As for what might surprise people, honestly, almost everything, because it's such a strange job. Maybe that there's always a little bit of eroticism in my creative direction, though always handled respectfully, it will never tip into being vulgar. I also work across every department, from front of house to the bar to marketing, and I'm involved in vetting the influencers who come through the door.

I'm really intent on curating a place where, when you walk in, you find your crowd. Whether that's someone who's just moved to London and wants to discover something new, or a young artist who knows they might meet a gallerist or a film producer here, to bring on the kind of conversation in the smoking area that can actually lead somewhere. We are of course luxury, but we don't want our staff to be stiff; we want them to actually engage with guests.

I will say that the one thing I don't curate is the music, I booked a techno DJ for an event once, and they told me never again!

One thing that stands out is your commitment to creating authentic experiences, even if they are rooted in fantasy. How do you carry that through into the storytelling side of your work?

This actually touches on one of my personal life missions, which is to be a bridge between the artist and an audience that will watch, engage with, and sometimes buy their work. I've noticed too often, particularly in Central London, that artists get treated as commodities, and the story of why they do what they do never really gets told.

You have to be careful how you tell those stories, though, because you don't want to be patronising. I'm not an art gallery, I'm a hotel, and I don't want to strip away the fantasy by over-explaining, so I tend to communicate discreetly instead. For example, I work with a performer from the goth scene whose performances are pretty extreme. Without a bit of background information, people might not fully understand what they're seeing, so we generally wrap that kind of work up with a conversation panel.

Also, unlike a gallery or a theatre, a hotel's audience doesn't necessarily walk in with the desire to look at art, and they're not always people who work inside the art world. So I have to think carefully about how to translate messages for them, leaning into a more entertaining delivery, whether that's printed material with the artist’s story and an image, or a small exhibition with screens for context.

This side of my work is particularly interesting because we have two different types of clientele: the hotel guests, and a more London-based crowd who come just for the cocktail bar and the incidental theatrical touches, like our flash tattoo nights. I work a lot for that second crowd, but I also understand that as a hotel we want to cater to people from all walks of life.

A bedroom suite at The Mandrake. Image credit: The Mandrake.

How do you navigate that overlap between hotel guests and artistic crowds, and the hotel’s potential proximity to something like a gallery or creative space?

I like to leave the exhibition and the intellectual side of art to our gallery collaborators, and I see myself as more of an "after hours." Right now, for example, with Frieze, I'm really looking to both complement their programme but also give the Frieze audience something they’d want to see after dark as I’m not there to give them more art.

I think there are two words that really represent us, the first is disruptor. We're a disruptor in the hospitality industry generally, and I'm glad that since we opened, we've inspired other hotels to take that on too and I see that as a unifying force rather than competition. The other word is incidental and it’s a thought process I really like. Someone steps into the hotel, say they're exhausted from a terrible flight from LA, and then they arrive here and suddenly there's a performance in a glass cube, and they're lifted. Even if they only watch for two minutes before heading up to their suite, it's incidental and it's not something they expected to find.

I think those qualities are what set the hotel apart from an actual arts institution, and it's also what specifically draws in our hotel guests. They know that when they come to London, they’re going to get some of the great cultural scene they’ve come to visit London for.

How do you approach designing and curating a space that's so functional by nature, given the safety requirements of a working hospitality venue, especially when balancing artists in residence with bedroom guests?

For me, this is much more of an opportunity than a challenge. I feel more creative when I have that kind of limitation than when I'm faced with a blank space. I also do a lot of risk assessment, as there is real risk involved: we built a massive bamboo structure that stayed in the courtyard for two years. It's always about using this existing canvas and finding ways to enhance it.

I also love that there are lots of different atmospheres within the hotel. Sometimes I'll know instantly that a piece belongs on the terrace, or in the dark theatre space downstairs. I never repeat the same curation twice, so neither I nor our guests are ever bored.

A few years ago I worked with a choreographer, Alexander Whitley, who works in the digital realm. I didn't have a space big enough for a large-scale performance, so he worked with VR headsets and motion capture on the dancers, then screened that elsewhere.

Our artists in residence also often become our guests. It was particularly fun with a dance company called BULLYACHE, who during their residency were also prepping for a show at Sadler's Wells. I like to give our artists in residence a window of time to develop whatever they've fantasised about making, with a budget, space, and food, so all they have to do is create.

BULLYACHE at The Mandrake. Image credit The Mandrake.

Alongside maintaining a mysterious exterior, there's also a drive to make the hotel genuinely accessible to artists. Is breaking down those barriers around access and funding something you consciously work at?

This is a very conscious decision from myself and Rami. We're not just here to pretend-play art, we understand that emerging talents from all social classes have as much ability as some of the most established ones, and that without a bit of help, they might never get shown at all. Around each artist in residence, I put on an event to celebrate the work and draw an artsy crowd. The prices of drinks at the hotel however, might not necessarily be accessible to this crowd, so on those nights we adapt the menu-pricing. For me, supporting artists properly means supporting their crowd and their community, not just sponsoring one person and thinking the work is finished.

This nourishes us in so many ways because it creates a fairer exchange, where we adapt a little, push a little with the budget, and adjust our offerings in a real socially motivated approach. It's not something we shout about as that's not really the point of it. I don’t come from a ‘high-end’ art world originally and used to work in a screen-print studio amidst East London galleries, which allows me to work really well with Rami as our different backgrounds blend really well with each other.

How do you decide who to platform for the artist-in-residence program at any given time, is it more intrinsic and spontaneous, or do you actively seek people out?

It's a bit of both. A lot comes from going out to concerts, exhibitions, and festivals. I discovered Buddy Ek at a party performance and thought, these guys are amazing but it took two years to actually bring them in, and by then they'd blown up. Coucou Chloé is another example, I'd followed her music before the hotel even existed, then years later thought she'd be perfect for a night, and that relationship eventually led to her residency.

Sometimes artists reach out to me directly, but mostly it's incidental, I'm not planning one artist in January, one in March. I go to festivals across Europe and I have friends who run nights in London, so we're constantly exchanging recommendations. Honestly, I already have more artists I love and want to work with than I have months in the year to host them.

That said, season and genre play into it too, for instance in the summer I might bring in a florist for an installation. Sometimes artists also come recommended by Rami, who is a serious collector with a lot of artist friends who are usually painters, my role then shifts more toward curating the space and producing around them.

Between my own instincts, contacts, and the flood of applications we get, sometimes I'll recognise someone's work and reach out myself, and that alone can kick off a project. So it really is organic, we might have two residencies in three months, or nothing for six. We don't force it or work to a set schedule. The only real constraint I have is the financial year!

BULLYACHE at The Mandrake. Image credit The Mandrake.

Do you see the artist-in-residence program as naturally part of the business you want to build, or as an external philanthropic effort?

It's very personal for both me and Rami. It's not something that normally belongs in the luxury industry and we both share a want to do something for art without it being about showing off this social ethos.

It started early on, working in art galleries, where I noticed gallery directors could be quite harsh with artists, and I'd always say that without artists, you don't have an exhibition. So protecting artists, and helping the ones I think are talented put themselves out there, has been my mission from the beginning. I can speak the language of corporate minds and also understand artists deeply, so I can sit in the middle and make things work for everyone.

It comes from a personal appreciation of art and humanity, which is too often treated as a commodity. With government support for the arts going the other way, more of that support has to come from private hands for now.

Do you see the way you approach creative direction as a model for where the role should be heading more broadly, or do you think it's already being adopted elsewhere, and this is just where things are naturally going? And is that the direction you'd actually want to see creative direction go in?

Not necessarily, and this is exactly the point. This is just how I approach the job personally; it's a big personal investment, if you like. When I look at how most creative directors work, on a photo shoot for example, they're often just there to give direction, and make things look good. They don't necessarily think about the impression left on the artist, the photographer, or whoever commissioned the work, because it's simply not their job. And honestly, they're not wrong to draw that line.

That said, and this probably comes from my own personality more than anything, I do wish there were a bit more empathy in the industry generally, and maybe a little less ego, but I'm not in a position to dictate how anyone else should work. I think these things have to come naturally. If it doesn't come from that place within someone, it's just not going to happen.

Given how involved you are as a real advocate for the arts, and especially in an age where we're moving further from human-made art, with a lot of new debates emerging around that: what advice would you give someone on immersing themselves in art and finding their own sense of it?

It's a bit of a complicated question, because it really needs to come from a personal place. You need to want it first; that's the best way to immerse yourself in art. It's almost a necessity, in a way, similar to how artists need to make art. You need to feel that pull to be surrounded by it.

But I think a lot of people don't feel that necessity anymore, simply because they're not exposed to enough art in the first place. Art can start to feel very closed-off, behind closed doors. A lot of people don't even realise they might have that urge in them, because they've never been given the chance to. So I think if art were a bit more present in everyday life, it would create the accessibility to art which I feel is what creates the necessity that leads people to immerse themselves in art in the first place. Because if you don't know about art, you just don't know that you want it.