To riff on the poetic ramblings of French philosopher Gaston Bachelard in getting to grips with the work of the recently departed Sydney designer Sarah Davison, who I never met, nor made answer the ‘why’ of certain picturesque features in her work, let’s ditch “the limitations of description”. And instead seize upon what Bachelard termed “the germ of the essential”; explore the subtle shadings and salutary exchanges remembered by Davison’s colleagues and close others, who elucidate on her life and last project in Bowral.
“There wasn’t a day she didn’t glide through the offce door and drop a nicked flower on my desk,” says one of Davison’s studio designers Esther
