Hussein Omar is very much alive. But after spending time with him in his apartment in Manhattan’s London Terrace, the Art Deco block in Chelsea that has long been a landmark in the neighbourhood, you realise that death plays a big role in his life and in his decorating choices. I first crossed paths with Omar in 2024 when he wrote a story for WoI on The City of the Dead, the fabled cemetery in Cairo that has been the final resting place for generations of Egyptians, including Omar’s mother and ancestors. Stepping into his apartment, one is immediately struck by how relics from the distant past seem to find a new vitality perched alongside 20th-century classics, and how the lives and stories from his forebears are very much present in his daily life.
Omar and his son, Ismael, landed in Manhattan in 2023 after living in Ireland, where Omar was a lecturer on modern global history at University College Dublin. Originally, father and son took temporary accommodation in London Terrace on the opposite side of the complex’s interior garden, while Omar looked for a permanent home. Luckily, the flat where they are now came on the market and he grabbed it, ‘signing the lease without even seeing the place’. Omar admits that when he first walked through the door, ‘I was pretty shocked. There was a giant bookcase with a massive TV and a tiny room had been turned into a really, really sad-looking office. And then I was like, “OK, we have to do something very dramatic to this space”.’
To say that Omar is a collector is a bit of an understatement. He comes from a long line of antiquaries and is deeply experienced in both the joys and sorrows of the life of a connoisseur. Both of Omar’s maternal grandparents came from families active in the market for art, antiques and books. ‘My mother’s father had one of the largest private libraries in the Middle East, but he was the kind of person who bought everything, including a mummy of a baboon that lived in my childhood bedroom.’
Things changed dramatically for Omar’s family and the rest of Egypt’s elite in 1983. The government enacted a law stipulating that it was illegal to own anything over 100 years old. Owners were given six months to turn their pieces over to the authorities for a determination as to whether they would be confiscated or purchased by the state – or the possessor (if they were lucky) could be deemed a ‘custodian on behalf of the state’.
Although Omar’s grandfather ‘was very correct about it’ and handed everything over, his younger brother – Omar’s uncle – decided to hide his treasures (which originally had belonged to his father) in seven slum flats. When the brother died, Omar and his family inherited them and discovered that it was ‘clear he had hidden all of the antiquities in the trash in medicine bottles wrapped in underwear’. In an attempt to get a handle on things, the family moved all of the items into one lodging and began cataloguing them. During that time, Omar had been studying in Britain. ‘I came back to the apartment one day and it was all gone.’ The family suspected that a doorman realised what they were doing and, knowing they couldn’t report the theft to the police as it was past the six-month deadline, ‘just scooped up the whole thing’.
In 2020, Omar’s grandmother died and left him a bit of money ‘with the express purpose that I might begin to form my own collection, now that I was no longer living in Egypt’. He singles out two important mentors who helped him develop his approach to acquisition. One was a cousin whose father bought French Impressionist works (WoI Nov 1982) and the second was an art dealer, Hisham Mehrez, ‘who was very special to me’.
Each year, on 7 January, which is Christmas Day for Coptic Christians in Egypt, Mehrez would open the doors to an apartment that he had decorated and lived in the year before and invite friends to visit. The rooms were full of all the things he had purchased throughout the previous 12 months. A sale of all the objects would begin while Mehrez sat ‘behind a kind of curtain in a little closet… and waited until it was over’. Once everything was sold, he would come out and host a three-day celebratory party. Although Omar purchased numerous pieces from the annual event, he also received a number of gifts from his friend, who had a policy of never selling anything that he had originally been given as a present. Two such donations that Omar treasures are a tomb cover that hangs in Ismael’s bedroom and a rug displayed in the entrance to the New York flat.
Although he was delighted to secure his new home, Omar needed to figure out how to furnish it, as most of his things were still in Dublin. After a chance summertime meeting on Long Island’s south shore, Omar asked interior designer Patrick McGrath to help figure out a strategy to make the space work for father and son, as well as how best to handle Omar’s continually expanding accumulation of antiquities and design pieces. McGrath recalls that as soon as he walked in, ‘It was very clear. He has a real passion.’ Omar was relieved when McGrath quickly realised ‘there’s all sorts of things we could do to make this more liveable’.
Both men felt that London Terrace’s history and design aesthetic were key to their mission of not just celebrating Omar’s connection to his ancestral home, but also embracing his life in New York and recognising that Art Deco is a key counterpoint to Omar’s passion for the ancient world. As Omar likes to point out: ‘Cairo was just a very exciting place in the 1920s.’ He’s suspicious of people in Egypt who have an ‘unmediated relationship with the ancient past. So much of it was filtered through the discovery of the country by the West in the 1920s and that’s the stuff that I find aesthetically the most exciting.’
McGrath found inspiration in what London Terrace represented at the time it was constructed in 1930. Not only was it built at a scale not seen before in Manhattan, but it was also intensely modern – having a state-of-the-art intercom system and gigantic indoor pool. Both believed that it was critical that there be a symbiotic relationship between Omar’s relics from the past and the ambiance of London Terrace. As McGrath notes: ‘Obviously, the works he owns are amazing, but we wanted to have little winks to New York.’ Omar points out he wanted ‘things that might speak to one another in a coherent way’. He points to a tapestry just behind me that was commissioned in 1929 and ‘was probably made in Algeria, but the design is lifted from a 13th-century Cairo mosque, and it was made by two Americans’.
Since Omar and McGrath first put the place together, a ‘pile of things’ has accumulated in the entrance hall. ‘I am very conscious that it’s getting crowded in here,’ says Omar, ‘but I’m never going to stop acquiring.’ Gesturing to a nearby tombstone and an Egyptian wooden Ba bird representing the departed soul, he muses, ‘Life, particularly here, is so divorced from the dead. I actually like to be in close proximity to reminders of death.’
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