A+R is British ex-pat Andy Griffith, a former film editor and self-avowed design junkie, and Rose Apodaca, a pop culture and style journalist.
In late 2005, we opened our tiny shop in the heart of Los Angeles' creative enclave known as Silverlake, keen on sharing our excitement for great design with anyone who would listen.
At A+R, we strive to bring together an uncommon and exclusive product mix that emphasizes good and thoughtful modern design.
We love talking about the designers we find locally and from afar, because it only goes to show that this brilliant and bold community is not so much distinguished by geographic or cultural boundaries but bound by the pursuit of aesthetics and innovative ideas.
From stemware to stuffed toys, books to baubles, body care to bright lights, the constant is design that charms, functions and inspires.
How does this make A+R different from the other great design shops in the universe?
We obsessively seek out the newest products, aiming to offer them first. We cherry pick the best from the best manufacturers. We don't settle for product simply available through domestic distributors: Challenges be damned, we import from anywhere in the world. We never sell anything we haven't personally handled. We love everything we sell.
In a sound bite: Global design. Edited.
That's A+R.
We hope you find things you've been looking for all your lives, and stuff you didn't know you needed. And, whether you're a designer or enthusiast like us, if you come across anything you believe fits our world, please let us know.
Hello A+R, Very congenial merchandizing. I would like to share some of our accessory designs with you. ADJEKTIVES+MODDIF IERS. http:adjektives.c om Greetz from SF, -FzS
The 1938 Steinway baby grand piano, artfully charred by Dutch designer Maarten Baas made it. As did the stunning block column crystal chandeliers surrounding it by Georg Baldele. Yet not everything planned for showcase in the brand-spanking new Moss store on Melrose Avenue made it for the opening party last night, and that was probably a godsend considering the endless line of acolytes come to see what, and who, many design junkies consider is the grand poobah of their affliction.
It’s such a weird night,” Murray Moss told me in that impish, intimate way he has, as if he’s known you since kindergarten. “As you get closer to the night of an opening, you imagine what it will be like when the doors finally open, the theater of it all. Yet you wonder if anyone will come. Then the moment happens.”
And, not surprisingly, this moment involved a fire marshal. But this turned out to be the most gregarious fire marshal in all of the state, informing the host that the space was 25 guests short of the maximum capacity. As if the humidity from all the bodies didn’t already suggest this. Like the Greene Street Valhalla that Murray founded in 1994 (his partner Franklin Getchell joined him five years later), this west coast outpost is set up to look and feel like a museum. Even the waiters with the model looks are wearing white T-shirts with the infamous Moss slogan: “Please don’t touch.” “We wanted this space to have a flexible sense of space for installations,” noted Murray, over the deafening din of the party. He immediately pointed out that Oct. 24 marks the first such exhibition, with Dieter Rams's 606 shelving system (a sampling already appears in the back of the box room). Thursday night, Moss was loosely filled with statements such as the clay-like mini chairs and end tables which look like they’re rendered from crayons Baas, and the outlandish wood tables and benches of the young Dutch duo, Studio Job. (Job’s limited-edition pieces are among the first commissions under the new Moss Limited Ltd. Venture.)
“We have programs in the works with Baas, Studio Job and Swarovski,” Murray enthused. He and Franklin intend on spending at least a week each month in L.A., perhaps even finding more permanent digs than a hotel room. L.A. was the logical choice after New York, Murray continued, in part because, despite old school thinking, the two cities are closer in culture, business and lifestyle than anything in between. “If you’re going to step out,” he winked, “you might as well stretch out and touch down as far as your leg will take you.”
The 1938 Steinway baby grand piano, artfully charred by Dutch designer Maarten Baas made it. As did the stunning block column crystal chandeliers surrounding it by Georg Baldele. Yet not everything planned for showcase in the brand-spanking new Moss store on Melrose Avenue made it for the opening party last night, and that was probably a godsend considering the endless line of acolytes come to see what, and who, many design junkies consider is the grand poobah of their affliction.
It’s such a weird night,” Murray Moss told me in that impish, intimate way he has, as if he’s known you since kindergarten. “As you get closer to the night of an opening, you imagine what it will be like when the doors finally open, the theater of it all. Yet you wonder if anyone will come. Then the moment happens.”
And, not surprisingly, this moment involved a fire marshal. But this turned out to be the most gregarious fire marshal in all of the state, informing the host that the space was 25 guests short of the maximum capacity. As if the humidity from all the bodies didn’t already suggest this. Like the Greene Street Valhalla that Murray founded in 1994 (his partner Franklin Getchell joined him five years later), this west coast outpost is set up to look and feel like a museum. Even the waiters with the model looks are wearing white T-shirts with the infamous Moss slogan: “Please don’t touch.” “We wanted this space to have a flexible sense of space for installations,” noted Murray, over the deafening din of the party. He immediately pointed out that Oct. 24 marks the first such exhibition, with Dieter Rams's 606 shelving system (a sampling already appears in the back of the box room). Thursday night, Moss was loosely filled with statements such as the clay-like mini chairs and end tables which look like they’re rendered from crayons Baas, and the outlandish wood tables and benches of the young Dutch duo, Studio Job. (Job’s limited-edition pieces are among the first commissions under the new Moss Limited Ltd. Venture.)
“We have programs in the works with Baas, Studio Job and Swarovski,” Murray enthused. He and Franklin intend on spending at least a week each month in L.A., perhaps even finding more permanent digs than a hotel room. L.A. was the logical choice after New York, Murray continued, in part because, despite old school thinking, the two cities are closer in culture, business and lifestyle than anything in between. “If you’re going to step out,” he winked, “you might as well stretch out and touch down as far as your leg will take you.”
