In Memory: Sharron Lewis

I emailed my friend, Sharron Lewis, after the New Zealand earthquake. She was born there and I wanted to find out if her family was OK. She didn't respond.

Several weeks later, when I wanted to interview her for a story, I emailed her again. Once again, Sharron didn't respond. Yesterday I called her shop down in the Design District. "IS Sharron around?" I asked. There was an uncomfortable pause on the other end of the line. Sharron, an associate sadly revealed, had died on the 17th.

I first met Sharron Lewis when she managed Wolfman Gold in NYC. She was tall, thin, wore simple chic clothes, and had a bright blond rocker hair. She was nice, but quite reserved, and her cool and stylish confidence intimidated me.

Several years later we connected while hanging out at a furniture market soiree. I noticed her strength and I also detected her vulnerability. Our friendship took root.

Sharron eventually made her way down to Miami. I had the good fortune of shooting her first Miami Beach condo for Country Living. With its billowing sheers and pale wood floors painted the subtlest blue imaginable, it was so light and air and I fantasized about living there. I can still see Sharron, in a blue and white sarong and soft linen shirt, plating stone crab claws on a huge ironstone serving dish. It was fun. We bonded.

Sharron's design career was on a permanent incline. She evolved from a designer to a brand. White was a constant theme. Chippy flea market cupboards were replaced by lacquered chests. Quirky vintage beds turned into unpredictably scaled sexy upholstered headboards. Her signature look evolved. The Sagamore Hotel is one big testament to her talent.

Though her style seemed effortless, Sharron worked hard. I was so happy for her when she met the love of her life, Jihad. Together they created much beauty and comfort in the world.

Sharron and I were not close in the sense of frequent phone calls, but we liked and admired one another deeply, and twice a year when we did get together we always parted saying, "We have to do this more often." And now it's just too late.