The musician Sting was on tour in Mexico when his wife, actress and film producer Trudie Styler, called to tell him that she had found the perfect house. “He asked if I liked it,” Styler remembers. “I told him I loved it. He asked why I wanted to buy it. I gave him a lot of reasons. There was silence. Then I told him that there was a three-hundred-and-fifty-year-old tree in the garden. ‘Buy it,’ was the quick reply.”
That ancient copper beech is now one of his favorite retreats. He disappears often. A fugitive look comes to his eyes and he’s off, guitar in hand, to the shade of that tree, to a hammock in the boathouse or cushions in a bay window, in search of a little solitude where he can “read or meditate or think or maybe not even do that,” always working out the music that is on his mind.
“Writing songs is a solitary business,” he says. “I like having people around, I like the house to be alive, and I’ll be sorry when the last builders go, but there’s always Sartre’s definition of hell. I can disappear in a house like this.”
Hollywood at Home: Sting: Homes & Spaces: architecturaldigest.com