I have never fallen in love with a pair of Camper shoes, but I could live in one of their shops. From the early Memphis-meets-minimalism interiors from Ferran Amat (founder of the mythical Barcelona design shop Vinçon to the ‘anti-design’ concepts of Marti Guixé. Camper Together regularly commissions, seemingly at whim, a choice designer or architect to outfit one of their shops. Barcelona has seen Jaime Hayon and Benedetta Tagliabue, Osaka and NYC the Japanese design studio Nendo, Alfredo Häeberli in Zurich and the Campana Brothers in Berlin and London. To name but a few.

Yet for me, the most meaningful of the Camper Together projects comes from the curious and original mind of Curro Claret. The work of the Barcelona-based industrial designer is rarely seen on the pages of glossy designer magazines, yet he is well respected within the city’s creative community. Claret is more concerned with function and the social and experiential role of design – the added value that goes beyond its price tag – than the latest trends from Milan. “I refuse to accept the belief that design is the domain of the rich and sophisticated,” he states in Retrato Imperfecto de Curro Claret, a book published by Camper to commemorate the opening of their new Madrid shop.

This is the second project Claret has carried out for Camper after an interior made for their Barcelona Plaça Catalunya shop in 2012. Like that project, the ‘design team’, consisted of a group of people who are, or have been homeless, or what we like to term ‘marginal’. Working together with the Fundación San Martín de Porres, and using upcycled material from the store’s previous furniture and fittings, the team transformed the store in Calle Preciados into a bright space where shoestrings from out-of-catalogue models were made into curtains and lampshades, recycled elements transformed into shelving and stools, and old Camper advertising posters reproduced in oils to adorn the walls.

Claret is clear to point out that the project was about work, not charity. It was about implicating the men and women in the design process, teaching skills and reaching agreements on what would make an attractive store that transmitted the brand’s values.

“I hope it doesn’t stop here,” said Claret at the store opening. “ And there are other companies out there that understand this is not about charity, but rather exploring ways we can make the underprivileged feel valid and creatively alive.” Amen to that. 

Every once in a while an email arrives in your inbox that you are not sure is legit or a meme via The Onion. This happened to me yesterday, when for some unknown reason I received a newsletter from a company called La Casa por el Tejado (or the House on the Roof).

La Casa por el Tejado works in, that most ambiguous of terms, ‘property development’. But rather than throwing up low cost housing on Barcelona’s periphery or converting old warehouse to trendy lofts, these people have gone straight for the solomillo – the rooftops of Barcelona.

In a nutshell La Casa por el Tejado negotiates with the community of owners in period buildings in Barcelona to buy their rooftop – which it then uses to build luxury penthouses for foreign (principally ex-Soviet) buyers. The purpose of their email was to brag about a junket they held in the luxurious Hotel Mandarin Oriental, where they presented their project to a rapturous crowd. Whilst this may seem all well and good in a neo-capitalist market, a little context is needed.

La Casa por el Tejado has their eyes on the greatest urban prize of all – Barcelona’s Eixample neighbourhood. The Eixample (or  ‘Extension’ in Catalan) was planned in the mid-18th century by one Idelfons Cerdá. The engineer had the enlightened idea of laying out streets on a grid system - a notion obvious now but revolutionary for the time. Although it has developed into  Barcelona’s most bourgeois hood (and arguably its most beautiful – this where Gaudí and his contempories threw up their singular art nouveu fantasies) it wasn’t meant to be that way. Cerdá conceived the Eixample as an urban utopia; a place where the middle classes could find camaraderie in is relentless uniformity, wide streets and community gardens. He also put a height cap of 16 metres on each building.

Under Spanish property law, the roof of an apartment block is communal – it belongs, in equal parts, to all the residents. It’s a place where they hang out their washing, meet to chat, or lay in the sun.  And although non of them can be blamed for wanting to earn an extra buck and god knows the local building sector could do with a boost after the 2008 crash, the proposition of La Casa por el Tejado just seems well, unsavoury. What next? Weekender pods on the balconies? Souvenir shops in the lift shafts?

Curiously enough, on the same day I received another piece of news regarding plans for Barcelona’s rooftops. In a much more heartening and imaginative scheme, the local council is offering property owners partial funding to turn their rooftops into communal ‘green zones’. If I had it, I know where I would much rather throw my money.  

I have never been a big fan of perfumed candles. In fact unless you are willing to part with half a day’s wage for this variety (which I am not), I think most of them smell pretty crap. But with a kid and cat, I recognise that at times our apartment, as old, spacious and cracked as it is, can do with some osmic enhancing.

The other day I went into my favourite jewellery shop to pick up a repair. The space was wrapped in the most exotic aroma; a mixture of church incense, vanilla and frankincense

 “What’s that smell?" I asked the man behind the counter. “Papier d’ Arménie,” he replied, and pulled out a tiny notebook with the most divine printed cover that reminded me of turn- of-the-century drawer liner (presuming there was such a thing).

‘Armenian Paper’ has been produced since 1885 in the otherwise unimportant town of Montrouge in France. Around that time, one Auguste Ponsot noticed that homes in Armenia burned benzoin resin (gathered from the styrax tree and the main ingredient of incense) in their homes – which makes me think that Armenia must be one of the sweetest smelling places on earth. With the help of a French/Armenian perfumer, he invented the papiers. 

Small strips of blotting paper are infused with the perfumed benzoin and alcohol substance. The fragrance is released when the paper is burned, a ritualistic task which involves tearing a sheet out the booklet, lighting it and waving it around the house like an Ottoman monk. (The alcohol stops the papers from smoking and they burn much like a cigarette paper does). You can also put them in linen drawers (unlit obviously) or as Wikipedia helpfully points out, ‘tucked between books in your library.’ 

I bought my Papier d’ Arménie (the rose variety) at my local Natura store. (They were hidden, funnily enough, behind the scented candles). They sell them for 3 euros a ‘book’, though they are cheaper through the company’s website. 

With all the best intentions, asking children to appreciate modern art is a pretty tall order. I remember my regular trips to Melbourne’s galleries and museum as a youngster, where my father (a hobby artist) would patiently explain Cubism, abstract impressionism and the cultural significance of Sydney Nolan’s Ned Kelly paintings – all whilst I was hankering to get to the gift shop. I know my 12-year old does the same..

Which is why I was happy to find out about the MuMo (Museé Mobil). This tractor-trailer, supporting an articulated shipping container arrangement (work of Adam Kalkin, who specializes in such ingenious, quick-build structures) and topped with a gigantic Jeff Koons-like bunny has travelled over 12,000 kms across France, Belgium, Switzerland and Monaco as well as hopping continents to Cameroon and Ivory Coast. It is currently making its way across Spain.

The idea behind the MuMo is that, at least to children, contemporary shouldn’t be ‘explained’, but rather presented in fun, hands on way, without pretension. So far, the bunny-truck has displayed work by artists as of the calibre as the ‘Light and Space’ legend James Turrell, the fabulous and sensitive designer Sébastien Cordoleani, and the absurdist sculptor Paul McCarthy. For the Spanish giro, it will show ceramic pieces by none less than Miguel Barceló.

Unfortunately (or luckily for the students of Escuela Josep Maria de Sagarra) the MuMo has only one date in Barcelona, a closed event for the pupils of a public school. But inspirational the project certainly is. The fad for food trucks has now hit Barcelona. Perhaps the MuMo will encourage it to expand to the visual arts as well.

When I show people around Barcelona, we generally pop into the Lladró flagship store on Passeig de Gràcia. It's a decision that divides a lot of clients - though most of them are horrified. Why would I want to show them these kitsch figurines of swooning damsels, fierce dragons, bashful geishas and other ephemera of countless whatnots? 

Well, because whatever you think of the subject matter, the porcelain pieces produced by Lladró are of the highest standard. Because the 50-year old company is one of Spain's best known brands, and because they had the foresight to capture new markets by employing Jaime Hayon, whose work is full of romance and fun, in the world, to oversee a niche, capsule collection for them under the title Lladró Atelier. 

Here is the company's latest campaign, inspired by the fantasy of magic lantern scenography, though sort of remind of the Christmas windows at Myer department store (Melbourne) I used to delight in as a kid. I think it's rather charming.