San Francisco

More Than Minimal

A Look Inside March San Francisco

The drive from Berkeley to March passes through three miles of residential neighborhoods, each one comprised of neatly lined-up houses, juxtaposed against the backdrop of lofty skyscrapers that form San Francisco’s Financial District. The classic architecture of the city is, in a word, eclectic. The houses that emerge from aggressively sloping hills are often vastly different from those that flank them on either end, and uniformity is nowhere to be found. Places like the Parisian arrondissements, which boast identical neighborhoods, might appear aesthetically perfect, but San Francisco’s soul comes from the very fact that every house in the area is unique from the next. The houses complement, rather than oppose, one another and do so in a way that wouldn’t be possible if all the houses were built the same.

Walking into March, I’m immediately met with the sensation of rejuvenation. The entirely white interior is illuminated by warm, incandescent light spilling out of two gigantic domes suspended from the high ceiling above. Every breath invites the scent of freshly sanded wood, a fragrance that serves as a sign of authenticity and hand-crafted labor. The store doesn’t try to mask the natural scent of the room with something artificial, perhaps to remind the visitor of the fine workmanship that has gone into all of the items on display. Even though the storefront feels unmistakably clean, it’s hard to describe it as minimal; March is not that easily summarized.

Any furniture store will disguise itself as a home, but unlike the items on display in most showrooms, everything inside a home is laden with a sense of utility: furniture is lived amongst, plates get washed, cutlery is used to serve food. March, however, is one of few stores that not only poses as a usable area, but actually is one as well. Occasionally, customers are invited to rent the space out for supper using March’s collection of artisanal tabletop and pantry items. The fully-functional oven and stove near the back of the store is indeed not merely decorational, but prepares food that will be eaten out of the very dishes laid out elegantly on display. Though I’ve never had the opportunity to enjoy a dinner hosted by March, roaming about the store still reveals an air of functionalism that permeates the space.

This idea of utility and livability contributed to the decision to rebrand the store in 2011. That year, Sam Hamilton, the owner of March, transformed the space from an antiques showroom to the kitchen, pantry, and table store it remains today. A former intern at Chez Panisse, the Berkeley-based haute cuisine restaurant founded by acclaimed restaurateur Alice Waters, Hamilton took inspiration from the Bay Area “foodie” culture and imported its newly-formed ideals into March. The same spirit that led California to pioneer the locally sourced, organic produce movement is ever-present in the store, which now features a pantry collection complete with spices, salts, oils, vinegars, and teas, among other goods. Whether it’s dry farmed tomatoes found within the jar-filled cabinets, or a woven basket stored beneath a hand-crafted table, each individual piece begs to be invited into a home.

This level of artistry does not come without a cost, however. Most goods sold at March possess price tags that customers must seriously consider before purchasing. As a student who survives on a budget-friendly mentality, it can be difficult to justify buying a ceramic platter for four thousand dollars. When I ask someone working at the store about the process behind guiding a customer through a purchase, she smiles and tells me, “We treat everyone the same. There are wine glasses that sell for eight dollars, and vases that go for thousands. No matter the financial situation of the client, we try to tell the story and express the deeper meaning behind every piece. Many of the items sold here will be passed on through generations as heirlooms, so we want every customer to feel that they can live amongst the things they bring home from March.” Looking around at those who wander through the store, everything she says is validated by the mannerisms of these customers. People shop differently here. They stand in front of kitchen knives with crossed arms, as if waiting to feel an impression that the artwork will make on them. You won’t find anyone scanning the aisles for something to throw into their storage room. Perhaps the high price that these pieces demand is necessary if it allows each potential buyer to deeply consider and appreciate the craftsmanship of the artist.

Being that March offers such a diverse collection of products, you might imagine that the resulting effect is confusion. Tables carved from white oak are outfitted with chairs coated in an opaque black varnish. Shelves that carry wooden stools also hold glass cups and ceramic bowls. The perceived disarray, however, is no more than an illusion; every individual item in this room holds so much unique value that, when grouped with seemingly contrasting objects, the assortment becomes a chorus of sorts, each piece resting in harmonious synchrony with its surroundings.

Minimal is alas not the word that encapsulates this space. The adjective can convey a sense of sterility, plainness, and perfection to the point of predictability. This is more than just minimal. In a display of artistic mastery, March curates an experience emblematic of the city that houses it. Every item in the store accompanies the next, serving to enhance rather than to diminish, mirroring the very same eclecticism found along the streets of San Francisco.

Words: David Chen

Photos: Emmanuel Flores