HOMECOMING
Where love take root.
There are homes that shelter us, and then there are homes that shape us. This house perched in the Lebanese mountains, the one that would become the Salim Azzam atelier, has always been both.
In August 1990, just weeks after I was born, my mother Najwa carried me through its doors for the first time. My father, with the help of my grandfather, built this house. There was no one around. My mother never drove a car. She raised us in this peaceful remoteness, catching rides with neighbours to the supermarket once a week.
While the rest of us came and went, to school, to work, to the world beyond, Najwa stayed rooted. She nurtured this house and garden the way she nurtured us: with patience, care and love. Soon, the garden came to life with clematis and orange trees, figs, wild plants, citrus fruits that tasted as rich as the earth itself.
Anyone who visited our home left carrying something. Bags of cucumbers. Armfuls of oranges. Jars of preserves made from fruit picked that morning. My mother's language has always been one of offering.
Our little family have grown up now. As the years went by and Najwa continued to care for this garden and home, I started to think about what it would mean for her to live in that house, surrounded once again by life and people. I thought about all the women like her, who thrive, not in solitude, but in community. What if this house, the one that held our history, could become a place where women gathered? What if it could once again be a shared garden, what if the oranges and figs could be picked by many hands and the house could be filled with the same life, warmth and movement my mother had always nurtured, but amplified, shared beyond the walls of one family?
The idea settled into me like fate. I'd been searching for a home that reflected the universe of the brand, and this was my home. The house that raised me and shaped me, the garden that nurtured me. The house my mother had turned into something sacred through her care.Najwa’s presence is woven into the renovation, the design, the very architecture of the atelier. The way she moves through rooms offering peeled oranges in the middle of meetings. The way she makes everyone feel at home. The way she takes care of anyone who steps through the door.
This move wasn't just inspired by her. It was for her. A way to ensure she's always surrounded, always contributing, always doing what she does best: serving, cooking, nurturing, gathering. The atelier is stepping into her world now, and in doing so, it's stepping into something truer than luxury alone could ever be.
My mother's philosophy runs through every choice: build with what you have, honour what came before, grow and nurture.
And there, on the middle floor, will be something exclusive, an offering that is part of Najwa’s magic, part of her knowledge, part of the gifts she's always given freely. I won't say more yet. But know this: it's her dream, and mine, brought together in a space that belongs to both of us.
My mother has always been my greatest inspiration, not just for the craft, not just for the aesthetics, but for the way she moves through the world both free and grounded. She taught me what it means to thrive by embracing who you are, by offering what only you can give.
She was and will always be one of the biggest reasons I keep moving forward.
This atelier isn't a transformation into something new. It's a return. A becoming. A way of honouring where I came from while building toward where I'm going. And at the heart of it all is Najwa, the queen of this home.
Written by Clare Deal
Photographed by Mohamad Al-Rifai