The wondrous world of David Roche

I love me some a house museum. Sir John Soane’s Museum in London, Halwylska House in Stockholm, and now, the David Roche House in Adelaide.

Stepping into the house is like stepping into a parallel universe where every item tells a story of extravagance, passion, and the barest hint of delightful madness. It's not every day you encounter a place so meticulously assembled that it blurs the lines between a museum, a mansion, and a visual encyclopedia of European art history.

Rick and I headed off to tour this place in North Adelaide on a day that threatened rain. It seemed a better bet than hoping for a beach picnic. We were right to do it. The threat turned into a full-on monsoon when we were halfway there—just as we were transferring from the tram to a bus. So imagine us walking through this amazing place with our shoes squishing the whole way. Ugh

Anyway, the tour kicks off in the Roman Room, and right off the bat, you know you're not in any regular old museum. We got a quick rundown of Roche's life surrounded by neoclassical statues of gods and demigods.* This one room sets the tone for what's to come—a journey through the personal tastes and unchecked enthusiasm of one man with the resources to bring his wildest art-collecting fantasies to life.

The Roman Room was added to the house late in Roche’s life, so when you move into the central part of the museum, you're walking into the house as he lived in it. First up, through a pair of black lacquered doors, the Main Hall connects the rooms and themes of the rest of the house. The lavishness hits you like a wave, with every item meticulously placed and every surface used. But the overall effect is not of clutter but of a carefully curated exhibition. This is when you begin to understand what you've got yourself into and wonder about the logistics involved in assembling such a collection. The effort, time, and undoubtedly significant expense speak to a dedication that's hard to grasp in an age where most homes are decorated with a click at amazon.com and next-day delivery.

Just off the hall is the Russian Room, which, with its rich malachite and gilt edges, feels like a direct portal to the opulence of the Tsar's court. Each piece competes for attention, but together, they create a harmonious testament to Roche's eye for beauty and historical significance. The commitment to collecting items that reflect such a specific aesthetic is both awe-inspiring and slightly bewildering. The brilliant blue wallpaper follows a theme from the Pavlovsk Palace in St. Petersburg, and the bespoke carpet is adorned with the crest of Empress Catherine the Great, whose portrait dominates the room.

Next up, through a small passage with Roche’s bathroom (done up in more Greek and Roman statuary) and a closet filled with dog show memorabilia, is the main bedroom, a sanctuary that borders on the theatrical. The leap from public spectacle to private luxury illustrates the depth of Roche's passion. It was never just about collecting art for him—it was about living with it, making every day an immersive experience. The Empire Bed, in particular, is likely a museum piece on its own, but he slept in it every night. Filled with English Regency and French Empire period furniture, paintings, and sculpture, this is where you’ll find many of Roche’s favorite pieces—a French ormolu chandelier, a small study for Sir Fredrick Leighton’s 1895 Perseus on Pegasus to the rescue of Andromeda, a bowenite parasol handle made by Fabergé, a flintlock pistol gifted to Napoleon Bonaparte in 1802 by English military commander Colonel Thomas Thornton and inscribed with the word “Marengo,” and a stunning mahogany-and-mosaic Bacchant center table from 1810.

All just lying around.

Moving on. The clubby, dark green den reveals another layer of Roche's personality, showcasing his love for dogs through art and memorabilia. This was where Roche hung out. The room's focal point is a large portrait of a pointer at sunset by Maud Earl in 1900. It's fantastic, as are all the small pottery and porcelain figures, not to mention a table made of woods from the various countries visited** by Cook on his voyages around the Pacific and containing a centerpiece made from a piece of Cook's second ship, the HMS Resolution.

But my personal favorites? Two random bronze dog sculptures that sit by the fire. This room, in particular, reminds you that this vast collection is not just an impersonal accumulation of valuable objets, but a reflection of a life lived with enthusiasm for one's interests. The mix of high art and personal hobbies gives the space a unique charm that's both impressive and endearing.

The yellow drawing room was intended for formal events, of which Roche had few. It features an insane ormolu-mounted vase made by the Russian Imperial Glass Factory in 1830 with a base of stylized glass designed to imitate flowing water that Roche considered one of his greatest acquisitions. But just to the left of it is a portrait that is a bit more mysterious. When Roche bought the painting, he had no idea who the woman was. He was later told she was Désirée Clary, who was engaged to Napoleon pre-Josephine. When he threw her over, she instead married General Jean Baptiste Bernadotte. Good move on her part. Bernadotte was elected Crown Prince to King Charles XIII John of Sweden two years later. Eight years later, King Charles died, and young Désirée became Queen of Sweden! And the jewels she's wearing in this portrait? Still part of the Danish Crown Jewels!

Also in this room is an amazingly intricate sculpture, The Music Lesson, from Chelsea Porcelain, England's premier ceramic manufactory in the mid-1700s. Every color required the whole piece be fired in the kiln again, with each firing making the piece ever more fragile. Many were lost in the creation process, and I think only five are left—this one and its siblings at the Victoria & Albert, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, and the National Gallery of Victoria.

The chinoiserie bedroom was essentially where Roche’s mother would stay when she visited Adelaide. It’s got an 18th-century rock crystal chandelier and a Louis XVI white marble fireplace, and the wallpaper is handmade as a single non-repeating scene from de Gournay in France. Now there’s a guestroom.

Also in this room is a gorgeous wooden clock on the mantle.*** It Turns out it's from 1785 and is carved from pine and fruitwood, painted in blue, and then gilded. Hidden behind a basket of flowers is a sunburst pendulum that may refer to Louis XIV (the Sun King). It's possible this little clock was a working model for a much larger one. Maybe so, but it's pretty cool at this size, too.

Nearly as unused as the drawing room is the blood-red dining room, its walls covered with portraits of officers and paintings of regiments and horses. The fireplace is flanked by cases with even more porcelain, including a blue plate with a possum,^† an unusual subject for a dinner plate. This is one of several pieces in the house that illustrate what were wildly exotic Australian animals back in the day. This one—along with cups elsewhere in the house that show "le kangaroo" and "le hamster"—is also wildly inaccurate. In fact, it's more likely than not that the "hamster" is actually a Tasmanian devil.

My favorite piece in the dining room is an out-of-the-way portrait of a North African. Portrait of Bao, an Algerian Spahi by Niels Simonsen shows a young military man standing proud in his dark green uniform and red fez. Behind him, the desert stretches to the sea. The colors in this one—just wow.

But now, now we get to what are probably my two favorite rooms in the whole house—the kitchen and the Chinese bathroom. Oh my stars. It's just a regular '70s kitchen stuffed with hundreds of mechanical toys, novelty mugs, naïve art, and mementos. As much as I loved everything, I especially loved his almond-colored Magic Chef 700 (“with infra-ray”!) and the chickens on the curtains.^†† I could spend a whole day in here.

Until I had to use the bathroom. Then I'd go to the Chinese bathroom next door and probably never leave because I want to be in it forever. Are you kidding me?!? The “Shanghai” wallpaper is complemented by glass and jade pictures, lanterns, and a bamboo-framed mirror. Weirdly, as busy as it is here, this bathroom feels comparatively serene compared to the rest of the house.

Roche died in 2013, but he's still with us. Sitting grandly near the entrance to the museum that was once his home stands a massive, magnificent 19th-century malachite Russian vase. In addition to being outrageously beautiful, with its swirls of green, it’s also Roche’s final resting place. Hidden inside are both his ashes and his gold death mask. He clearly loved his home and never wanted to leave it.

I kind of agree with him.