The first sign I had arrived in the Highlands was a russet-haired beauty emerging from the heather and mist. Not a tartan-clad damsel from a romance novel, but a majestic Highland cow—its graceful horns arching skyward, amber eyes soulful beneath a tawny fringe.
As we wended our way up North to the village of Braemar, about an hour and change from Aberdeen, my taxi driver promised that we were headed for “one of the most beautiful places in the whole of the U.K.” Moving from manicured lawns into a wilder terrain—made up of a vernacular of towering pines, clusters of red-berried Hawthorne trees, and gnarled tangles of Scottish elms—I saw what he meant. This is a type of rugged beauty that you just don’t get in England.
Braemar, a semi-rural village that is home to a community of around 450, is best known as the site of the Highland Games, a strength competition held annually in a grassy amphitheater at the foot of Craig Choinnich. It’s a picture-book setting, the kind of place where houses have names and not numbers, and you’re not considered “from here” unless you’ve an ancestor buried in the local kirkyard. Standing out among the timber-gabled cottages at the center of the village is the Fife Arms.
Zhang Enli, Ancient Quartz. Courtesy Artfarm.
The grand Victorian hotel has been restored by the powerhouse gallerists Iwan and Manuela Wirth, part of a growing portfolio under their hospitality company, Artfarm. The Wirths’ turn to hospitality reflects an emerging recalibration of priorities in the art world. As the staying power of exhibitions wanes in an accelerated world, more art spaces are morphing into cultural brands, and ventures beyond the white cube are becoming more important than pure curatorial intent.
King Charles greeting the staff at the Fife Arms.
A Royal Connection
And boy, can the Wirths do ventures beyond. After the couple took home at Invercauld—a nearby estate neighboring the 50,000 acres of Balmoral Castle —they set about restoring the Fife’s High Victorian grandeur. The interiors, designed by Russell Sage, strike a balance between eccentricity and regal sophistication, making it somewhere you wouldn’t be surprised to bump into a royal.
Indeed, the hotel was officially opened by King Charles (then Duke of Rothesay) in 2019, and the couple’s clear affinity for the monarchy is woven into its fabric. Royal nods include prints by the king, an accomplished water-colorist, and a beguiling sketch of a stag by Queen Victoria. The stag was felled by her favorite ghillie, John Brown—rumored to have been more than just a trusted servant. In a playful wink, Brown lends his name to one of the hotel’s most seductive suites.
Pablo Picasso, Nude and Man with a Pipe (1967). Courtesy Artfarm.
The couple’s cheeky sense of humor is evident throughout their ventures. Take, for instance, the suggestive Paul McCarthy Tree salt shakers in their Mount St. restaurant in London, or the bawdy late Picasso painting in the drawing room, a nude self-portrait with Jacqueline Roque, all his masculinity unabashedly displayed.
The hotel’s extraordinary collection encompasses site specific commissions, private loans, and eclectic objects scoured from country house sales and auctions, spanning archaeology—think: an actual woolly mammoth jawbone—to Victorian Gothic—a macabre back stairway adorned with hundreds of taxidermy animal heads—to contemporary chic: Richard Jackson’s glass antler chandelier suspended in the reception from a large drone of a bagpipe.
The Fife Arms. Courtesy of Artfarm.
The hotel has 46 rooms, its scale—smaller in fact than the Wirths’ actual home—designed to evoke the intimacy of a Scottish country house. Here, you can cozy up by the crackling fire with a copy of Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island—written right here in the village and the inspiration for my hotel room—beneath a magnetic Zhang Enli-painted ceiling, while the delicate notes of a remarkable Steinway piano, customized by Mark Bradford, fill the room. Programmed by the American jazz musician and producer Robert Glasper, the piano transforms nightly into an autonomous player, adding a touch of magic to every evening.
Elsa’s. Courtesy Artfarm.
From there, visitors might transition to cocktails beneath the largest disco ball you’ve ever seen in Elsa’s, a bar named for Schiaparelli, who was a frequent visitor to Braemar alongside her friend Frances Farquharson—a fabulous American known for her sartorial flair and the former occupant of the vast estate neighboring Balmoral that the Wirths now call home.
The hotel’s formal dining room is outfitted with a mural by Argentine artist Gabriel Kuitke and a Flemish village scene by Brueghel the Younger, embellished by one of its previous owners with the anachronistic addition of three mysterious female figures. The centerpiece of its other, Swiss-themed fondue restaurant is a spectacular chandelier of naturally shed deer antlers. Outside, a firepit centers a rustic courtyard of knotted pine columns which would not feel out of place in an alpine resort. In fact, the Glenshee ski center, the U.K.’s largest resort, is just ten minutes away from the hotel.
Courtesy Artfarm.
In the precious daylight hours of this season, when every moment feels like golden hour, guests are encouraged to don Barbour jackets and wellies and head out to hear the creaking pines as they climb through bracken to a viewpoint overlooking the valley, or follow the rushing Clunie river to watch the sun dip behind the Lion’s Face. Afterwards, they can return to the hotel for a soothing treatment at the spa.
Though the hotel is only five years old and lacks the storied history of art destinations like France’s La Colombe d’Or—where Matisse and Picasso famously traded works for a bed—or the ambiance of Zurich’s Kronenhalle or Berlin’s Paris Bar, the vision is clear: to create a space where art, history, and community converge in a unique setting.
Courtesy Artfarm.
A Model for Renewal
The chosen setting of the Wirths’ hospitality endeavor reflects a trending disillusionment with city living, a shift mirrored in a neo-pastoral vein that is pulsing in art, too, capturing a longing for simplicity, sublime beauty, and an escape from the overwhelming pace of modern life.
As you might expect, however, in such a close-knit community, not everyone takes well to change or the presence of outsiders. Opinions are mixed about the enterprise, including the placement of a large Subodh Gupta sculpture outside the Invercauld Arms, another historic property the gallerists plan to restore. While some applaud their revival of once-deteriorating landmarks, others worry about rising costs and the town’s changing character. Their recent purchase of a Gothic Revival church from the Church of Scotland—promised to remain open to the public—has similarly sparked both hope and hesitation.
The Fife Arms’ Victoriana Suite. Courtesy Artfarm.
Still, you cannot fault the Wirths for their sensitivity to these issues. From employing local tradespeople for its painstaking restoration to sourcing staff and products exclusively from the area, the proprietors have infused the project with a commitment to Braemar’s heritage and people. Local touches abound, from farm-fresh eggs served at breakfast to creative writing workshops run by a Scots author, whiskey tours, and donations to conservation projects. Even the hotel’s Flying Stag pub celebrates the community, with portraits of locals adorning its walls. The hotel’s public spaces, open to all, offer the rare chance to see works by artists like Man Ray or Louise Bourgeois in an intimate setting, while its activities program celebrates and promotes local traditions.
One happy local described the transformation vividly: before Artfarm took over, the Fife Arms was “one of those places you wiped your feet when you were leaving!” He credited the hotel with having “lifted the whole valley.” Its proprietors’ efforts have inspired improvements beyond the hotel itself; the Artfarm-owned Fish Shop restaurant in nearby Ballater has become a local favorite, championing fresh-caught seafood and raising the bar for dining in the area.
Photo by Emli Bendixen, courtesy Artfarm.
All told, the Fife Arms offers an interesting model for redistributing cultural and economic vitality beyond urban hubs. By reviving a neglected property and rooting it in local traditions, the project charts a forward path that embraces change while honoring the past.
As I departed Braemar, the Clunie River rushed on, as it has for centuries, a vivid reminder of the constant forces that shape this landscape. Change is inevitable, whether or not it sits comfortably with all.