Renowned filmmaker and costume designer Sandy Powell recently offered a rare glimpse into her literary world, revealing reading habits that mirror the meticulous attention to detail she brings to her acclaimed work in cinema.
In a candid email interview accompanying a museum catalog filled with her film and fashion photography, Powell shared insights that feel refreshingly intimate and unexpectedly charming.
Her responses paint a picture of someone who finds sanctuary in simplicity, whether she’s designing period costumes or curling up with a good book.
The catalog features commentary from Powell’s longtime collaborators, positioning her reflections within a broader conversation about creativity and inspiration.
The Perfect Morning Ritual
Powell’s ideal reading experience is surprisingly specific yet universally relatable. She describes a scene many book lovers will recognize: solitude, natural light, and complete disconnection from digital distractions.
In or on my bed. Morning. Window open. House quiet. Preferably having mislaid my phone. A third of the way through. Dogs adjacent.
Each element serves a purpose. Morning hours bring fresh mental clarity before daily obligations intrude. An open window connects indoor comfort with outdoor atmosphere.
The phrase “preferably having mislaid my phone” speaks volumes about modern reading challenges. Powell acknowledges what many readers struggle with: constant connectivity undermines the deep focus required for genuine literary immersion.
Why “A Third of the Way Through” Matters
Powell’s specification of being “a third of the way through” reveals sophisticated understanding of reading psychology. This sweet spot means several things:
- Investment without pressure: Past initial setup, before climactic tension
- Character familiarity: Relationships established, world-building complete
- Momentum sustained: Enough pages remain to justify settling in
- Commitment confirmed: Poor books get abandoned earlier
Dogs adjacent completes this portrait of contentment. Their presence provides companionship without conversation, warmth without interruption.
Literary Influences and Surprising Tastes
Powell expressed particular admiration for two distinctly different British writers: P.G. Wodehouse and Muriel Spark. This pairing reveals sophisticated literary sensibility.
Wodehouse brought comedic genius to early 20th-century fiction with his Jeeves and Wooster stories. His precision with language and impeccable comic timing influenced generations of writers.
Spark, meanwhile, crafted darker, more psychologically complex narratives. Her novel “The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie” became a cultural touchstone for its exploration of influence, manipulation, and betrayal.
Together, these preferences suggest Powell values sharp prose, distinctive voice, and narrative economy—qualities evident in her own visual storytelling.
Sheepdog Trials and Unexpected Passions
When asked what book might surprise people on her shelves, Powell acknowledged uncertainty about reader expectations before revealing an endearing detail.
Maybe they might have an instinctive feel for my love of sheepdog trials and my half a shelf of books on the subject.
This passion connects to her rural upbringing and suggests appreciation for skill, training, and the beautiful relationship between working animals and their handlers. Sheepdog trials demand patience, precision, and non-verbal communication—qualities any costume designer understands intimately.
Childhood Foundations
Powell identified Richard Scarry’s “What Do People Do All Day?” as the best book she ever received as a gift. She received it around age five, offered as welcome compensation for a new baby brother’s arrival.
Definitively Richard Scarry’s “What Do People Do All Day?” I reckon in my fifth year — in exchange for my welcome to a new baby brother — and an encouraging introduction to society for a rural child brought up among more animals than humans.
Scarry’s beloved children’s book depicts Busytown, a vibrant community where anthropomorphic animals engage in countless occupations and activities. For young Powell, raised in rural isolation with limited human contact, this book opened windows onto broader social possibilities.
From Busytown to Film Sets
Powell’s final comment carries particular poignancy given her subsequent career trajectory.
I’ve yet to find a city I prefer — outright — to Busytown.
Despite working in major film centers like London, New York, and Los Angeles, she maintains affection for Scarry’s fictional community. This nostalgia suggests that Busytown represented not just entertainment but genuine formative influence.
Film sets themselves mirror Busytown’s collaborative energy: diverse specialists working together, each contributing unique skills toward shared creative vision.
Organic Organization
When asked about book organization, Powell offered perhaps her most revealing response: “They organize themselves.”
This statement could indicate physical chaos or philosophical acceptance. More likely, it suggests books accumulate according to natural patterns—recent reads near the bed, reference materials near workspaces, beloved volumes in prominent positions.
Such organic arrangement reflects trust in intuitive systems over rigid categorization. Creative professionals often operate this way, allowing materials to settle where they’re most useful rather than imposing arbitrary order.
Powell’s literary reflections ultimately reveal someone who values authenticity, simplicity, and meaningful connection—whether with dogs, books, or childhood memories. Her reading life, like her design work, demonstrates that true sophistication often lies in knowing exactly what you need and creating space for it to flourish.