Category: dining room chandelier

Right, you’ve got one of those long dining rooms, haven’t you? All elegant and tricky. I remember walking into a client’s place in Chelsea last autumn—gorgeous high ceilings, but the room was like a bowling alley. And there was this massive, lonely chandelier hanging right in the middle… felt a bit sad, honestly. Like it was trying too hard.

So, two chandeliers? Blimey, that’s a proper statement. Not just plonking them anywhere, mind you. If the room’s a rectangle, think of it like a pair of earrings for the table. You wouldn’t wear both on one ear, would you? The table’s the anchor. I’d start by centering the table in the room—sounds obvious, but you’d be surprised. Then, rather than lining the lights up with the centre of the *room*, you line them up with the centre of the *table*. Usually, that means splitting the table length into thirds. Pop one fixture over each third point. Creates a rhythm, it does. Stops the room feeling like a corridor.

Oh, but the height! This is where I messed up once, in a flat near Borough Market. Got overexcited with a pair of gorgeous, cascading glass ones. Hung them too high—looked like they were floating away, disconnected from everything. Felt proper awkward. You want them low enough to feel intimate, maybe 30 to 36 inches above the tabletop. That way, when you’re sat down with a glass of wine, the light pools right on the tablecloth, your friends’ faces… cosy, like. Not like an interrogation room.

And style? Can’t just grab any two matching ones and call it a day. For a long space, consider something linear or a pair with a horizontal emphasis. Or, go for contrast—like two different but complementary shapes. Saw a stunning setup in a renovated warehouse in Shoreditch last year: two long, slender, smoked-glass rod chandeliers, parallel to the table. Modern, but it pulled the whole space together. Gave it a direction.

Wiring’s the boring bit, but crucial. You’ll likely need an electrician to run a new cable and set up two separate ceiling points. Don’t try to wing it with extension cords, trust me. Had a friend who did that for a dinner party… one flickering light and a near-miss with a candle centrepiece. Not a good look.

At the end of the day, it’s about balance. Two chandeliers over a dining table in a long room shouldn’t fight the space; they should guide you through it. Make it feel wrapped up, intentional. Like a proper conversation between the light, the table, and the people around it. Just takes a bit of a plan, and maybe a dash of courage.

Blimey, you’ve hit on one of my absolute favourite topics. Takes me right back to my aunt’s place in Bristol, circa 2018. She had this original 1950s dining room light fixture—a proper sputnik chandelier, all brass and milk glass—stuck in a room painted magnolia with those awful halogen downlights. Felt completely wrong, like wearing wellies to a wedding. So, let’s have a proper chat about lighting that old gem right, shall we?

First off, you’ve got to think like they did back then. The 50s weren’t just one bright overhead blast. Oh no. It was all about layers, creating little pockets of warmth and shadow. That main fixture? It’s the star, sure, but it shouldn’t have to do all the work. Mine’s a bit of a diva, honestly.

Here’s the trick: Ditch the modern, icy-white LEDs. They’ll make your lovely old fixture look like a museum exhibit, all cold and dead. You want bulbs that mimic the gentle, slightly amber glow of old incandescents. I swear by these vintage-style filament bulbs—the ones with the delicate carbon loops inside. Got mine from a little hardware shop in Shoreditch. Pop them in your 1950 dining room light fixture, and suddenly, the light pools on the tablecloth like melted honey. It’s magic, I tell you.

But don’t stop there! That’s the biggest mistake folks make. You need accomplices. Think low-level, intimate lighting. I scoured Portobello Road for months and found a pair of 1950s ceramic table lamps with atomic-era patterns. Plonked them on the sideboard. When you switch them on with the main light, the whole room just… sighs. The shadows soften. The brass fittings on the ceiling piece catch the light from below and start to twinkle. It’s a conversation between the lights, see?

And for heaven’s sake, embrace a bit of darkness in the corners! That’s where the nostalgia really lives. It’s not about illuminating every last nook. Last winter, I added a simple, sleek floor lamp with a paper shade in the far corner—very mid-century modern. It throws this gorgeous arc of soft light onto the wall, leaving the rest of the corner in cozy gloom. Perfect for when you’re lingering after dinner with a cuppa, feeling properly nostalgic.

Oh, and a word on dimmers. An absolute must. The ability to turn that sputnik from a statement piece down to a gentle, sleepy glow is everything. It changes the entire mood of the room in a heartbeat. I fitted mine myself—a bit of a faff with the wiring, but worth every second.

Honestly, it’s about creating a feeling, not just lighting a room. You want your guests to walk in and feel like they’ve stepped into a wonderfully preserved moment. A bit of warmth here, a pool of shadow there, all held together by the gentle, guiding hand of that beautiful old fixture. It’s not just decor; it’s time travel. And trust me, once you get it right, you’ll never want to turn the lights off.

Blimey, that's a cracking question. Takes me right back to this dusty little shop on Portobello Road, must've been a drizzly Tuesday afternoon last autumn. I was rummaging through a pile of old lamp bases, and my elbow knocked against this… thing. A right proper layer of grime, but underneath, oh mate. A chandelier. Not just any old bit of glass. This was the real 1920s deal, all geometric lines and this peculiar, sunburst-yellow glass that caught the light even in that gloom. The owner, chap called Arthur with spectacles on the end of his nose, just chuckled. "That one's seen a few parties," he said. And suddenly I wasn't in a shop, I was in some flat in Mayfair, 1926, the air thick with cigarette smoke and jazz drifting in from another room. That's the feeling you're after, innit? Not just a light fixture. A time machine.

Now, finding your own bit of that magic… it's a bit like detective work, honestly. First off, let's just get one thing straight – you don't *have* to blow a fortune on a pristine, museum-piece Lalique. Thank goodness. Some of the most glorious Deco glam comes from pieces that got the *spirit* right. Look for the shapes, above all. Think sharp, think sleek. Zigzags (they called them 'ziggurats'), stepped patterns like a skyscraper silhouette, those glorious sunbursts and fan motifs. If it looks like it could be a brooch for a flapper girl or the facade of the Chrysler Building, you're on the right track. I once saw a repro one in a house in Brighton – all chrome and clear glass rods arranged in a staggered waterfall. Gorgeous thing. Cast this cool, crisp light that made the silverware on the table just *sing*.

Ah, but the colour! This is where you can really have a bit of fun and make it feel like *yours*. Period colours weren't just beige, for heaven's sake. Art Deco adored drama, contrast. Think of the deep, lacquered black of a grand piano. Pair that with chrome or mirrored glass – instant glamour. Then you've got your rich, jewel tones: emerald green, sapphire blue, ruby red. I'm mad for a particular shade of peacock blue myself. Saw a chandelier with glass shades in that colour at a flat in Edinburgh – it was like the heart of a tropical lagoon hanging from the ceiling. Stunning against pale walls.

And don't forget the metallics. It's not all about chrome, though chrome is king for that cool, machine-age feel. But also look for touches of gold – not the fussy, curly gold of earlier times, but sleek, banded gold. Or even brushed nickel. The finish matters. It should feel modern, of its time. A mate of mine made the mistake of getting a Deco-style piece but with this awful, shiny brass finish. Looked more 1980s hotel lobby than 1920s cocktail hour. A proper tragedy.

Size is another sneaky pitfall. These pieces are statement makers. Too small, and it'll look like a sad little earring lost on a vast earlobe. You want it to command the table. I reckon, measure your table, then look for a piece that's about half to two-thirds its width. And hang it lower than you think! These aren't meant to be shy, tucked-up things. About 30 to 36 inches above the tabletop is the sweet spot. It creates this intimate, glowing pool of light that just draws everyone in. Makes the dining table the stage.

Oh, and the glass! If it's got glass, it shouldn't be just plain clear. Look for frosted glass, or glass with etched geometric patterns. Sometimes you'll find lovely amber or smoked glass. It softens the light, gives it that warm, cocktail-hour glow. The one on Portobello Road had these lozenge-shaped pieces, a sort of honey-amber. When it was finally cleaned up and lit, the whole room felt bathed in champagne light. Honestly, magical.

At the end of the day, darling, it's about the vibe. Close your eyes and imagine the room. You want the sharp tang of a gin fizz in the air, the low murmur of clever conversation, the shimmer of a sequinned dress under the light. Your chandelier is the conductor of that orchestra. Find one that makes you feel just a bit more fabulous, a bit more daring. Don't overthink it. If it gives you that little thrill, that jolt of 'oh, yes, *this* is it' – you've found your glamour. Now, where's my drink?