An image of staggered grass blades fissuring the cement inspired one of Kingswood's decorators, Jay Bearden (hired by owners/designers Nick Mathers and Lincoln Pilcher). Unruly nature skulks into the eclectic Aussie restaurant and bar upon each stumble-step; see our gallery for a closer perspective. During the day, the ceiling-high front windows reflect a soft green light from the lush garden across 10th Street. But the plants inside possess less the dripping sensuality of a ripened rose, and more the simple beauty of a twig or spray. Juxtaposed against the geometrically framed sky and reflected in antiqued mirrors, Bearden manages to highlight the beauty of a dry shrub.

Set in the West Village, Kingswood contains a lounge, bar and restaurant in its one large room. The front area vibes bistro with simple wooden chairs and one-legged tables. In the evening, the adjoining U-shaped copper bar glows warmly under yellow lamps and sconces. Patrons peer at one another as the space creates a communal, inclusive atmosphere.

Behind the bar, the restaurant tables, built from reclaimed lumbar by Bearden and Pilcher, beckon the beauties. The light brown leather banquets contrast the dark stained wooden tables whose Euro rustic look and proximity to one another create an haute mess-hall.

Appropriating Sigmund Freud's concept of Eros -- life energy and the source of human desire -- an embodiment of flora flourishes. Dynamic tensions of budding bosoms and flowering wallpaper kick Kingswood by the gentle intrusiveness of a libidinal energy. Vegetal arabesque motifs crawl along the walls as part of an ornamental verticality. The bathroom, a botanist's dream, demonstrates an effort to contain nature; flower illustrations neatly illuminate the enclosure.

Arriving at the focal point of the main dining area, bramble curls out of the dark-framed window panes. Altogether, the controlled linearity of the architecture creates a backdrop for other symbols of Sex: clustered (mating?) butterflies and peacock feathers, whose sole function represents the essence of the libidinal drive.

“The uncontrolled Eros is just as fatal as his deadly counterpart, the death instinct [Thanatos]” wrote Freud. If the upstairs is bubbling with budding spray, then the subterranean level has a darker allure. Slated to open next month, the downstairs greets visitors with jars of crimson pebbles and solitary Japanese fighting fish. Cast in a dramatic light, the scene looks like the laboratory of Dr. Frankenstein or an installation by Damien Hirst. In one corner, a creepy puppet hangs suspended in a glass case. And all in all, an aura of Thanatos infuses the downstairs -- consider zebra-print pony leather benches, petrified sea vegetables, and ancestral portraits of the long deceased.