Amidst the overstimulation and visual clutter, designer Helena Clunies-Ross offers a an aesthetic and emotional antidote. Informed by her background in fine art and art history, her work is grounded in the belief that space should invite pause, contemplation and connection.
In our conversation, she explores how intuition and technique converge to create interiors that are sensory, layered and intentionally calm. From the subtle play of shadow across a wall to the emotional arc created by light, texture and sound, her approach is a form of quiet resistance — an insistence that in a chaotic world, our spaces can, and should, offer sanctuary.
Interiors as art
DNN: How has your background in fine art and art history shaped the way you compose space? Can you tell me about the relationship between the disciplines— where is there crossover and where do they most notably diverge?
HCR: My background in fine art and art history is foundational to the way I approach space. I see every room as a canvas – an opportunity to compose, layer, and guide the viewer’s eye in much the same way a painter builds a narrative with colour, texture, and form. In both disciplines, there is an acute awareness of balance, rhythm, and emotion. Each design decision I make – whether it’s the placement of a chair or the interplay of shadow across a wall – is done with the intention of creating a visual and emotional journey.
One of the strongest crossovers between fine art and spatial design is the role of composition. In painting, you learn to understand the power of negative space, how a line can lead the eye, or how contrast can evoke feeling. I apply these same principles when composing a room. For example, knowing when to let a space breathe, when to keep a line uninterrupted, or when to introduce texture for depth – all of that comes from my training as an artist.
Where the two disciplines diverge is in their relationship to function. A painting exists for contemplation, while an interior must support life. So, while I’m always chasing beauty and emotional resonance, I’m equally concerned with how someone moves through a space, how it makes them feel over time, and how it quietly supports their day-to-day. My aim is not just to create something visually striking, but to tell a story that feels lived-in, layered, and deeply personal. It’s about creating moments – both grand and intimate – that encourage pause, contemplation, and ultimately a sense of calm.
DNN: When you approach a new project, where does intuition meet technique in your design process?
HCR: When I approach a new project, intuition is always the starting point – an immediate, instinctive response to the architecture of the space. It’s about walking into a room and quietly listening to what it’s asking for – where the light falls, how the space wants to breathe, and what needs to be cleared away or exposed to reveal its essence.
This instinct, shaped by my fine art background, allows me to see the potential of a room as a blank canvas, free from distraction or limitation. From there, technique takes over – layering form, function, and rhythm with precision and purpose. It’s a constant conversation between feeling and structure, where intuition guides the vision and technique gives it form, resulting in spaces that feel considered, calm, and deeply aligned with how people live within it.
DNN: Are there particular painters or art movements that continue to influence your aesthetic language? And what about contemporary or emerging artists?
HCR: I’ve always been deeply inspired by the Art Deco era – for its symmetry, layering, rich materials, and the way it seamlessly wove together craft, culture, and storytelling. There’s an order, opulence and romance to it that I find compelling.
I also admire artists like Edward Hopper. His dramatic and atmospheric use of light brings a cinematic stillness to everyday scenes, whilst shadow and spatial tension creates a powerful sense of mood and tone within a composition.
In terms of contemporary influence, I’m especially drawn to minimal, tonal mediums, like pencil and charcoal drawings that express so much through so little. Such as the work of Il Lee, whose large-scale ballpoint pen drawings create an incredible range of marks with a single tool. His work explores restraint, repetition, and the quiet power of subtlety – all principles that I carry into my own design practice.
The emotional arc of a space
DNN: Can you speak to the emotional arc of a space: how does light, scent, texture or acoustics change the way someone feels in a room that you design?
HCR: The emotional arc of a space is shaped by how it engages the senses and makes you feel as you move through it. I believe in designing spaces that are felt as much as they are seen.
Lighting is key – whether it’s highlighting certain textures or architectural elements – it guides the eye, and creates pockets of calm or focus. It’s not necessarily about the fixture, but the atmosphere – the way soft pools of light fall across plastered walls or bounce gently from a concealed source.
Scent plays a subtle but powerful role, anchoring emotion and memory, while texture brings warmth and grounding – natural materials like clay, plaster, wood and metal help a space feel lived-in and honest.
I design for the full experience, from the bones of the architecture right down to the scent that’s burned and the music that’s playing. It’s about creating spaces that support how people want to feel – held, calm, inspired – by considering not just what is seen, but what is sensed.
Quiet resistance in a chaotic world
DNN: When I look at your work, the words restraint, tailored and stillness all come to mind. In an age of acceleration and constant stimulation, what role do you believe visual discipline plays in design, and in life, for that matter?
HCR: In a world that moves at pace and is saturated with visual noise, I believe visual discipline offers a kind of quiet resistance – an intentional pause. Restraint in design isn’t about minimalism; it’s about clarity. It’s about allowing a space to breathe so that the people within it can too. When you strip away the unnecessary, what remains should be meaningful – materials that speak, silhouettes that soothe, and compositions that offer stillness rather than stimulation.
I design spaces that invite calm by giving the architecture the freedom to express itself, curating only what’s essential to tell the story. Every detail is considered, not just for how it looks, but for how it makes you feel. This is where design meets life. It’s not about filling a space, but about shaping it with intention, so that it supports a slower, more connected way of living.
DNN: There is a noticeable lack of vibrant color or wallpaper in your interiors. Can you tell me about your relationship to ‘busier’ or ‘louder’ spaces?
HCR: I’ve always been drawn to quiet, contemplative spaces – places where your eye can rest and where texture, material, and light do the talking. For me, restraint allows for a deeper sense of richness. It invites you to notice the small things: the grain of timber, the way a shadow moves across a wall, the softness of linen.
That said, we also love working with strong, bold colours, it really just depends on the space. Many of our previous projects have called for a more neutral palette, either in response to the client’s brief or the surrounding context of the property. When we do use colour, we use it very intentionally – often en masse, rather than as a typical pop of colour. It’s about layering, focusing on one predominant tone and building around it through texture and materials.
DNN: Is there a project that stands out as especially meaningful to you, where the emotional and artistic threads aligned in a way that surprised you?
HCR: Our Tribeca Loft project involved working with a large volume; a white, almost monolithic box with more height than width. Despite its scale, it developed a remarkably warm and grounded identity.
We were working with bold architectural forms – double-height ceilings, vast open planes – yet the design language we developed was both intimate and spectacular.
Elements such as the towering bronze-patinated bookcase or the black oak–clad column in the kitchen weren’t just sculptural gestures; they carried emotional weight. They anchored the space with warmth, tactility, and a quiet sense of strength that offset the scale.
We embraced imperfection and memory throughout – incorporating antiques, reconditioned materials, and handmade finishes that told stories and brought soul to the space.
DNN: If you could design any single space – real or imagined – that perfectly expresses your design philosophy, what would it look like, and what would it feel like to be in it?
HCR: If I could design any single space that perfectly expresses my design philosophy, it would be a wellness retreat set on the banks of a quiet Italian lake – a space entirely devoted to CALMA, my approach to sensory-led, emotionally restorative design. The retreat would transcend beauty; it would be a place where architecture and interiors support deep inner stillness, where every texture, sound, material, and ritual is curated to encourage release.
The design would focus on natural materials – stone, timber, hand-plastered walls – that age gracefully and ground you in the present. Light would shift gently through each space, filtered by linen sheers or bamboo screens, allowing you to feel the passing of time. The spaces would be intentionally simple but deeply sensory: soft underfoot textures, quiet acoustic layering, the scent of woodsmoke and herbs, the cool touch of stone basins.
The retreat would also integrate the rituals of daily life into its architecture. How you bathe, eat, dress, and move through space would be gently guided by design. These everyday acts would become opportunities for reflection and healing – an acknowledgment that your surroundings don’t just influence how you feel, they shape how you relate to yourself and the world that surrounds you.
Another equally meaningful space I would design is a rehabilitation centre for mental health patients – a project rooted in this belief that our surroundings have a profound impact on our emotional and psychological wellbeing. This would be a place of dignity, softness, and subtle structure. The design would move away from clinical coldness, instead offering materials that are tactile and soothing, spaces that feel both safe and non-institutional.
The role of ritual would be especially important: from the clothes you change into when you arrive, to the way meals are served, to how natural light enters your room – each element would contribute to a sense of grounding and care. There would be spaces for solitude and quiet, but also for gentle connection – beautiful communal areas, therapeutic gardens, and rooms that support rest without isolation. This project would be about creating an environment that not only houses recovery, but actively supports it – through design that honours the complexity and sensitivity of the human experience.
