A Design Ethos of Strategy, Structure, and the Physiological Poetry of Space

“Design is not just what it looks like and feels like. Design is how it works.”

— Steve Jobs

Design is not simply the art of making things beautiful. It is the profound science of making things human. Human hospitality, as a design ethos, does not begin with style guides or mood boards, but with strategy and structure—those primordial coordinates that allow the human being, in all their complexity, to feel at ease.

Merchant luxury is a quiet testament to the restless human spirit.

It is the hush of curiosity, the slow unfolding of wonder carried home in a satchel, a crate, a memory. It is the legacy of Victorian grand-tour collectors who wandered continents not merely to possess but to understand—who found in each fragment of the world a reflection of themselves. It is the faith of the Arts and Crafts makers who believed beauty belonged to all, that the hand of the craftsman could dignify even the humblest material.

Designing from the Inside Out: The Positive Impact of Sustainable Interior Design

Interior design is often misunderstood as mere decoration or aesthetic styling. In truth, it is one of the most powerful tools we have for responding to the environmental crisis, improving human health and wellbeing, fostering social connection, and building an economy that respects both people and planet. Good interior design is not a luxury. It is a responsibility.

The Importance of Real Human Textures in Interior Design

When we design a space, we aren’t just arranging objects—we’re shaping the way people feel, behave, and connect. At the heart of meaningful interiors is texture—not just the visual kind, but “real human textures”: materials that hold stories, reveal imperfections, and invite touch. These tactile, lived-in qualities anchor us to tradition, memory, and shared human experience

Antiques and Systemic Wellbeing: Embracing Imperfection, History, and the Wabi Sabi Ethos

In the contemporary conversation around design and wellbeing, the role of antiques is often overlooked or reduced to notions of “style” and “taste.” Yet, antiques offer something far more essential, a quiet philosophy that resonates deeply with systemic wellbeing.

Art, Space, and Systemic Wellbeing: The Role of Contemporary Art in Shaping Human-Centred Design

In today’s world of hyper-commercialised real estate, design often risks reducing space to a commodity: square footage, resale value, an “asset class” for capital. Art, too, is often flattened to auction prices and Instagram likes—a marker of status rather than substance.

Yet at its best, contemporary art remains one of the most powerful tools for rehumanising space, fostering systemic wellbeing, and cultivating authentic community.

The Role of Interior Design, Art, Architecture, and Antiques in Advancing Systemic Wellbeing

“We shape our buildings; thereafter they shape us.” – Winston Churchill

Wellbeing today is understood as much more than individual happiness or health. There’s a growing recognition that true, enduring wellbeing is systemic—woven through the social, economic, cultural, and environmental structures in which people live.

The Hotel: From Necessary Lodging to Cultural Icon and Luxury Experience

"Hotels are not simply places to sleep, but stages upon which the theatre of human life is performed."

The hotel is one of humanity’s most profound and telling inventions: a place designed not just for shelter but for the deliberate act of welcome. At its simplest, it offers a room for the night—a pragmatic necessity of trade, travel, and exploration. Yet at its most ambitious, the hotel becomes a marker of social status, a stage for cultural exchange, a canvas for design and artistry, and even a gentle promise of escape from ordinary life.

Paradise on Earth and the Most Sacred Place of All

"A good laugh and a long sleep are the two best cures for anything." — Irish proverb

"We are such stuff / As dreams are made on, and our little life / Is rounded with a sleep." — Shakespeare, The Tempest

The bed is the most overlooked monument of human civilization. Despite its ubiquity, it remains underappreciated as an artifact of cultural, historical, and psychological meaning. It is where we spend around a third of our lives—where we are born, where many die, where we dream, recover, love, and contemplate.

Restaurants have always been more than places to eat.

They are social stages, cultural laboratories, and mirrors reflecting who we are. Yet their role has evolved dramatically, shaped by changing economies, cultural narratives, and our own evolving tastes.

As someone who has spent years designing restaurants—from big-name brands to spaces for celebrity chefs and emerging gastronomes—and as a restaurateur who owned and ran my own 2 Rosette fine dining restaurant, I’ve seen firsthand the changing meaning of the restaurant and the power of the plate.

Across cultures and centuries, humans have always needed places to gather.

Places to talk, laugh, argue, flirt, listen, and share stories. In the modern world, two such places stand out: the city bar and the country pub.

On the surface, they might seem very different—one buzzing with urban energy, the other nestled in pastoral quiet. But beneath these differences lies a shared function that is deeply human, even biological: they are our waterholes.

We often imagine the countryside as the ultimate antidote to modern life: slower, simpler, quieter. It’s a romantic vision of green fields, timeless traditions, and natural rhythms that promise refuge from the pace and pressures of urban existence.

But is the countryside truly an escape from society? Or is that just another cultural fantasy we carry with us?

The Restfulness of Space

We live in an age of unrelenting acceleration.

The city, that extraordinary invention of human civilisation, has become a symbol of this restless pace—optimised, digitised, and constantly demanding our attention. It channels us toward productivity, competition, and consumption at every turn.

But against this tide, I believe it is crucial to defend what the home truly means—not as a mere building, nor as an investment, but as a deeply human space.

The city is an extraordinary invention.

A nexus of trade, culture, and ideas, it has always been a crucible of progress. But in our present age, something has accelerated beyond recognition. The city today is faster-paced, more competitive, more digital—and, in many ways, more detached from the human.

In the Age of the Coming Wave

I’m Andy. I’m older than I’d like to look, a bit overweight, and I probably work too much. In short: I’m human.

Lately I’ve been reflecting on what that really means in a world that seems increasingly determined to digitise, quantify, and optimise every aspect of our existence. We live in an age that fights relentlessly for our attention, often with only superficial rewards or hollow justifications for doing so.