When I first started in interior decoration, I thought the goal was more. More layers. More texture. More pieces. More impact. I was young, I was eager, and I wanted every room to feel as full as possible — as if the very abundance of things would signal that I had done my job well.
Six years later, I know the opposite to be true. The most powerful tool in any decorator’s kit isn’t the ability to add. It’s the courage to subtract.
The most beautiful homes I’ve ever walked into weren’t the ones with the most things. They were the ones where someone had the courage to take things away. A shelf left half-empty. A wall left bare. A corner left quiet. Not because they couldn’t afford to fill them — but because they understood that emptiness works as hard as fullness. That negative space is not a void to be feared, but a canvas to be respected.
Editing isn’t about minimalism for its own sake. It’s about clarity. It’s the act of deciding what stays, and trusting that what you remove makes what remains more powerful.
A Lesson From a Small Bathroom
Early in my career, I worked on a tiny bathroom with a client who was at her wit’s end. She was about to renovate — a project she couldn’t really afford, but she felt she had no choice. The room was cramped. Cluttered. It made her feel anxious every time she walked in.
“I need new everything,” she told me. “New tiles, new fixtures, new vanity. It’s just too small.”
I asked her a question that seemed almost absurd at the time: “Would you be willing to empty it first?”
She looked at me like I’d suggested something ridiculous. But she agreed. We took everything out. Every bottle. Every towel. Every decorative object. Every loofah and soap dish and half-used candle. We cleared it down to the bare walls and the empty floor.
When she stood in the empty room, she said something I’ve never forgotten: “It’s not small. It’s just full.”
So we put back only what she genuinely needed or loved. A single candle in a simple holder. One beautiful hand towel. A small plant that caught the morning light. That was it. She didn’t renovate. She edited. The bathroom suddenly felt twice the size — and infinitely more peaceful. She saved thousands of pounds. And she smiled every time she walked past that candle.
The Professional’s Tool
Here’s what I learned in those six years: editing is a professional’s most powerful tool. Anyone can add. It takes confidence, experience, and patience to subtract. To know that the empty space is working as hard as the filled one.
It took me years to learn — and even longer to teach — that the presence of something isn’t always the point. Sometimes the point is the absence. The gap between objects. The pause in the visual rhythm. That’s where the eye can rest.
A Simple Practice for Any Room
- Clear a surface. A mantelpiece, a shelf, a side table. Take everything off. Stack them on the floor if you must, but clear the space completely.
- Wait. Look at the empty surface. Notice how it feels. Does it make you want to put everything back — or does it make you realise how much you didn’t need?
- Put back one thing. Just one. Live with it for a day. Let yourself notice that one object — its colour, its form, its presence.
- Add only what earns its place. Over the next few days, ask yourself with each item: “Does this make me feel calm, curious, or comforted?” If it doesn’t, it doesn’t belong.
This isn’t about deprivation. It’s about making space for what truly matters. And in the quiet that follows, you’ll often discover that you didn’t need the rest after all.
So before you buy your next decorative piece, ask yourself: “What would I take away before I add anything new?” You might find the answer transforms more than just the room.
