I very rarely buy new. Most of what I bring into a home is antique, reclaimed, or repurposed — something that already belonged to someone else, that has stood the test of time and will go on standing it.

I like the imperfect. Flawless has never interested me — perfectly lacquered, sanded to within an inch of its life. I'd rather find the depth in something, and stop at the point where it simply looks beautiful.

1970s Italy meets English heritage

If I had to put a label on the look, it's 1970s Italy meeting English heritage, with an Australian sense of freedom and space.

Italy is where it starts. I source Italian vintage — sculptural lighting, glass, ceramics, warm timbers, and the quiet confidence of that period. The English side is the layering: rooms that feel collected rather than decorated, where pattern, colour and older pieces sit together as though they've always been there. The Australian part is the air around all of it — the light, the space, the freedom to let a room breathe. That's what keeps the other two from tipping into heavy or fussy. Warmth and character, but room to move.

None of it is a formula I landed on. It's more or less where I'm from, and it's the thread that runs through everything I bring into a home.

Something with a story

I very rarely buy new things if I can help it. A lot of what I use is antique, but more than that I'm keen to reclaim, reuse and repurpose. So much of it already has a story to tell, and somehow it fits.

At first a piece might fit for a simple reason — the purpose we need it for, the size, the space it has to sit in. But from there it can take you on a journey you weren't expecting, and that's the nice part.

I would rather find something that belonged to someone else and has stood the test of time than order a room's worth of furniture off a website. Finding it that way usually means supporting a smaller business or an individual, too. The whole process is more organic. Settling for "that'll do" online is easy, and there's nothing wrong with it — but I'd rather have more of a journey with it all.

Beauty in the imperfect

I'm a little scared that people don't find the imperfect enough — not just in their homes, but across their lives. We live in such a visual society now, and being perfect has somehow become the goal. I think we should be embracing the imperfect more: harnessing it, being happy with it, sitting with it.

Part of it is that I love change. If something isn't quite there, there's still room for movement in it. Once it's done, it's done — it's finished.

A lot of interior design is beautifully done, perfect and genuinely stunning, and that has its place. But if that's the look you want, you wouldn't come to me. What I do is more like carrying out a process and then stopping — sometimes before the end, at the point where you've found something and it looks beautiful. It takes a bit of nerve to say, "stop, that's it." It means the piece isn't perfectly lacquered or sanded to within an inch of its life. It just has more depth to it.

Listening to the house

I believe houses hold energy, and that you can often feel what a house wants. There's a lot of information in the building itself — when it was built, where it is — before you've done anything at all.

Then you look at the people living in it: who they are, how they use the space now, and how they want to use it. A house that isn't well arranged tends to accentuate life's little niggles, and those are exactly what I want to eliminate. It might be the kids having nowhere to put their scooters, so you trip over them every time you walk in. It might be a kitchen that doesn't flow, so you've quietly stopped cooking even though you love it.

When someone hires me, function comes first, at least to begin with. I want to see how a client actually moves through a space, or how they imagine they will — how they want to live in it, and how they want to feel there. I'll always ask clients to send me the images that genuinely speak to them, too.

Room to change

Nothing about the process is static. We might make a decision at the very beginning, and it can change — more than likely, it will. Being able to go with that change, for me and for the client, is the whole thing.

Often the problem that feels like the nightmare of the week turns out to be the best part. It's the thing that makes you open up a wall, buy the piece you'd never otherwise have found, or realise there's far more space to be had. Nearly every time there's an issue, it means something good is about to happen. It's an opportunity — but only if you stay fluid, and the client stays fluid too.

I don't think anyone would come to me if they wanted something perfectly straight, with every box ticked. That's just not me — I'm not your girl. What I can offer is a home that's allowed to develop. You let it flow, and it all comes together.