Last Saturday, I watched a client enjoy her new space.
Her closest friends and support system had gathered, and the store was getting its first proper stress test. People coming and going, conversations, laughter, things being tried out and, most importantly, the client herself looking completely at home in it all. She was glowing.
I found myself watching her take everything in, and thinking about the journey that had brought us there. Not just the design decisions or the finished details, but everything that had happened in between. The things that had gone according to plan, the things that hadn’t, the decisions we had to revisit and the many moments when getting to the desired result required a little more than we had originally anticipated.
And I thought about why we do what we do.
It’s about people
It is easy to talk about interior design in terms of aesthetics. Beautiful materials, considered proportions, lighting, furniture, finishes and the finished photographs. I certainly look forward to taking on larger projects, working with bigger budgets and having greater opportunities to collaborate with some of my favourite suppliers and artisans around the world. Those possibilities excite me enormously. But they are not, on their own, the reason I keep coming back to this work.
At its heart, I believe it is about people.
A home should reflect the people who live in it: their stories, histories, ambitions, habits and the way they want to experience everyday life. A business should communicate something about the people behind it, the brand they are building and the experience they want their customers to have. Neither should simply be a collection of beautiful things.
Our responsibility is to understand what lies beneath the brief and translate it into an environment that responds to the client’s actual needs. The best outcome mustn’t be a room that looks most like the original moodboard. It should be one that feels right to the people who will use it.
The responsibility of being invited in
Being invited into someone’s personal or professional space remains a gift. As designers, we are often given access to things that are deeply personal. We hear about family histories, future plans, business ambitions, frustrations, routines and the little things that make a place feel like home. We are also entrusted with budgets, decisions and, in many cases, one of the largest investments a client will make. That is a responsibility I don’t take lightly.
It is also why the relationship matters so much. A good design project requires more than a good brief and a talented designer. It requires a level of trust that allows both sides to have honest conversations, make decisions and navigate the inevitable complications along the way.
Interestingly, this particular project came to us through a referral from a client we had worked with before, and who happens to be a close friend of the house also. I find that worth mentioning because it says something about the nature of relationships in this business. Someone had experienced working with us, believed in what we do and was comfortable putting our name forward to someone they cared about. This alone is special. It adds another layer of responsibility, knowing that someone we have worked with and built a relationship with has put their own trust and reputation behind recommending us.
Referrals are often treated as a business development channel, but I think they are also a reflection of the relationships we build and the experiences people carry with them after a project is finished. Someone remembers how you made them feel. They remember whether you showed up, whether you listened, whether you handled things responsibly and whether the final result lived up to what you promised. And when this happens, they tell someone else.
The parts that don’t make the photographs
Of course, the journey to this particular opening was not without its complications.
The conditions we started with were far from ideal. Uneven walls and floors meant that achieving the proportions and finishes we wanted required us to strip things back considerably. We ended up stripping the space back and reworking far more than originally anticipated: the ceiling, electrical layout, flooring, walls, entrance door and windows. The latter also needed to be enlarged to achieve the proportions and openness we had envisioned.
Then there were the unexpected issues. Water leaking from the plaza roof above caused ceiling damage, and we had to redo the ceiling twice.
We also encountered difficulties with external artisans that cost us money, time, several sleepless nights and, occasionally, a little of our sanity.
It required a level of project management that was considerably tighter and more time-consuming than we had initially planned for. More site visits, more follow-ups, more coordination, more decisions and a lot of attention to things that would otherwise have gone unnoticed.
There were moments when we had to take responsibility for matters that would not ordinarily have fallen within our scope, simply because we wanted to make sure that things progressed and that the overall result was not compromised.
Last weekend, the client thanked me for that very thing. She mentioned how available we had been, how we were there practically every day, making sure that work was progressing and that issues were being addressed.
That stayed with me.
Of course, this isn’t about taking on every responsibility that comes our way or making constant availability the standard expectation. Roles and responsibilities need to be clear. But within those boundaries, there is a difference between simply completing your assigned tasks and genuinely taking ownership of the experience you have promised to deliver.
Usually, what a client needs most is to know that someone is paying attention, that issues aren’t being ignored and that there is someone actively looking out for the bigger picture. The work behind the finished room matters and so does how people feel while getting there.
Every encounter leaves something behind
The weekend ended with another encounter that brought these thoughts into focus.
I visited Meeting Point, an exhibition of works by Theophilus Adewuyi, curated by my talented friend Ahmed Mohammed Bello, also known as the Duke of Abuja. Ahmed has a wonderful habit of thinking of me whenever a new exhibition is coming up, and I am always grateful for the invitation to experience the work.
His curatorial statement begins with a simple observation: as human beings, we are constantly moving, leaving and arriving at places, relationships and moments. Some encounters last only briefly; others stay with us for a lifetime and change how we understand ourselves.
One of the central metaphors in the exhibition is the Yoruba expression “Omi l’eniyan”, which Ahmed’s statement explores through the idea of human beings being like water: constantly connecting and moving. We leave one place, enter another, encounter someone, separate and sometimes meet again. And the experiences remain part of what we carry.
One passage I remembered the next morning: “Meeting Point is not an exhibition about meeting other people. It is about what remains after the meeting.” I found that thought very relevant to the work we do.
Every project is an encounter. We meet people at a particular point in their lives, businesses or ambitions. We are invited into their world for a period of time, become part of a process and eventually leave behind something tangible.
But what remains beyond the physical space? Does the client feel understood? Does the business communicate what it set out to communicate? Does the home support the life its occupants want to live? Does the relationship leave both sides feeling that the experience was worthwhile? And when the project is over, what do people remember about working with us?
I would like the answer to be more than the finished photographs.
What we leave behind
I suppose this is what I keep coming back to when I think about the kind of design studio I want AD Design to be.
Yes, we want to create beautiful spaces. We want to work with interesting materials, explore new forms, develop our own collections and take on projects that challenge us creatively.
But beyond that, I want our work to make people feel that they have been understood. I want them to know that their investment was handled responsibly and that their ambitions were taken seriously. I want clients to look back and remember not only what we made together, but how we worked together.
Seeing a client finally inhabit a space that once existed only in conversations, drawings and a collection of decisions is a great feeling. It warms my heart to watch them make it their own, bring their people into it and begin creating new memories there.
I think this is the real privilege of this profession: being allowed to contribute, even in a small way, to the lives and stories of other people.
We arrive, we do our part, and eventually we leave. Hopefully, what remains is something worth carrying.
