At a time when interiors are often reduced to images on a screen, Yaniv Chen’s work feels deliberately grounded. Rooted in mood and material intelligence, his designs and spaces unfold slowly rather than announce themselves loudly. Texture, proportion and light are handled with precision, yet there is always an undercurrent of emotion, a sense that atmosphere, rather than ornament, is doing the work.
South African-born and now based in Turin, Chen moves fluidly between interior architecture and furniture design, while frequently collaborating with Lemon Furniture. Across both disciplines, there is a consistent restraint — interiors shaped by memory and cultural reference, objects informed by feeling as much as by structure. Rather than chasing trend cycles, his work draws on the quiet tension between past and present, refinement and erosion.
The result is work that seems to sit slightly outside of time — pieces and spaces that carry a layered sensibility, reflecting not only where we have been, but also an imagined world shaped by intention, memory and restraint.
In a rare pause between travels, we speak to Chen to explore the ideas, references and rituals that inform his practice and uncover what drives his work.
Before the practice, how did it all begin for you?
I suffered from depression as a child. I found that certain tree-lined streets on the way to school or the way I decorated my childhood bedroom brought me some respite from it all. It was then that I realised the profound impact aesthetics can have on the human psyche and used this as the basis to create beautiful and memorable spaces and experiences.
Can you tell us about your current role and the work you’re involved in?
I am the founder and creative director of Yaniv Chen Interior Architecture, previously known as Master. I also design furniture for several luxury European brands, most notably Lemon. I’ve worked closely with them since the launch of their furniture range and have been collaborating with Lemon creative director and dear friend Kevin Frankenthal ever since.
What’s the very first decision you make on a project—before anything visual takes shape?
I find that clients who create a thorough brief demonstrate their commitment. It shows they’ve taken the time to consider their true wants and prioritise what matters most.
Which design rule do you think is overdue for retirement?
Not a design rule as such, but we really need to move away from Boucle — for the love of god.
How has working across different contexts shaped your sensitivity to place — and when do you deliberately ignore it?
I never ignore it. I prefer to travel when designing new collections. The visual stimulation of all things new always evokes the jolt I need.
What’s something clients frequently ask for that you’ve learnt to push back against?
Arches.
Which influence outside of design is currently informing your work most strongly?
All my influences and inspiration are mostly outside of interior design.
If you’re a client and you have seen my presentations, they revolve around things like 1992 Galliano shoes, 17th-century artwork, and ancient Egyptian artefacts. I find that Pinterest and the like are perpetuating the monotony of design found in the world today. It’s homogeneous.
Is there a particular philosophy or literary influence that encapsulates how you think about space and design?
When designing a space or object, it often begins with a feeling. Photographs, artworks, architecture and fashion act as quiet prompts, each carrying an emotional charge that is distilled and translated into material form. Across these references, a subtle thread emerges: contemplative worlds, dishevelled elegance, and interiors that feel both regal and gently worn. There is a sensitivity to contrast — refinement alongside erosion, nostalgia meeting the unfamiliar. The future is always haunted by the past and the present.
My favourite quote, which also best describes my work, is one by Carson McCullers: ‘We are torn between nostalgia for the familiar and an urge for the foreign and strange. As often as not, we are homesick most for the places we have never known’.
How do you approach longevity when designing in a culture driven by immediacy and novelty?
I ignore trends. My furniture and my interiors draw on the past and my constant endeavour to create pieces and spaces where one can’t place the specific time period. I find this interesting.
I want my pieces to almost disappear and become intertwined in their interiors.
What’s the first thing you notice when you walk into a space that isn’t yours?
Lighting. Often spaces are overlit.
Which habit or obsession do you think most clearly reveals you as a designer?
When I am working on a new piece or designing an interior, it’s all I think about. Day and night, at the gym, strolling down the street, having a bath. It is all-consuming, and I tend to obsess.
If you could only keep one book, one object and one material, what would they be?
Book — Adam Caruso, The Feeling of Things.
Object — our Norman Catherine painting.
Material — antique lace.
What do you collect, intentionally or not?
Bizarre antique decorative animals.
Which city consistently resets your creative compass?
Turin, Italy
When you’re stuck creatively, where do you go?
For a run.
