Interior: Soft Strength in the After

Some spaces carry the memory of what used to be, and some are brave enough to start fresh. This was one of those spaces—a loft apartment, airy and open, where only the seating area needed my touch. But emotionally? It needed a whole lot more.

The client had just gone through a breakup, and with her ex now moved out, the apartment felt like a place suspended in between. She loved her couch, a white L-shape she wasn’t ready to part with, but the rest? She said, “Make it mine again.” Her only direction was that it needed to feel soft. Girly. Clean. Cozy. Something new, but still her.

I started with the walls. They were painted in a gentle ivory with just the faintest blush—like the color of vanilla milk, subtle but warm. It immediately changed the feel of the space, adding a softness that didn’t try too hard.

Next, I tucked a hanging wicker chair near the window, draped in off-white pillows and an inviting throw blanket. The couch was reupholstered in the same off-white tone, making the whole space feel cohesive and cloudlike.

A low, woven wicker coffee table grounded the seating area, topped with her favorite books and a couple of sturdy succulents. Underfoot, a geometric rug in dusty pinks, peaches, ivories, and grays pulled everything together. The pattern added just enough visual interest without ever overwhelming the eye.

When I asked what kind of art she liked, she showed me bold, modern pieces—swirling lines, unexpected shapes, colors that made statements. One piece repeated the words “DO IT FOR YOU” in stark black font, and it stopped me in my tracks. That felt like the heartbeat of the room.

So I framed her art collection in warm wood and created a loose gallery wall above the couch. Those colors became our palette: blush, peach, gray, ivory, and one little jolt of mustard yellow, which we pulled in through the pillows. A soft black-and-ivory “Le Chat” pillow was added for a playful nod to her love of cats.

There were plants—easy ones, the kind you don’t have to think about too much. A blush-toned blanket was folded over the end of the couch, as if it had always been there, waiting for her to curl up underneath it with a cup of tea.

By the time we finished, the apartment didn’t just look different—it felt different. It was still hers, just reimagined. A little lighter, a little softer, and a whole lot more her. The kind of space that whispers, “You’ve got this,” without needing to say a word.