Each piece starts with a space, a conversation, and a feeling. Here are a few of the rooms we have created for.



Under a plaster ceiling and a chandelier of capiz discs, three canvases of hearts run the length of a chinoiserie sideboard, sprayed, drawn and sprayed again in pink, chartreuse, violet and white until the surface hums. Black outlines hold the chaos together. The panels are staggered, the largest set a few inches forward, so from the table the wall reads as a single work and from up close as three. In a room of lacquer, gilt and shadow, this is the light source.


Between two brass sconces, a painting that behaves like weather. Translucent strokes of grey, bone and warm black are laid over a black ground in wide sweeps, each pass left visible beneath the next, until the surface reads as folded silk or smoke caught mid-turn. The palette was kept deliberately quiet so that the plaster walls, the stone credenza and the rust velvet chairs could each keep their voice; the scale, filling the alcove from sconce to sconce, does the talking.


Warm oak, cast stone, a tobacco leather pouf and a sofa the colour of sand: a room built entirely from earth tones, with a single cool note. The canvas above the sofa moves in a loose spiral of white and grey over black, worked with wide brushes and knives so the marks stay crisp at the edges and cloud in the centre. The raw canvas edge is left exposed. Against all that warmth, the black and white reads as the room's one decision.


A designer arrived with a reference: a calligraphic street language the client had fallen for. The studio learned its rhythm, its marks and its density, then composed something new in that spirit, an original work rather than a copy. The result is two panels, each two feet by twelve, stretched over three-inch built frames. The ground is layered white, off-white and beige for the look of aged paper; every black character was painted freehand in acrylic. Below, hand-lettered trunks made for The Harrison, San Francisco.

High above the bay, a penthouse of white boucle, lucite and gold leaf needed a wall that could hold its own against the view. The answer is a large-scale canvas in gold, black, cobalt and white: figures, wings and lettering layered over a metallic ground that picks up the gilt in the coffee tables and the marble underfoot. From the far side of the room the black reads as architecture; from the sofa, the detail begins.


Commissioned by a designer staging a penthouse at The Harrison, and built rather than painted. A deep wooden frame, thick as a chocolate box, was stretched with canvas and finished in matte black for a velvet surface. A poem runs around the entire perimeter in white hand lettering. The arrows are carved in wood, fletched with real feathers, gilded and nailed straight into the frame. Hung beside a dining table with the city behind it, it is playful from a distance and precise up close.


A lounge of black leather Chesterfields, brass tables and cowhide asked for a painting with the same swagger. Rows of exclamations in a bold, worn sans serif are painted in silver over black, so the words surface and sink as the light moves across the room. Below it, Revenge: one word broken across three lines in heavy black capitals on a white, plaster-textured ground, painted large enough to own a wall in a Los Angeles residence.



Dense black line against grounds of red and pink: a seated couple, the man in a hat and pale suit; a pair among flowers under a violet sky; two riders on a black horse crossing a red landscape. The palette is deliberately limited and the line is unafraid. In interiors of leather, rug and lacquer, these canvases bring the one thing a room cannot get from furniture, a face.


A skull dissolving into a burst of orange, pink, cobalt and green, the colour thrown outward from the centre, made with Premier Stagers and Max Jacquet Design at 84 by 84 inches to hold a brick wall above a curved sofa in a double-height room. Inset, its opposite in temperature: a lion in sand tones on a dark ground for a living room in Newport Beach, finished in diamond dust, the studio's signature layer of crushed glass that catches the light from every angle and changes as you cross the room.

For an entry hall in white and black, concentric heart forms painted black on black, so that from the door the piece reads first as a shape and only then as an image. Near-monochrome, sized to the console beneath it, it is the first thing a guest sees and the last thing they place.

A long white corridor, a skylight and pale oak underfoot: a passage most people would leave empty. Two canvases in a shared language run down the wall, painted on a ground of aged white and beige with faint handwriting scratched into it. Clusters of flowers in violet, black, green and yellow hang from thin drips, and a burst of red is scrawled across each one so the eye is carried from the first canvas to the second and on toward the light at the end of the hall. Made as a pair, sized to the wall, so that walking past becomes part of the picture.

Not every wall is a wall. For a home gym at The Harrison, a heavy bag was hand-painted with a portrait in black on white, with lettering and drips, so that hanging still it reads as sculpture. The studio paints on what the room offers: leather, wood, canvas, metal, trunks, whatever the space calls for.