Martin Brudnizki on Color as a Way of Seeing
In a new book, the debonair Swedish designer reflects on 25 years of conjuring lavish interiors that feel like fantasy realms—with color as the guiding force behind every room
Martin Brudnizki’s transportive interiors have a knack for whisking their lucky inhabitants into outrageous escapist fantasies. There’s the martini-soaked bacchanalia of Annabel’s in London, whose British eccentricities play out across ample trims, tassels, fringes, and the instantly iconic pink onyx powder room; a moody Mexico nightclub inspired by Frida Kahlo’s former home; and a slate of destinations that perhaps at first register as restrained but are no less layered and imaginative, such as New York’s Fifth Avenue Hotel or the Surrey farther uptown. Underpinning the Swedish design extraordinaire’s impressive portfolio are rooms that read like painterly worlds and reflect an intimate command of color and atmosphere.
Color, in particular, sits at the center of Brudnizki’s vision and informs his recent book, My Life in Color (Rizzoli), which organizes 40 projects across his studio’s 25-year history by hue rather than a predictable chronology. It’s a fitting approach—Brudnizki has never pursued a fixed visual signature. Instead, he delights in drawing freely from classicism and modernism, summoning patterns and colors from across the spectrum and melding them with confidence and wit. That openness has allowed his work to remain expansive and adaptable, whether expressed through his globe-spanning repertoire of hospitality projects or through And Objects, the product arm of his studio, which translates his soigné sensibilities into covetable furniture and lighting.
Today, Brudnizki maintains studios between London and New York—a transatlantic cadence that feeds a prolific practice grounded in close observation and an incisive urge to unearth the stories buried within spaces. “Every project begins with a narrative,” Brudnizki says. “Once we find that idea, we define it through words that capture how a place should feel. When someone walks into a room, an emotion should register immediately. I build everything around that emotional response.” In the following interview, which has been edited for length and clarity, he reflects on how color became one of his most trusted storytelling mechanisms—and how it continues to shape the fantasy realms at his fingertips.
I moved from Stockholm to London early in my career, and that decision shaped everything that followed. My visual world evolved over many years, but London accelerated that evolution in a profound way. The city exposed me to an extraordinary range of styles, approaches, and cultural references. I could explore freely, absorb widely, and test ideas against a backdrop that never stands still. That exposure gave me confidence to trust my instincts and refine a point of view that continues to evolve today. It has been brilliant for my career.
My mother played an essential role in forming how I see color. She loved it, and she surrounded us with it. As a child, I never questioned why certain objects filled our home. Spanish cabbage plates feel fashionable now, but they already existed in my life in the 1970s. Color simply belonged there. When I painted my first bedroom yellow, it just felt natural. That decision came from her belief in elevating everyday life. She believed in making an effort, whether setting a table, choosing what to eat, or deciding how a room should look. You don’t need great expense to shape a home that gives you pleasure. You need attention and intention. That philosophy stayed with me. Having a point of view about what you live with can change how you feel every day.
Escapism and imagination sit at the center of my process. Every project begins with a narrative. I start by understanding the client and what they want to achieve. I consider whether the project involves a hotel, a restaurant, or a private club, and I look closely at the ambition behind it. From there, I turn to the building itself. Its history, its architectural language, and any stories connected to it matter deeply. I then widen the lens to include the street, the neighborhood, the city, and the country. I move from the intimate to the expansive, gathering fragments until a larger story emerges. Once we find that idea, we define it through words that encapsulate how a place should feel. When someone walks into a room, an emotion should register immediately. I build everything around that emotional response.
Color plays a powerful role in shaping that experience, and choosing it relies on instinct. I never approach color scientifically. Experience guides me, as does the light. I pay attention to how a room faces the sun, how daylight enters, and how it shifts across the day. Sometimes a room asks for yellow because it needs warmth and brightness where light falls short. These decisions come from walking through a space and listening to what it asks for.
Before I ever put anything on paper, I spend time observing how light moves through rooms at different hours. Color reveals itself gradually. As the story takes shape, certain hues come forward naturally. History often plays a role. I might imagine a London townhouse once inhabited by a bright young figure in the 1930s and think about decorators of that era who painted rooms white, silver-leafed surfaces, or cerused furniture. I enjoy building narratives around what could’ve happened, even if it never did. That instinct comes from childhood. I spent hours inventing stories and fairy tales in my head. I never learned that skill formally. It has always been part of how I think.
When I decided to write a book, I struggled for years with how to frame it. I never wanted a straightforward portfolio. I wanted a story, but I couldn’t see it clearly. During a dinner with a friend, I explained my uncertainty, and he suggested focusing on color. That idea unlocked everything. Looking at my work through the lens of color suddenly made sense. The timing aligned as well. I realized the book would coincide with the 25th anniversary of my studio, which made the project feel meaningful and celebratory.
Annabel’s marked a turning point in my work. Until then, I had always explored classicism, but I never had a client who invited me to push layering to its fullest expression. Richard Caring asked for something extraordinary, something unprecedented. I recognized that moment immediately. Annabel’s gave me the opportunity to explore a richly layered approach and to understand how far I could take it while maintaining clarity and coherence.
I prefer to think about my work in terms of layers rather than labels. A clear architectural logic underpins everything I do. A Swedish critic once observed that my projects never reach a full stop. Details mediate every transition between finishes. One element concludes, a detail appears, and another begins. That separation matters. Patterns, florals, geometrics, stripes, and plains all coexist, but details keep them legible. Those moments of articulation allow each element to speak clearly.
Looking back to move forward remains essential. Historical interiors relied on different color technologies, which often produced muddier tones. Today, we have access to greater clarity. When I use contemporary colors within classical frameworks, rooms feel lighter and more current. Heavier palettes with gray undertones immediately shift the mood toward something softer and more subdued. Color choices define whether a room feels fresh or weighed down.
After 25 years and 40 projects, color still surprises me. I continue searching for the right shades. I have yet to find a peach that truly satisfies me. Purple presents challenges as well, unless it leans toward lavender. Lavender carries both blue and pink, and that balance gives it range. Deeper purples demand careful handling and often work best in darker rooms without daylight. The search never ends, and that pursuit keeps the work alive and evolving.
When I first saw the complete book before printing, I noticed how the structure changed the reading experience. Each page introduced a different project, creating a fast-paced, editorial flow. That rhythm reminded me of how magazines engage readers today. The variety keeps the eye moving and invites curiosity. That quality made the book feel vibrant and engaging, and I believe readers respond to that energy.