How David Flack Creates Interiors That Feel Alive
The Melbourne designer behind Troye Sivan’s homes and the Ace Hotel Sydney reflects on staying true to himself while crafting unforgettable spaces that radiate pure joy
When David Flack arrived in Melbourne from the Australian countryside, he felt out of place until he came out at age 19. “Everything evolved from that minute,” he recalls of the experience, which marked a turning point that reshaped his creative outlook. “Being true to yourself and allowing that level of authenticity unlocks your creativity a lot further.” That conviction soon found form in his design career. In the decade since he founded Flack Studio, the firm has grown into a global practice celebrated for richly expressive interiors brimming with exuberant color, unexpected material pairings, and an infectious sense of joy. His work has since expanded in scale and ambition, grounded in an intuitive understanding of how the physical and emotional qualities of a room can shape daily life. “I don’t necessarily have an ego attached to it,” he says. “You’re expressing yourself through someone else.”
Flack’s portfolio now spans standout commissions such as modernist homes in Melbourne and Los Angeles for pop star Troye Sivan and the Ace Hotel Sydney, both of which propelled his studio to global recognition. The former cemented his reputation while the latter pushed his small team to its limits. “Ace was monstrous,” Flack admits. “At the time, we were only six people. It nearly killed me.” Across his projects—many featured in his new monograph Flack Studio: Interiors (Rizzoli)—his process remains instinctive and deeply personal, driven by an innate curiosity for how “materials sing and dance together.” At the Ace, for example, he layered glazed brick, timber, and leather with vibrant site-specific art commissions, creating a tactile rhythm that captures the hotel’s irreverent rock ‘n’ roll spirit. His work continues to pulse with that same individuality and joie de vivre—each interior fully alive in its ability to transform the way people live.
Below, in an interview that has been edited and condensed for clarity, Flack reflects on his journey from small-town Australia to international recognition, the evolution of his expressive approach to material and color, and the creative risks for his increasingly high-profile clientele.
When I first moved to Melbourne, I was an awkward country kid and didn’t feel like I found my place initially. I came out at 19, and everything just evolved from there. It was that moment where you feel truly expressive about yourself. From that point onward, I never held back on any explorations or discovery. Being true to yourself and allowing that level of authenticity unlocks your creativity a lot further.
That’s one thing I find with my work—I don’t necessarily have an ego attached to it. I feel highly engaged, like I’m getting so much creativity out of it, but the spaces aren’t for me. It’s expressing yourself through someone else, interpreting what they want. My curiosity and self-discovery allow me to continue creating. I was 28 when I set up the studio, and I’m 40 now. You look at your own growth as a designer—that evolution of practice, that continuation to keep striving for the next best project or idea. Your process becomes more integral to your practice. That really drives me.
When I start a project, it’s a slow burn. The minute we’re engaged, clients are excited about the process and know they’re up for something special. I’ve always been dogmatic about saying “I’m not the right person” or “this isn’t the right project.” You throw yourself so personally into a project for years. If you’re not passionate, the whole thing goes belly up, and the results show it.
I don’t ask clients too many questions when we start. We chat about life. I want to know about them and their families, if they’ve done renovations, what they loved about the house. More importantly, I ask how they want to feel in the space. Do you come home and put a record on? Are you messy? Are you clean? Those questions matter. You build that relationship quickly, because they pour out all this information. It’s nerve-racking to embark on a renovation, spending millions of dollars. I don’t take that lightly.
Materials are a huge part of what I do. From the beginning, I gather them and build a big board. I’m succinct about what the vision might be, and I gently guide clients through. If I feel they’re not loving it—or if they are—I’ll go harder or softer. Over the years, I’ve become more confident to say, “Here’s my initial idea, and we’re going to price it from here.” But I always leave room for pivots: sometimes on site, sometimes after travel, sometimes even on holidays. I like how those pivots occur. They change the rhythm of a project in a weird and wonderful way. Clients love it too—as long as it doesn’t cost them more money!
I worked on one apartment where everything changed midway. The client had just fallen in love with what we presented, and then suddenly we shifted again. They had to fall in love with the next iteration because I believed in it more. I always say to my team, “imagine we’re a goods train with boxes loaded on.” The journey twists, turns, and jolts, but nothing falls off. We’re always making sure the journey is exciting and enjoyable, even when there are countless calls and texts.
Early in my career, I was producing very monochromatic interiors. They were beautiful, but I wasn’t satisfied. At some point, I started throwing crazy combinations together, and they landed. That built my confidence. My curiosity for how materials sing and dance together is one of my favorite things. Knowing when it’s right is always a gut instinct. The Middle Park House was pivotal. The bathroom had sculptural, curvaceous forms referencing the Ultrafragola Mirror by Ettore Sottsass. The kitchen had Palladiano floors with weird shapes that conjoined. At that point, we realized we could push hard and it still felt sophisticated and beautiful. From there, commissions changed.
Troye Sivan’s house took it further. That project went global. People loved the relaxed, natural, lo-fi atmosphere. Many clients since then have asked for a hybrid: the bold material clashes of Middle Park mixed with the layered warmth of Troye’s house. He made that project so special. He loves the creative process. He’d give feedback like, “This doesn’t feel like me,” or “That’s too much.” Watching his confidence grow was phenomenal. The house was by [late Australian architect] John Mockridge with a rich history. We stripped it back to its modernist origins while still making it a functioning home. When the Mockridge Foundation sent me a handwritten letter saying they thought John would’ve loved what we did, I cried. That acknowledgement meant so much.
That and the Ace Hotel Sydney changed the studio’s trajectory. Ace was monstrous. At the time, we were only six people. It nearly killed me, but the visibility was incredible. Now over half of our work is international. Covid showed us you can work from anywhere, and that’s freed us.
With Ace, the approach was residential thinking applied to hospitality. I compartmentalized: the lobby as a lounge room, the restaurant as a kitchen, the conference space as a dining room. I imagined the hotel as a big share house with a sunken lounge where people dive in, drink, and listen to music. We also curated the art. James Lemon reworked leftover bricks into a glazed, tactile reception desk. Joanna Lamb painted aerial views of suburban swimming pools. Glenn Barkley created a mural. Jason Phu inked all the corridors over six weeks, even weaving in his own love story along the way. Those collaborations made the building what it is. It suited Ace perfectly.
Art is a massive part of my practice. Some clients collect and some don’t, but I always say there’s nothing intimidating about it. We start curating early and integrate the works into the architecture. That relationship with artists and craftspeople is huge.
What I want people to take away from my book is that interiors are alive. They can change your life. That’s why we wrote it from the client’s perspective. The best thing about the interiors is how they become part of their lives and change them. Spaces aren’t just aesthetic. Of course they should look beautiful, but more importantly they should feel good. If the energy is off, it’s not a success. When the atmosphere feels right, when clients embody it at different times of day, that’s when it works. That authenticity and passion are what I care about most.
