Decus’s Eclectic Sydney Studio Is a Laboratory for Creative Freedom

As Decus flourished, its team eventually outgrew its longtime studio, a neo-Georgian building on Sydney’s historic Queen Street. As the team grew to 14 members, the increasingly cramped quarters couldn’t accommodate the burgeoning firm. “We were like sardines in a tin,” Donohoe Church quips. When a grand terrace became available a mere ten doors away, she seized the opportunity to fashion a more suitable headquarters that could double as a dynamic laboratory.  

Completed earlier this year, the new Woollahra studio offers a sumptuous showcase for Decus’s creative proclivities. A chartreuse-hued foyer sets a soigné tone with a sweeping mohair-velvet banquette, a floral rug by French atelier Les Éditions de Tapis, and glazed ceramics by Patrick Crulis. Through stately stone archways, a central staircase is blanketed with a dazzling quilt-like patchwork of contrasting marble tiles as it leads to the upper level outfitted with artwork by Australian First Nations talent George Tjungurrayi and German painter Imi Knoebel. Fabric-lined French doors open into Alexandra’s earth-toned private office, anchored by a boldly profiled oak desk and a cloud-like Pierre Paulin sofa upholstered in a pomegranate mohair. The materials library, meanwhile, is crowned by a hand-painted ceiling mural by Australian artist Venn Miles; an expressive mirror by French ceramist Olivia Cognet practically sings against the powder room’s restrained palette.  

Throughout, collaborations with artisans attest to Decus’s experimental eye. “We developed so many elements from scratch, which was both a joy and a challenge,” Donohoe Church says. And the studio is far from finished. New artworks, furnishings, and decorative treatments will continually weave their way into the interiors. Here, she shares the discoveries behind her new base and the philosophy embodied in her wonderfully irreverent motto: “spark some bloody joy.”  

When did you realize you had outgrown your previous studio?  

The penny dropped when we had a queue three people deep for the bathroom. When we moved into our previous studio, our team numbered seven, but over the next nine years, we doubled in size. We initially felt the squeeze through a lack of storage, inadequate space to lay out materials, less-than-stellar acoustics, and the absence of a pirate meeting room. But the bigger issue became how we communicated what was possible for our projects. Our previous studio was neutral and simply didn’t reflect our creative impulses. What started as a whisper about finding a new home eventually became a shrill, unrelenting screech. Thankfully, and serendipitously, we tripped over a new space just ten doors up the street. 

You’ve said that the biggest trick in your design work is understanding what people value. When envisioning your new studio, what did you realize you valued the most?   

Freedom and discomfort. I wanted to discover my own creative “edges.” I envisioned the space as a collection of materials, details, and junctions I’d been eager to experiment with for some time. It’s very much a laboratory, and like any experiment, the outcome isn’t always what you envisage. Sometimes it exceeds your expectations, and other times it falls short. Both happened to varying degrees throughout this project. I certainly didn’t conceive of the studio as a monument to any particular aesthetic or language. Maybe the next studio will be different, but this approach felt very right for the here and now. 

You’ve mentioned the creative freedom that comes with working in Australia, where unlike in Europe, designers aren’t beholden to decorative tradition. How did that freedom manifest when you were designing the new studio? 

There are tremendous advantages to centuries of decorative tradition, particularly when there’s a baseline appreciation for the decorative arts baked into your client base. In Australia, culturally speaking, the appreciation is still in its infancy. We also don’t have a clearly identifiable national design vernacular, which I find quite liberating. 

Because of geography and relatively small market, we have less variety in materials, furniture, lighting, and hardware. Yet Australia has exceptionally gifted makers, interior designers, and architects. I found freedom in incorporating their work alongside finishes and objects that might be unfamiliar to audiences both locally and internationally. I also enjoyed experimenting with tactility, challenging local craftspeople to develop new textures and forms that people instinctively want to reach out and touch. 

What ideas or influences were you eager to explore? 

Prototyping our own range of custom hardware and experimenting with new textures and techniques in timber alongside local craftsperson Tim Noone. We also explored ways to reuse surplus marble and stone from recent projects, incorporated leadlight glass into the facade and entryway for the first time, and integrated new veneers and colors that pushed us beyond our comfort zone.   

We were also interested in exploring opportunities for artist collaboration, inviting fresh perspectives into the studio and encouraging clients to engage with art and collectible design in a more meaningful, firsthand way. We commissioned Venn Miles to create a mural across the ceiling of our library workspace.  

How does the studio help you communicate ideas that might otherwise prove difficult to convey? 

It’s a life-sized business card in many ways. We can point to different features and discuss how we might approach a similar detail in another finish, color, or scale. I think people crave the immediacy of experiencing things in person rather than through renders or drawings, and we find it tremendously helpful to have so many examples that speak for themselves. Seeing materials and finishes up close helps alleviate clients’ apprehensions and creates a more tactile, collaborative way of communicating ideas. It also gives them the confidence to explore possibilities they might not have considered otherwise.  

The studio houses an eclectic assortment of art and collectible furniture. Which pieces hold particular significance for you? 

We designed several tables, our first chair, a rug, custom hardware, and a selection of ceramic tiles. The credenza in the meeting room holds particular significance for me because I created it in collaboration with my sister-in-law, who is an incredible ceramist. We also incorporated works by a wide range of artists, from Imi Knoebel and First Nations artist George Tjungurrayi to Justin Williams, Jan Albers, Ben Mazey, and Olive Gill-Hille. There’s also photography by Petrina Hicks, Jacqui Stockdale, Don Cameron, and Darren Sylvester alongside mixed-media collages by Sally Smart, Lilian O’Neil, and Jordan Gogos. 

The studio gave you an opportunity to experiment with unfamiliar materials and techniques. What did you discover that you might have hesitated to attempt for a client? 

Although we have processes in place to bring a project to life, the creative aspect is largely intuitive. Surprisingly, I discovered that sometimes you need to ask that intuition to politely step aside so you can explore ideas you might otherwise dismiss. It’s difficult to take those risks for a client because most want assurance through the process. They want to know the outcome in advance, which can make innovation difficult. Being our own client gave us the freedom to embrace trial and error and pursue ideas without necessarily knowing where they might lead. 

What does the new studio allow you to pursue that might have seemed out of reach earlier in your career? 

Freedom, but with confidence. 

You’ve noted the importance of creating interiors that evolve with their occupants. How do you envision the studio changing as Decus enters its next chapter? 

The studio is genuinely intended to be a laboratory. We’re already making changes, painting murals on walls, introducing new artworks and lighting, reupholstering doors in different fabrics, and ordering new wallpapers for the joinery. That’s exactly what I hoped would happen. An interior is supposed to live and breathe with you, not remain frozen in time. We’ll continue to experiment as the practice grows. 

“Spark some bloody joy” is a wonderfully irreverent motto for a studio known for such sophisticated interiors. What brought you the greatest joy throughout this process?  

Seeing a concept become reality conjures a mixture of relief, pride, and excitement, especially when it transforms your everyday experience. It’s a real pleasure to spend time in this space every day. I might even say it’s bloody joyful.