Sarah Sherman Samuel’s Creative World Comes Full Circle
Following her recent return to Michigan and on the cusp of opening a gallery, the in-demand interior designer reflects on her family influences, artistic pursuits, and “home-obsessed” outlook
Over the past several years, Sarah Sherman Samuel has emerged as one of the most sought-after voices in interiors. During her time in Los Angeles, the designer amassed a devoted following through her firm SSS Design, crafting richly layered homes for starry clients such as actress Mandy Moore and photographer Garance Doré. Her signature aesthetic, marked by adventurous silhouettes, expressive materials, and an artful use of color all underscored by a breezy California cool, also fueled collaborations with the likes of Lulu & Georgia, Semihandmade, and Concrete Collaborative. Recently, however, a desire to return closer to her roots prompted Sherman Samuel to leave the Golden State and resettle in her native Michigan. She now oversees her six-person practice from just outside Grand Rapids, balancing her burgeoning business with life alongside her husband and two children.
That moment of transition arrives alongside Sarah Sherman Samuel: The Intersection of Art and Design (Abrams), a new monograph that traces the evolution of her practice through residential work, furniture collections, and personal art pieces. The book spans formative projects such as her Spanish Colonial residence in Los Angeles and her own woodland showpiece residence near Grand Rapids, revealing how the designer’s ideas migrate freely between architecture, interiors, and objects. It also illuminates the deeply personal experiences behind her work. Drawing on a childhood spent watching her father build houses and furniture in Michigan, she argues that the most compelling homes emerge from one’s own experiences and sensibilities.
As she prepares to open a gallery alongside her Michigan studio, Sherman Samuel reflects on the projects, influences, and instincts that continue to inform her work in the interview below, which has been edited and condensed for length and clarity.
“I really believe a home reflects the people living inside it, and over time it starts reflecting their stories, habits, and personalities in increasingly layered ways. In the book, I talk about how there’s no universal checklist for what a home should be. One person’s must-have is another person’s “Why would you ever?” That’s what makes this work so interesting to me. I love helping people arrive at the purest version of themselves in their homes.
A lot of that traces back to how I grew up in Michigan. My dad was a computer network engineer, but woodworking was always his passion. He built two of our family homes himself, and there was constantly some kind of project happening in the workshop. My mom always had a creative pursuit too, whether it was ceramics, oil painting, quilting, or something else entirely. Creativity wasn’t treated as this precious thing. It was just part of daily life. I remember sitting next to my dad as a little kid, making tiny cat and dog figurines from scrap wood while he worked on model airplanes or house projects.
The first thing I ever designed was actually a playground structure in elementary school. My town held a contest while building a new park, and I drew an elephant slide with the trunk as the slide itself. Somehow I won, and they built it. I was devastated when they tore it down years later.
Looking across the projects in the book, the Spanish Colonial house in Los Angeles feels especially important for me because so many disciplines came together simultaneously. That project unfolded over several years, right as I was developing my first major furniture collection. I started thinking about interiors, furniture, and art as part of one continuous conversation. I’d design furniture inspired by the home’s architecture, then develop rooms around those pieces while allowing each element to inform the next. That way of working became foundational to my practice.
The Curiosity Cabinet I created for a group show at Colony last year also holds a lot of personal meaning. My dad built it for me, which made the whole process deeply emotional. He prototypes many of my early furniture ideas, and we’ve developed a shorthand over the years that allows us to work intuitively together. I can walk into the workshop and say, “No, change this slightly,” instead of creating endless technical drawings. There’s something very special about physically making things with your hands and figuring them out in real time. That process still informs how I think today.
I work very intuitively across every discipline. Whether I’m designing furniture, interiors, or art, I usually begin with materiality and color before anything else. Art serves a very different role for me because it allows me to step away from the technical side of interiors. There’s obviously a tremendous amount of technical rigor involved in architecture and millwork, but art becomes a place where I can reset creatively and experiment more freely.
Even with interiors, my process rarely starts from some rigid intellectual framework. People always ask why I selected a certain chair or proportion or palette, and afterward, I can absolutely explain those decisions. I can articulate why one silhouette needed more air around it or why a curved piece balanced something more architectural nearby. But while I’m actually designing, it’s much more instinctive. I’m responding in real time, almost the same way a painter moves across a canvas.
That overlap between disciplines is where the most compelling work happens for me. I love designing furniture simultaneously with a room because they begin informing one another organically. Sometimes a client’s art collection becomes the starting point. Other times it’s a color, a sectional they absolutely want, or some very practical parameter. I genuinely enjoy those constraints. Designing has always felt a bit like solving a puzzle.
I’ve also been fortunate because clients usually come to me for my perspective. I’m completely open to collaboration, but every proposal still has to feel authentic to me. I would never present something I wouldn’t personally stand behind. The strongest projects emerge when there’s trust on both sides.
As the studio has grown, my definition of success has shifted quite a bit. Earlier in my career, success looked more external. Now it’s really about time freedom and protecting the creative heart of the studio. We intentionally keep our team small because I still want to remain deeply involved in every project and product. If I’m doing something, I’m fully invested in it. That balance between creative fulfillment, parenting, travel, products, and interiors is the constant challenge.
Right now, the gallery feels especially exciting. We’re opening it in Grand Rapids, Michigan, alongside our new studio building. After spending fifteen years in Los Angeles, I realized how much I missed stumbling into inspiring places and discovering artists organically. I want the gallery to bring that energy here, both for us and for the community. We’ll feature artists from everywhere, alongside local voices and group exhibitions. It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a very long time.”