Interviews mit Serpil Senyuz Kut

My journey into design started early, growing up in a family where I watched my father, a civil engineer, approach space not just technically but with a quiet poetry. I was always drawn to the emotional side of living spaces — how they influence our mood, habits, and memories. Interior architecture became my language to express that. It’s not something I chose later in life — it’s something I grew into naturally.

Serpil Şenyüz Interiors is an Istanbul-based design studio that works across a variety of project types — from private residences to boutique hotels, workspaces, cafés, and restaurants. Our focus is always on creating spaces that are both deeply personal and functionally attuned to daily life. We value material honesty, spatial clarity, and narratives that reflect the character of each client or brand.

Design, for me, is the art of shaping experiences. It’s not just how a space looks, but how it feels — how it carries you through your day, supports your rituals, and gives you comfort or inspiration when needed. A well-designed space has presence without shouting. It’s thoughtful, purposeful, and emotionally intuitive.

I enjoy working across a wide range of spaces — homes, hotels, cafés, offices — each brings a different set of challenges and inspirations. They allow me to stretch my design language into new contexts and combine beauty with function in different ways. That said, I have a special connection to family homes. As someone who values family life deeply, designing living spaces that support and reflect that dynamic always feels personally meaningful.

It’s hard to choose a single favorite, as every project teaches me something new. But Beykoz Mansion holds a special place. It represents a moment where all the things I care about — nature, structure, family dynamics, and material richness — came together harmoniously. It’s a home that feels both grounded and elevated, personal yet timeless. But I truly believe that my favorite project is always the one I’m about to begin.

After founding my own studio, one of the first projects I took on was a private residence. It was a turning point — not just professionally, but personally — because it allowed me to fully apply my own design philosophy, from layout to finish. It taught me how powerful space can be when there is trust and creative freedom.

I always return to natural materials — especially wood, marble, and raw-textured surfaces. They have an honesty and timelessness that speaks to me. I love how they evolve over time, gaining character. I also embrace lighting technologies that help define mood and rhythm in a space without overwhelming its essence.

I feel most creative when I travel. Experiencing different cultures, materials, colors, and ways of living always refreshes my perspective. Whether I’m walking through a narrow street in a Mediterranean village or spending time in a quiet Scandinavian home, those contrasts and atmospheres fuel my imagination and help me think beyond the familiar.

Flow and feeling. I care deeply about how spaces transition, how light travels, and how people emotionally respond to materials and volumes. For me, a successful design is one that you don’t just see — you feel it as you inhabit it.

It’s a blend of curiosity and care — like solving a puzzle while also telling a story. There’s also a quiet intensity to it, because you’re creating something that will shape how others feel, every day, often without them realizing it.

It’s a mix of quiet pride and gratitude. Whether it’s a family moving into their new home or guests arriving at a boutique hotel, seeing people interact with the spaces we imagined is incredibly fulfilling. I don’t just design residences — I also work on hotels, workspaces, and hospitality interiors — and in all cases, watching life unfold within the spaces we shape is a deeply meaningful reward.

A design is successful when it serves the life it’s meant to hold — when it makes people feel understood without them needing to explain themselves. It should be beautiful, yes, but more importantly, it should work, age gracefully, and carry meaning over time.

I always start with how the space feels — not just how it looks. Is it coherent? Does it serve its purpose without forcing itself? A good design has flow, intention, and emotional depth. It’s not about trends, but about timeless balance between function and atmosphere.

Designers shape not only spaces, but behaviors. We carry the responsibility to design in ways that respect the environment, use resources wisely, and improve quality of life. Every choice — material, layout, lighting — leaves a footprint. Awareness is non-negotiable.

I see the future of design leaning toward emotional functionality — spaces that respond to human needs with subtle intelligence. There’s also a growing return to local craftsmanship and slower living. Technology will remain important, but quieter, more integrated.

I haven’t held a solo exhibition yet, but I’m open to the idea if the focus is on spatial storytelling rather than just visual output. I’d love to explore an exhibition format that invites people into the sensory and emotional layers of interior architecture.

My inspiration comes from lived experiences — from quiet moments at home to vibrant city walks, from nature’s imperfections to handmade objects. Travel plays a huge role too. Observing different lifestyles and cultural rhythms always renews my creative lens.

My style combines architectural clarity with emotional warmth, where natural materials and layered textures meet refined details. I’m drawn to a quiet kind of luxury — one that whispers through craftsmanship, not loud statements. Art also plays a key role in my spaces; I see it not as decoration, but as an active part of the architecture. My approach is human-centered, intuitive, and grounded in timeless elegance.

I’m based in Istanbul, a city where history, chaos, beauty, and contradiction live side by side — and I carry that layered energy in everything I design. Every street here offers inspiration: from Ottoman courtyards to modern apartments with a view of the Bosphorus. I grew up surrounded by deep-rooted craft traditions and a culture that values hospitality, both of which shaped how I think about space — not just as architecture, but as experience.

We also spend parts of the year in Madrid, which brings a different rhythm: calm, sun-soaked simplicity, and spatial clarity. I’m grateful to live between two cities so rich in culture yet so distinct. This contrast — between expressive complexity and minimalist stillness — keeps my perspective fresh. The biggest challenge? Managing time zones and projects across two places. But the reward is enormous: constant inspiration and the ability to think beyond borders.

I work closely and collaboratively with companies, starting by listening deeply to their needs. I see each brand or client as a narrative, and my job is to translate that story into space. From moodboards to execution, the process is transparent, structured, but always open to intuition and refinement.

Look for alignment beyond the portfolio — how a designer thinks, listens, and adapts is as crucial as what they’ve done. A good designer will ask the right questions, not just show you options. Trust, mutual respect, and clear communication are the foundations of a meaningful collaboration.

It always starts with listening — to the people, the space, and what’s unsaid. Then comes research, concept development, and spatial flow. I care deeply about materials and light early on. I design both emotionally and structurally, layering mood, function, and form with precision and feeling.

My son’s room — full of light and softness. My personal study — where I retreat and reflect. A sculpture I found on a trip to Italy. A painting by a close artist friend. And the warm-toned kitchen table — it’s where stories, meals, and life come together daily.

My mornings start with my son — they’re slow, playful, grounding. Then I do a bit of movement or stretching. The workday begins with meetings or studio reviews. I eat my first meal in the afternoon, then design or review in quiet focus. Evenings are for family dinners and exploring our favorite restaurants or new places in the city.

Don’t rush to define a style — take time to observe life first. Study how people move, pause, and connect in spaces. Learn to listen before you sketch. And never stop learning: travel, read, feel. Design is not only what you do, but how deeply you observe and respond.

The greatest gift is shaping how people live, often without them realizing it. But that same depth can be emotionally demanding — you’re constantly giving a part of yourself. The boundary between personal and professional blurs. Still, it’s deeply fulfilling if you love it.

Never design to impress — design to express. A space should not seek applause, it should seek harmony. If it serves its purpose beautifully, quietly, and honestly, it’s doing its job.

Empathy above all. You must feel what others may not say. Then come spatial intuition, a strong sense of proportion, material knowledge, and the ability to translate abstract feelings into physical form.

Sketchbooks, trace paper, a camera. I use software like AutoCAD, SketchUp, and Adobe tools. But equally important are the books I revisit often — on architecture, art, and human behavior. My true toolbox is a mix of intuition, observation, and material sensitivity.

I embrace slowness when needed — some ideas need to ripen. But I also work with clear structures, weekly calendars, and non-negotiable creative slots. Mornings are for meetings; afternoons for deep focus. I protect my energy by saying no when something doesn’t align.

It depends on the complexity and nature of the project. Some concepts reveal themselves quickly, while others unfold over time. From concept to completed design — including layout, detailing, material decisions, and styling — a project can take 6 to 12 months. This timeline refers to the design process, not construction, which is managed separately and varies depending on the site and scope.

People often ask, “How do you do this? How do you envision everything from scratch?” The truth is, it’s a layered process. I observe, I listen, I sketch, I research. There’s no one formula — it’s part intuition, part discipline, and a lot of experience over time.

Each project brings its own turning point, but establishing Serpil Şenyüz Interiors and leading my own studio has been the most defining experience. It gave me the freedom to fully express my design philosophy and take full responsibility for the outcome.

My clients include families, hospitality brands, boutique hotels, cafés, and retail stores. I’ve designed intimate homes as well as public-facing spaces where brand identity meets atmosphere. They all share one thing: a desire for spaces that are thoughtful, lived-in, and emotionally intelligent.

I love working across typologies — homes, hotels, restaurants, and retail — each brings its own narrative. But I’m especially drawn to residential and boutique hospitality projects. I also enjoy designing luxury department stores as curated spatial experiences, almost like galleries. They’re where storytelling, materiality, and movement come together beautifully.

Being based in Istanbul — a city that quite literally bridges two continents — has shaped how I see the world. Living between Europe and Asia, and spending time in both Madrid and Istanbul, I’ve grown into someone who intuitively thinks across cultures. My design perspective naturally blends East and West, tradition and innovation, intimacy and openness.

Today, I’m grateful to be working on projects in Europe, the United States, the UK, and even in more unexpected places like the Caribbean island of St. Martin. Designing across continents and countries — from the cultural layers of the Middle East to the tactile elegance of Europe, and the spatial freedom of the Americas — has allowed me to expand not only my portfolio, but also my understanding of how people live and connect with space.

Going forward, I want to continue this journey — to design with a global mindset while remaining rooted in a personal, human-centered approach. For me, the future is not about scaling up, but about going deeper across geographies, creating meaningful, emotional spaces wherever they may be.

I always lead my projects personally, especially when it comes to the initial design vision. I believe the core concept must carry the designer’s unique fingerprint. That said, I work with a dedicated and talented team — design at this scale is never a solo act. We collaborate closely, but every project is shaped under my creative direction.

We’re currently working on a stunning tasting and gathering space for a luxury hotel in Bodrum. It’s a generous, atmospheric room designed for long conversations, quiet rituals, and sensory exploration — where design elevates experience without overshadowing it. I’m also working on a home in London, and two residential projects in Istanbul. Each project allows me to navigate different textures of life, culture, and spatial behavior — which is what makes this profession endlessly rewarding.

Instagram has become both a living portfolio and a direct communication channel for us: @serpilsenyuzinteriors. For project inquiries and professional contact, our website is always open: www.serpilsenyuz.com.

Only to say that design is not just what we build — it’s how we listen, how we care, and how we shape everyday life. I believe in spaces that leave a quiet impact and age gracefully with the people who inhabit them. Thank you for creating space for thoughtful conversations around design, not just design itself.

What began as a structural challenge due to the site’s level differences became the heart of the design. The dramatic double-height ceiling we created not only allowed natural light to flood the living area but also established a strong visual connection between floors. This openness brought a sense of calm and spaciousness, while subtly encouraging interaction between family members across different parts of the home. It’s a space that breathes — both visually and emotionally.

Art was never an afterthought in this home — it was an integral part of the design from the beginning. Some pieces were part of the family’s existing collection, while others were carefully selected specifically for this space, with its volumes, light, and sightlines in mind. The double-height living area was designed as both a living space and a quiet gallery, where each artwork could breathe and hold presence without overwhelming the warmth of the home. Material choices, wall surfaces, and even lighting angles were all considered to ensure that the art felt seamlessly woven into the architecture, rather than simply placed within it.

Balancing a strong stylistic identity like modern Art Deco with the real-life needs of a family of five required a careful orchestration of structure, rhythm, and flexibility. Relocating the staircases wasn’t just a technical decision — it was a way to reshape the home’s circulation, creating more fluid connections between living, sleeping, and play areas. While we embraced Art Deco’s rich language of materials, forms, and geometry, every design choice was filtered through the lens of daily life: Where do the children drop their school bags? How can a parent cook while still keeping an eye on the youngest? Where can the family come together, and where can each person retreat? The result is a home where elegance doesn’t compete with functionality — they coexist, quietly reinforcing one another.

For me, a home should support both connection and solitude. In Beykoz, we created flowing transitions between communal and private spaces — open enough to encourage togetherness, yet articulated enough to allow retreat. The gallery void, for instance, invites interaction across floors, while tucked-away corners and layered thresholds offer moments of quiet. This balance helps the family feel both close and comfortably independent.

Designing the connection between the home and its lush garden was never an afterthought — it was central to our concept from the start. The family loves to entertain and spend time outdoors, so we designed the landscape as an extension of daily life, not just a visual backdrop. The fire pit became a social anchor, allowing the garden to be used almost year-round. We carefully preserved the existing trees and natural textures, allowing the architecture to settle into the landscape with a soft, almost seamless transition. Materials, sightlines, and thresholds were all chosen to blur the boundaries between inside and out — to create a resort-like flow where nature isn’t something you look at, but something you live within.

In my work, I’ve always been drawn to the idea of hidden transitions — quiet thresholds that allow you to move from one atmosphere to another without disrupting the flow of the space. The secret door in the master suite reflects a personal design language I often revisit. I love creating layers within a home — places that are slightly concealed, yet natural, almost as if the architecture is keeping a quiet secret. In Beykoz, this door leads to a small bar and kitchenette overlooking the gallery, offering a shift in mood without breaking the harmony. It’s about discovery, about letting the architecture gently surprise you, while still feeling completely at home.

Transforming the attic into a children’s play area was both a technical and emotional endeavor. Structurally, we had to open up the roof slopes carefully to invite more natural light while maintaining insulation and structural integrity. But beyond the technicalities, the goal was to create a space that felt like a world of its own — a little hideaway filled with imagination. We used gentle transitions, built-in storage, and thoughtful zoning to ensure safety and usability. The sloped ceilings, often seen as a constraint, became an opportunity to shape cozy corners and reading nooks. This approach reflects my belief that functional spaces can still hold magic — especially for children.

The construction phase of Beykoz Mansions was intense but incredibly rewarding. We began by stripping the existing structure to its bare bones — demolishing walls, relocating staircases, and reinforcing the building to support new spatial dynamics like the double-height void. One of the most critical phases was coordinating structural changes with interior design decisions in real time, ensuring nothing felt like an afterthought. To maintain momentum, I worked closely with engineers, craftsmen, and the client, conducting weekly on-site meetings to resolve issues quickly and keep the energy focused. The pace was fast, but clear vision and strong communication allowed us to deliver something deeply personal within a highly disciplined process.

Natural materials have always been central to my design philosophy — they age gracefully, carry texture and depth, and invite a sense of calm. In Beykoz, I wanted the materials to feel grounded yet elegant, forming a timeless canvas for a family whose life is vibrant and ever-evolving. I worked with stone, wood, and handcrafted finishes to create a tactile, honest foundation. And yes, deep burgundy — a color I’ve come to see as part of my own signature — found its place again here. It brings a sense of richness and quiet drama without overpowering the space. The palette was about balance: warm, enduring materials that hold up to daily life, while elevating it through thoughtful color and texture.

Winning the Silver A’ Design Award was a meaningful recognition — not only of aesthetics, but of how thoughtful spatial planning can reshape the experience of luxury living. I believe Beykoz challenges the idea that sophistication and family life must exist in tension. Instead, it shows that luxury can be warm, layered, and deeply personal. I hope this project encourages future designers to prioritize how spaces feel and function in real life, not just how they photograph. The most luxurious homes, to me, are those that allow you to live fully — to gather, retreat, create, and rest — without ever compromising beauty or intention.