Between the gothic echoes of Turin and the modernist pulse of Cape Town, Yaniv Chen, founder of Master Studio and designer at Lemon, builds spaces where beauty does not shy away from imperfection. His work deliberately disrupts the ‘too perfect’ — adding the unexpected to create interiors that are not just designed but felt. While developers increasingly hide behind what he calls ‘cop-out minimalism’ where some designers churn out sanitised spaces for profit, Yaniv’s browser tabs evidence his dive into medieval architecture references as he mines 18th-century material archives for authenticity.
With new collections debuting at Salone del Mobile 2025 and the completion of a Cape Winelands estate later in the year, Yaniv continues to redefine design as a deeply emotional experience — one that challenges the commonplace and invites something far more profound. We caught up with him to discuss imperfection, the emotional power of design, and what it means to create sacred spaces.
If your furniture pieces could talk, what would they say about their creator?
My furniture pieces are designed with very little ego. They are created to fill a void in a room rather than to draw attention. They are soft, gentle, and kind. I think that is what they would say about me. However, this is only one side of my personality, and I choose to activate that side when designing furniture.
You design both furniture and interiors. Which medium gives you the most immediate emotional satisfaction, and which rewards you in slower, more subtle ways?
Neither. The satisfaction comes much later. The feeling that runs through you when you know you’ve solved something — created something that isn’t derivative and hasn’t existed before. The moment you create a new world, you transport people into the rare intermingling of the past, present, and future. This feeling is only achieved through time and immense thought, both practically and emotionally.
How do you approach materiality to achieve a sense of familiarity and timelessness?
I always choose local materials that were used from the late 1600s to the late 1800s. This was before we began mass importing what I believe to be unnecessary materials.
What are some unexpected ways you’ve designed for emotion?
I find beauty in darkness. I am inspired by haunted houses, eeriness, and music. A quietness that’s a little too quiet, where it becomes somewhat serene and somewhat unnerving. I like this type of interplay.
How do you approach imperfection in your work?
When discussing imperfection, I refer to the tension between ugly and beautiful — the tension between a revolutionary choice of colour, which can either be a disaster or a triumph. Often, I will look at an interior render for a project and tell my team it’s too pretty, too perfect. I then add something garish, something obscure, or something that completely juxtaposes the design direction. This offsets it and brings it to life. If there is no juxtaposition and imperfection, everything becomes flat.
You have studios in both Cape Town and Turin, two cities with vastly different cultural and architectural DNA. How does working between these two places influence your approach to design, and do you find yourself drawn to the tensions — or the harmonies — between them?
I am currently spending time equally between the two. I am designing a hotel and wine estate in South Africa. I have been designing them from Turin, which has allowed me to capture African design through a European lens. I’ve been able to work with historical European detailing and translate it into an African, place-specific context. Europe, and Turin specifically, has brought me back to the beauty and intricacy of ornamentation, whether it’s cornicing, joinery detailing, or fabrics. I believe this is lacking in contemporary design globally, but especially in Cape Town. Developers are using ‘minimalism’ as a cop-out to save money; designers and architects are using it as a means of working faster, making more money, and doing more projects. I’ve vacillated a bit, but it always comes back to Turin and its historical architecture, bringing me a new approach to design.
Are there any architectural influences you’re exploring currently, and can you tell us a bit about these?
They vary from day to day; however, Gothic and medieval architecture are currently open in many tabs.
Lemon’s process involves ‘delving into archives.’ Which obscure influence has most profoundly shaped a recent design?
Esoteric symbols and places have been some of the most abstract inspirations I’ve worked with.
Do you think nostalgia plays an active role in how people experience modern interiors and furniture?
I don’t. I feel this needs to change.
What does the term ‘sacred’ mean in the context of your interior design work, and how do you ensure a space feels sacred without being precious?
A sacred space is one designed specifically for the client. The focus shifts to them. It’s a space where my ego takes a back seat, and I become an extension of the client’s needs. The word ‘sacred’ goes beyond design. ‘Designed’ spaces feel precious. Sacred spaces create an emotional link between the place and the people that inhabit them.
