There’s a unique joy in transforming four bare walls into a home — a place that tells a story, reflects your journey, and becomes a living, breathing space. For interior designer Liam Mooney, this process isn’t just about filling a room with furniture — it’s a deeply personal evolution, a continuous journey of transformation that mirrors his own life. Having moved seven times in the past decade, Liam’s ex- perience is anything but traditional. Yet, amid the endless packing and unpacking, one thing remains clear: this life in motion has only deepened his understanding of what it means to truly make a house a home.
“A house might be perfect, but homes are not (at least not in the traditional sense). So stop trying”
For me, there is no greater joy than the happiness brought by designing and creating a home. Moving seven times over the last decade proved this to be true. Even I gasp when confronted with that number, and it forces me to question my motives for enduring the hell that is packing and unpacking. As an interior designer, I am often asked: What makes a home? Sure, there are the platitudes about home being where the heart is, or where your family is, but I think the answer is more nuanced.
Embracing incompleteness
A house might be perfect, but homes are not — at least, not in the traditional sense. So, stop trying to make them like that. As children, my sister and I would hide behind the curtains and scrawl masterpieces on the crisp white walls. These little marks, evidence of a life well-lived, transform interiors into spaces that hold our stories. Homes are never finished — and that’s the point. Well- loved homes are in a constant state of flux, just like we all are.
My constant re-evaluation of what home means has taught me so much about living practically and authentically. It was in a loft in Cape Town’s CBD that I began seriously collecting art and design. It was through the arrangement of rooms that led into one another that I started experimenting with furniture to create living zones. These areas weren’t defined by walls, but by groupings of furniture. My ‘bedroom’ and ‘kitchen’ often floated from one part of the loft to another, and I was able to experience entirely new ways of living whenever I wanted.
The history and heart
Books, plants, and art are the quickest and surest ways to transform a room full of furniture into a space people actually want to live in. As John Waters wisely put it: ‘If you go home with someone and they don’t have books, don’t F*@! Them.’ Rooms for real people also need a few items that once belonged to now-dead people. A house filled with only brand-new things feels a little creepy. Also, vintage shopping is one of life’s greatest and greenest joys. So, dive right in.
Lastly, and most importantly, homes are shared — with dogs, children, boyfriends, parents, and much-loved neighbours who have a spare key.
Designer’s paradox
It’s risky for an interior designer to believe that homes should be designed by the people who will live in them, not by some fancy stranger with a tape measure.
“Rooms for real people also need a few items that once belonged to now-dead people. A house filled with only brand-new things feels a little creepy.”
However, I am opposed to design relationships where the client disappears, only to appear on handover day. Planning a home, as much as it can be planned, is a collaborative process. As interior designers, we are tasked with painting portraits of the people we serve — creating nuanced, idiosyncratic, and deeply personal spaces that are practical and beautiful but, more importantly, help people feel seen and show the world who they are.
My foray into country living has blessed me with a unique experience. The barn I now live and work in is nearly a hundred years old, and it perfectly marries a pastoral vision with modern upgrades. Newly redesigned by Macio Miszewski of VDMMA, it features a large, clean-lined hearth at the centre of a completely open-plan space. This hearth is the focal point around which the interior and all activities in the barn revolve. Gathering around a fire in a large, enveloping niche has become an experience of home that I’m not sure I could live without.
