The Space Between

Simplicity is often framed as a style. But what if that understanding misses the point entirely?

We tend to name things — to define them, to place them into categories we feel we understand. In design, this often means reducing ideas to “styles”, sometimes even typologies. But in doing so something essential is lost.

Simplicity, minimalism, reduction — these are not aesthetic choices defined by restraint or a particular visual language. They are principles. Principles that exist in opposition to excess, to redundancy, to anything that distracts from what is essential. They do not belong to a material, colour, or form, but to a way of seeing — and perhaps more importantly a way of being.

When something is distilled to its essence, a rare beauty begins to emerge. A kind of truth. One that we do not simply observe, but feel.

Just as important as the object itself is the space around it. The space between things. It is this space that creates rhythm, pause, and tempo.  In music, it is silence that gives meaning to sound; In art, it is the void that allows form to emerge; in architecture, it is the interval between elements that shapes how a place is experienced.

The Japanese refer to this as Ma — the deliberate and meaningful interval in space and time. These intervals are not empty, but active. They shape perception, allowing us to connect more deeply with what is present. There is a similar idea in ancient Irish language — áiteanna tanaí, or “thin space”; a place where the boundary between worlds softens, where something deeper can be sensed, and where reflection and connection become possible. These ideas, though culturally distinct, point to the same understanding: That space is not absence. It is presence of another kind.

Consider a landscape. A vast valley framed by mountains. Is it the mountains that move us — or the space they hold?

These principles are not new. From Muromachi period in Japan to Georgian architecture, Adolf Loos to Shaker furniture, they have long existed.They are not trends, but enduring ways of understanding form, space, and experience.

But this feeling of space is not achieved through removal alone. It requires intention – proportion, harmony, and control. Just as shadow must be considered alongside light, the space between elements must be shaped with care. When this is done well, something shifts. The design no longer demands attention. It supports.

Coco Chanel once advised; “Before you leave the house, look in the mirror and remove one accessory.” This is not an instruction to do less, but a call to refine — to reveal what matters by letting go of what does not.

In a world that is increasingly full — of information, noise, and distraction — space becomes more valuable than ever. Space for reflection, for pause, for thought. Space for self.

Because ultimately, when it comes to architecture and place, we feel much more than we see.