Aesthete Cognizance

“Too much” is rarely a neutral phrase. It is usually a correction, a warning, or a signal to stop. In the context of interiors, it often implies a failure of restraint or taste. Yet psychologically, the feeling of “enough” is not measured by quantity, but by satisfaction. What looks excessive from the outside may feel precisely right from within. This gap between external judgment and internal comfort is where many homes lose their authenticity. People reduce, edit, and remove not because something feels wrong to them, but because it might appear wrong to others. In doing so, they often remove the very elements that made the space feel complete. The Psychology of Sufficiency vs. Restraint Restraint is often framed as maturity. Sufficiency, however, is about meeting needs. Psychologically, these are not the same. A restrained space may look calm, but it does not automatically feel regulating. If it lacks the objects that support emotional grounding, books, layers, and familiar textures,...

Walls are often treated as boundaries rather than participants. In many modern interiors, they are left bare, painted neutral, and asked to disappear. This absence is frequently framed as calm or sophistication, yet it can leave a space feeling exposed. When walls hold nothing, rooms can feel unfinished, as though they are waiting rather than welcoming. Objects on walls change this dynamic. Art, photographs, shelves, and collected pieces transform walls from passive surfaces into active companions. They create a sense of enclosure that goes beyond structure. A space begins to feel held, not because it is smaller, but because it is visually and emotionally supported. This feeling of being held is subtle but powerful. It speaks to comfort, safety, and belonging. When walls participate in the life of a room, they stop being edges and start becoming part of the experience. Why Empty Walls Can Feel Unsettling Empty walls are often praised for their restraint. However, restraint does not alw...

Balekane Legoabe (born 1995) is a prominent South African visual artist whose multidisciplinary practice spans digital and traditional media, including digital collage, print, painting, ink drawing, and mixed media. She is also an illustrator, motion designer, curator, and arts educator based in Johannesburg, South Africa, whose work engages deeply with emotional experience, identity, and the natural world. Legoabe earned a Bachelor of Arts in Visual Communication with a specialisation in illustration and a Bachelor of Arts in Film Arts specialising in motion and stop‑motion design from the Open Window Institute between 2014 and 2018. Her academic grounding in both visual communication and film arts informs her fluid use of layered imagery and narrative structures in her work.  Legoabe’s artistic formation began at The National School of the Arts, where she matriculated in 2013, specialising in visual arts, laying the groundwork for her later explorations in both digital and tactil...

Maximalism is often misunderstood as excess for its own sake. The term brings to mind overwhelming colour, crowded rooms, and visual noise that leaves no place for the eye to rest. Yet curated maximalism operates on an entirely different principle. It is not about having more, but about  choosing with care  and allowing abundance to exist with intention. In curated maximalism, fullness is not chaotic. Objects are layered thoughtfully, not randomly. The result is a space that feels rich rather than restless, expressive rather than exhausting. When done well, abundance becomes grounding, offering stability, comfort, and a strong sense of identity. This approach challenges the long-standing belief that calm comes from reduction. Instead, it proposes that calm can also come from familiarity, density, and meaning. A curated maximalist home does not ask occupants to strip themselves down, but to settle in. Moving Beyond the Fear of “Too Much” Design culture has conditioned many peop...

A perfect home is easy to recognise. The surfaces are transparent, the colours are coordinated, and nothing appears out of place. Every object seems chosen, yet nothing feels personal. While these spaces photograph beautifully, many people report an unexpected emotional response when living in them: a quiet sense of emptiness that is difficult to explain. This feeling does not come from a lack of comfort or quality. Often, these homes are well designed, expensive, and carefully planned. The emptiness arises from something more subtle. When a space prioritises visual perfection over lived experience, it can lose the warmth that makes a home feel alive. The idea of perfection in interiors has been shaped by media, trends, and aspirational imagery. Over time, this has created a narrow definition of what a “good” home looks like. Yet when homes are designed to meet external standards rather than internal needs, they risk becoming emotionally hollow. The Illusion of Order Order is often equ...

For years, interior design has told us that clarity comes from absence. Clean surfaces, empty shelves, and neutral rooms have been framed as markers of success, discipline, and good taste. Yet many people quietly feel uneasy in these spaces, as if something essential has been removed along with the excess. Intentional clutter offers a counterpoint to this idea, suggesting that meaning often lives in accumulation rather than restraint. Intentional clutter is not disorder or neglect. It is the careful presence of objects that carry memory, function, and emotion. These items are not displayed to impress an audience but to support a life being lived. When clutter is intentional, it becomes a form of storytelling, allowing a home to reflect the inner world of its occupant rather than a design trend. This approach to interiors invites us to reconsider what beauty really means. Instead of perfection, it values familiarity. Instead of visual silence, it embraces conversation. In an intentional...