Introduction
This is the first property I have ever bought, and with it came a challenge I had never faced before. For the first time, I had to decide not just how a space should function, but how it should be.
The flat was handed over to me entirely white. White walls, white ceilings, white doors, paired with bronze-coloured windows. A clean slate, but also an overwhelming one. Every option was open, and that was precisely the problem.
There were also cultural layers to navigate. Growing up in Italy, I was used to interiors dominated by whites, light hay tones, and natural materials. In the UK, the landscape felt different. Wallpaper appeared everywhere, colour choices were bolder, and stylistic references multiplied quickly. The number of possible directions was enormous.
What became clear early on was that this could not be a decorative exercise. The flat needed to become a natural extension of myself, not a collection of borrowed ideas. To get there, I needed a way to make decisions that was coherent, repeatable, and deeply personal.
That search for structure is what led to everything that follows. Of course, I wouldn’t embark on this journey on my own. I decided to work with Miffy Lisk, a London-based interior designer with decades of experience. She helped me also choosing the right furniture, connected me to local manufacturers and tradesmen, and was a great team member to work with.
Designing a home as a system, why I used the chakra model
When you design a flat room by room, the result is often visually acceptable but conceptually incoherent. Each space may work on its own, yet the home as a whole lacks a unifying logic. Miffy and I wanted to avoid that.
Rather than starting from colours, trends, or individual moods, we looked for a single framework that could guide decisions consistently across the entire flat. One that accounted for movement, function, light, and behaviour over time.
Given that I teach yoga, landing on the chakra system was not unexpected. It is a model I already use to think about bodies, energy, balance, and transition. What interested me was whether it could be translated from the body to space, not symbolically, but structurally.
Why a framework matters more than colours
Colour decisions are deceptively simple. Pick something you like, test it on a wall, adjust. The problem is that preferences shift, rooms interact, and what feels right in isolation can feel wrong in sequence.
We needed a framework that worked across multiple rooms, scaled from private to social spaces, accounted for movement through the flat, and avoided arbitrary or purely aesthetic choices.
The chakra system offered exactly that. Not a palette, but a map of functions.
Each chakra corresponds to a mode of being: grounding, movement, agency, connection, expression, insight, clarity. When translated architecturally, these become behavioural zones rather than literal colours.
The flat as a single organism
Instead of assigning one chakra per room, we treated the flat as a single organism.
The long corridor became the spine, a place of transition and activation. Private rooms needed to calm and stabilise. Social and creative spaces needed openness and flow. Functional spaces needed clarity and release.
This led to a distribution rather than a segmentation:
- lower chakras appear in movement and transition
- middle chakras dominate social and relational spaces
- upper chakras are reserved for focus, clarity, and rest
The aim was coherence, not symbolism.
A deliberate choice, why the sacral chakra does not belong in the bedroom
One of the most counterintuitive decisions was not assigning the sacral, or sex, chakra to the master bedroom.
At first glance, this seems wrong. The sacral chakra governs desire, sensuality, pleasure, creativity. It would appear to belong naturally in a bedroom.
In practice, it rarely works.
Sacral energy is activating. It stimulates, excites, and keeps the nervous system slightly switched on. Over time, rooms designed around it tend to feel charged rather than safe. Sleep becomes lighter. Rest becomes less complete. What initially feels seductive often becomes subtly exhausting.
Bedrooms, especially master bedrooms, work best when they support emotional safety, intimacy without performance, physical rest, and mental quiet.
For that reason, we anchored the bedroom primarily in the heart chakra, with a secondary presence of the crown. Connection without agitation. Intimacy without stimulation. Calm rather than charge.
Sensuality is not removed. It is distributed elsewhere in the flat rather than isolated in the room meant for rest.
Colour as an expression, not a statement
One principle remained constant throughout the process: colour was never meant to perform symbolically or declaratively. The aim was not to make colour the subject of the space, but the medium through which space could support different states of being.
The chakra framework did not translate into literal hues. There is no red room, no orange room, no purple accent wall. Instead, the qualities associated with each chakra are expressed through depth, temperature, saturation, and continuity.
Greens appear as layered, forested tones rather than botanical statements. Pinks are used sparingly and often overhead, acting as warmth carriers rather than focal points. Yellows surface in controlled moments of activation, such as on secondary elements, rather than as dominant fields. Dark tones are placed deliberately on ceilings to contain and focus, not to dramatise.
A limited, nuanced palette proved essential. Colours with complexity and ambiguity were favoured over clean, assertive hues. This allows rooms to shift subtly with light, time of day, and use, rather than locking them into a single mood.
This is also why colour drenching plays an important role. Radiators and secondary elements are absorbed into the same colour field as the walls, reducing visual interruption. The aim is not minimalism, but coherence. Fewer edges, fewer signals, fewer demands on attention.
In this sense, colour becomes atmospheric rather than illustrative. It supports behaviour without announcing intent. The underlying logic remains present, but it operates quietly, through experience rather than recognition.
Colour, here, is not a message. It is a condition.
Distribution rather than decoration
All seven chakras are represented, but none are confined to a single room or expressed dogmatically.
Grounding and energy live in movement spaces. Connection dominates the social heart of the home. Focus and intuition are reserved for work and creation. Clarity and light appear where hygiene and stillness matter.
The result is not a themed interior, but a form of behavioural architecture. The flat supports different modes of being as you move through it, without asking you to think about them.
Translating the framework into colour, the final allocation
After several iterations with Miffy, the abstract chakra framework was translated into a concrete palette. This was the moment where theory had to survive contact with reality.
The aim was not to illustrate chakras through colour, but to express their qualities architecturally, using depth, warmth, light absorption, and continuity across surfaces. In several rooms, ceilings and radiators were deliberately colour-drenched to reinforce immersion rather than contrast.
What follows is the final allocation, with the reasoning behind each choice. Please note that the trade IDs of the colours have been left out to protect Miffy’s intellectual property.
Living room and kitchen, heart chakra as the centre of gravity
- Ceiling: soft forest green
- Walls and radiators: deep ancient green
This space carries the heart chakra most explicitly. As the social and relational core of the flat, it needed to feel connective, expansive, and grounded without becoming passive.
The soft forest green on the walls provides a deep, enveloping green that supports warmth and connection. The deep ancient green on the ceiling lifts the space slightly, keeping it breathable and open, especially important given the combined kitchen and living function.
The decision to drench the radiators in the wall colour reinforces continuity and avoids visual fragmentation. Nothing interrupts the emotional coherence of the space.
Study and music studio, third eye through depth and containment
- Ceiling: dark wine-toned aubergine
- Walls and radiators: muted indigo blue
This room is dedicated to focus, abstraction, and creative work. The third eye chakra was the clear anchor here.
The muted indigo blue on the walls provides a calm, disciplined blue that supports sustained attention. The dark wine-toned aubergine on the ceiling introduces a subtle sense of compression and inward focus, lowering visual noise and enhancing acoustic and psychological containment.
The darker ceiling is intentional. It signals that this is not a social room, but a place for thinking, composing, and working at depth.
Guest bedroom, heart chakra in a hospitable register
- Ceiling: soft muted blush
- Walls and radiators: warm sandy neutral
The guest bedroom needed to feel welcoming, neutral, and emotionally safe, without projecting a strong personal identity.
The warm sandy neutral provides warmth and softness without heaviness. The soft muted blush on the ceiling introduces a gentle intimacy that reads as human rather than decorative. Together, they express the heart chakra in its most hospitable form.
This room is designed to receive, not to assert.
Entrance and hallway, the energetic spine
- Ceiling: muted indigo blue
- Walls: layered chalky stone neutrals (mid and deep)
- Woodwork: warm golden yellow
The corridor functions as the energetic spine of the flat. It is long, windowless, and transitional, making it the ideal place to express the lower chakras without overwhelming lived spaces.
The layered chalky stone neutrals (mid and deep) tones on the walls provide grounding and continuity. The muted indigo blue on the ceiling subtly contains the space, preventing it from feeling exposed or endless. The warm golden yellow on the woodwork introduces a controlled note of activation, corresponding to the solar plexus, without bleeding into adjacent rooms.
This is where movement, momentum, and orientation live. The same colour appears on the hallway ceiling and the studio walls, visible through the studio door when walking down the corridor. This creates a sense of dynamism and reinforces consistency.
Master bedroom, intimacy without stimulation
- Ceiling: muted warm blush
- Walls and radiators: soft blue-grey
- Woodwork: pale misty grey
The master bedroom is anchored in the heart chakra, with a secondary presence of the crown.
The soft blue-grey on the walls creates a soft, atmospheric envelope that feels emotionally safe and slightly withdrawn. The muted warm blush on the ceiling adds warmth and intimacy without tipping into stimulation. The pale misty grey on the woodwork keeps the edges light and calm.
Notably, the sacral chakra is deliberately absent here. This room is designed for rest, connection, and recovery, not activation.
Ensuite, crown through light and warmth
- Ceiling: soft muted blush
- Walls: warm hay-toned yellow
Despite being windowless, the ensuite avoids clinical brightness. The warm hay-toned yellow on the walls brings warmth and vitality, while the soft muted blush on the ceiling softens the space and keeps it human.
This is an expression of the crown chakra as clarity without sterility. Light, but not cold.
Main bathroom, throat chakra with restraint
- Ceiling: dark wine-toned aubergine
- Walls: warm hay-toned yellow
The main bathroom is functional, windowless, and used by guests as well as daily life. It is aligned with the throat chakra, associated with cleansing, release, and flow.
The warm hay-toned yellow on the walls maintains warmth and continuity with the ensuite. The dark wine-toned aubergine on the ceiling adds depth and containment, preventing the room from feeling exposed or purely utilitarian.
Again, radiators are drenched to maintain visual calm.
A note on colour drenching
Throughout the flat, radiators are painted to match wall colours. This is not a stylistic flourish, but a logical extension of the framework.
Interruptions fragment energy. Continuity supports it.
By removing unnecessary contrasts, each room reads as a complete field rather than a collection of parts.
What this approach changed for me
The most tangible change this approach brought was a shift in posture. Instead of reacting to individual design decisions as isolated problems, I began to see each choice as part of a larger system that needed to remain internally consistent.
This altered the relationship with the design process itself. Decisions slowed down, but they also became calmer. There was less second-guessing, fewer reversals, and a noticeable reduction in the kind of aesthetic anxiety that often accompanies renovation projects, especially given that this was my first property. Once a room’s role within the system was clear, many options simply stopped being viable.
Working this way also changed how I collaborated with Miffy. Conversations moved away from taste and preference and towards intent, behaviour, and sequence. Disagreements were easier to resolve because they could be tested against a shared framework rather than personal inclination.
Perhaps most importantly, the process reinforced the idea that a home does not need to express everything at once. Different rooms can carry different intensities, and not every space needs to be expressive, stimulating, or resolved in the same way. Allowing some areas to be quieter made others stronger.
By the time the final colour decisions were made, they no longer felt like creative risks. They felt like outcomes earned through consistency. The flat began to read less as a collection of rooms and more as a continuous experience, one that could support different states without conflict.
This shift, from decorating to designing a system, is what stayed with me beyond the specifics of colour or paint.
Final thought
Using the chakra model did not give me answers. It gave me constraints, and that was precisely the point.
Whenever a decision felt uncertain, I could ask simple but demanding questions. What is this room for? What state should it support? Does this choice activate or calm? Does it belong here, or elsewhere in the system?
That discipline removed a surprising amount of friction from the process. Instead of debating tastes or chasing inspiration, each decision could be tested against function, sequence, and lived experience. The framework acted less like a belief system and more like an internal consistency check.
What ultimately matters is not the individual colours, but the coherence of the whole. The flat does not present itself as themed or symbolic. It does not explain its logic. It simply behaves in a way that feels intentional as you move through it.
Ancient systems endure not because they are mystical, but because they encode observations about human behaviour in a reusable form. Treated seriously and translated carefully, they remain useful even in something as practical as choosing paint.
The goal was never to decorate a flat.
It was to design a system I could live inside.
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