Deborah
Landman

A Brussels townhouse with high ceilings, original parquet floors, and a double-height central space. A large glass extension, added years later, opens the house onto the garden. Light travels through it from morning until evening.

This is the home of a close friend. When we first started working together, I was the one selecting the objects. Over time, her own eye became more confident. Today, she searches, finds and collects with a remarkable sensitivity of her own.

That is what makes this project so meaningful to me.

Every time I return, the house has changed. New pieces have found their place. Others have quietly disappeared. We never start from scratch. We simply continue a conversation that began years ago.

My role is never to impose a style.

I observe what has evolved, I keep what deserves to stay, I remove what no longer belongs, and sometimes I introduce just one new piece. Then I compose, until everything feels naturally balanced again.

For me, assemblage is never about creating a finished interior.

It is about accompanying someone over time, allowing a home to evolve until it becomes an honest reflection of the person who lives there.

A collector. A lifetime of objects gathered with passion, with curiosity. And then a new chapter.

It started with an encounter. His daughter. We met, we connected. It was not my work she noticed first. It was me. One day she said: you have to meet my father.

The human encounter decided everything. Not a portfolio. Not references. A conversation.

An old house in old Jaffa. Five-metre ceilings. Red terracotta floors. Ottoman blue and white tiles. Grey-green shutters filtering the Levantine light. A house that already carried stories.

I selected. I removed. I composed. In the space, with my hands, moving things until it felt right.

The result is a house that resembles this family. Personal. Alive. Collected over a lifetime and recomposed to begin a new one.