Interior design is often reduced to what we can see: the colour of the walls, the style of the furniture, the artwork, cushions, flooring and latest trends. But there is another part of interior design that we rarely think about, despite experiencing it every day, the space around those things.
You can have beautiful furniture in a beautifully renovated home and still find that something doesn’t quite work. Perhaps everyone walks around the back of the sofa to get to the kitchen. Guests never seem to sit in one particular chair. The hallway feels cramped, the dining area feels disconnected or a large room somehow feels smaller than it really is.
The problem may have very little to do with how the room looks. It may simply be how the space has been organised.
There are a number of theories and traditions concerned with how humans use and experience space. They come from remarkably different places: modern architecture, anthropology, ancient Chinese philosophy, Japanese design and Scandinavian culture. Their explanations differ considerably, yet when applied to interior design, many seem to circle around the same logical conclusions.
We need room to move, enough space to feel comfortable, a logical relationship between the things we use, light and air, places to gather and, perhaps most importantly, permission to leave some space empty.
It Starts With Movement
Architects and interior designers use terms such as scale, proportion, circulation and zoning, but the ideas behind them are fairly straightforward. A room needs to work for the people using it.
Circulation simply means how people move through a space. A lounge room may look fantastic in a photograph, but if you have to weave around the coffee table, step over an ottoman and squeeze behind the sofa every time you walk to the kitchen, something has gone wrong.
Zoning follows much the same logic. We naturally put things near other things that serve a similar purpose. Pots live near the stove, towels near the shower and dining tables generally somewhere near the kitchen. You could put the fridge in the bedroom because there happens to be an empty corner, but just because something physically fits doesn’t mean it belongs there.
This simple relationship between movement, location and human behaviour forms the basis of some much more sophisticated spatial thinking.
One of the most interesting examples is Space Syntax, a collection of architectural theories and analytical methods that began developing in the 1970s. Rather than looking at rooms as isolated boxes, Space Syntax looks at how spaces connect and how those connections can influence movement and interaction.
Consider the family kitchen. If it sits between the back door, dining room and lounge, people may constantly pass through it. Family members stop to talk, somebody sits at the bench and, without anyone officially deciding it, the kitchen becomes the social heart of the home.
Move exactly the same kitchen to an isolated corner and its role can change considerably. The cupboards haven’t changed. The benchtop hasn’t changed. The room may even be exactly the same size. What changed was its relationship to everything else.
That principle becomes particularly useful in interior design because furniture can alter those relationships too. A sofa can divide an open-plan room into zones, but it can also block a natural pathway. Two chairs can create a conversation area simply by facing each other. A dining table can connect the kitchen and lounge or become an obstacle between them.
Good interior design, then, isn’t just concerned with what fits into a room. It considers what happens to the room once people begin moving through it.
Designing the Space Between People
But movement is only part of the story. Once people stop moving and sit down, another kind of space becomes important: the invisible distance we like to maintain around ourselves.
American anthropologist Edward T. Hall explored this through Proxemics, describing four broad distances people tend to use in social situations: intimate space from around 0–0.5 metres, personal space from 0.5–1.2 metres, social space from 1.2–3.6 metres and public space beyond about 3.6 metres.
These measurements aren’t hard rules. Culture, relationships and circumstances all change how much space feels comfortable. But anyone who has stood in an otherwise empty room while a complete stranger stands unnecessarily close understands the basic principle.
In interior design, this means we aren’t only arranging furniture. In a way, we’re arranging people.
Two armchairs placed too far apart make conversation difficult, while chairs pushed too close together can feel awkward. Restaurant tables can technically fit side-by-side but still leave diners feeling as though they’ve accidentally joined the table next door. A large lounge room can feel strangely unsociable if every seat is pushed against a different wall.
This adds another layer to Space Syntax. It isn’t enough to ask whether people can move easily through a room. We also need to consider what happens when they arrive.
How close will they be to each other? Can they comfortably talk? Can someone walk past without invading another person’s space?
Suddenly those gaps between pieces of furniture aren’t empty at all. They’re part of the design.
An Ancient Theory Reaches Some Familiar Conclusions
Long before Space Syntax and Proxemics were given names, other cultures were thinking about the relationship between people and their surroundings.
The ancient Chinese practice of Feng Shui approaches space very differently, traditionally explaining it through concepts including qi and the balance of yin and yang. These shouldn’t be confused with modern architectural science, but some of the practical recommendations associated with Feng Shui are interesting when viewed alongside modern interior design.
A few ideas from Lillian Too’s Little Book of Feng Shui are surprisingly straightforward. Open windows in different rooms regularly to let stale air out and fresh air in, preferably on a pleasant sunny day. A modern designer might talk instead about ventilation, airflow and natural light, but the practical outcome isn’t particularly different.
Fresh flowers are recommended in halls and living areas to introduce vibrant energy, but they shouldn’t be left there once they’ve withered. Whether or not you believe in qi, fresh flowers introduce colour, life and a natural focal point to a room. Dead flowers generally don’t improve the atmosphere under any design theory.
Mirrors are recommended for tight spaces, small halls and foyers because they can create the impression of greater space. Again, interior designers still use the same trick. A mirror can’t make a hallway physically wider, but it can reflect light and extend what the eye perceives.
Indoor plants can soften corners and introduce nature, while another wonderfully practical recommendation is to choose armchairs and sofas with proper back support. Thousands of years of thinking about harmonious surroundings and we arrive at something your grandmother probably could have told you: buy a chair that’s comfortable to sit in.
What becomes interesting isn’t whether Feng Shui and modern spatial theories are saying the same thing, but how often very different ways of thinking about interiors can lead to similar practical choices.
Allow movement. Consider balance. Bring in light and air. Think carefully about placement. Make the people using the space comfortable. And don’t clutter the pathways.
When Empty Space Becomes Part of the Room
That last point leads naturally towards Japanese approaches to interiors, where the absence of objects can be just as important as their presence.
There isn’t one single theory called “Japanese minimalism“, but simplicity, restraint, natural materials and an appreciation of empty space have long appeared throughout Japanese design traditions. One particularly useful concept when thinking about interiors is ma—often understood as the interval, pause or space between things.
This challenges a habit many of us have when decorating. We see an empty wall and think it needs artwork. An empty corner needs a chair. An empty shelf needs an ornament. A gap beside the sofa surely needs another side table.
But what if the empty space is already doing something?
Remove unnecessary furniture and suddenly the pathway described by Space Syntax becomes clearer.
The personal distances considered in Proxemics become easier to maintain. Natural light travels further into the room. A beautiful object has enough space around it to actually be noticed.
Think about an expensive jewellery shop where one watch sits alone inside a large display case. Now imagine exactly the same watch thrown into a bargain bin with 100 others. The watch hasn’t changed. The space around it has.
Empty space can create importance, calm and clarity. It can also make a small home feel substantially less cramped without moving a single wall.
The lesson from Japanese minimalism isn’t necessarily that we should own less for the sake of owning less. From an interior design perspective, it’s more useful to ask whether everything in a room is contributing something.
Instead of asking, What can I put in that empty corner?, perhaps first ask, Does anything actually need to be there?
But A Home Still Has to Feel Like Home
Of course, take the idea of removing things too far and you can end up with a room that is perfectly uncluttered but about as inviting as a doctor’s waiting room.
This is where the Scandinavian idea of hygge provides an interesting counterpoint.
Most strongly associated with Danish culture, hygge isn’t technically an interior design theory. It is a broader idea associated with comfort, warmth, contentment and togetherness. Yet those values translate beautifully into interiors because they bring the focus back to how a room feels to the people living in it.
Comfortable chairs, warm lighting, natural materials, soft textures and places where people genuinely want to gather all contribute to this feeling. Instead of one harsh overhead light, several lamps might create smaller, warmer areas within a room. A reading chair isn’t just placed where it looks balanced; it gets a lamp beside it because somebody actually reads there. A dining table isn’t simply an object filling the centre of a room; it’s arranged to encourage people to sit, eat and linger.
Hygge also brings us neatly back to Proxemics. A cosy conversation area works partly because people are sitting at comfortable distances from one another. It brings us back to Space Syntax because social areas work better when they have a logical relationship with the rest of the home.
And it balances Japanese minimalism beautifully. Japanese minimalism might encourage us to ask, “Does this need to be here?”
Hygge might answer with another question: “Does it make living here better?”
Together, those are surprisingly useful questions when deciding whether to buy another piece of furniture.
Different Theories, One Very Human Conclusion
Space Syntax, Proxemics, Feng Shui, Japanese minimalism and Scandinavian hygge are certainly not interchangeable theories. One grew from architectural research, another from anthropology, one from an ancient Chinese tradition, while the others reflect broader Japanese and Scandinavian approaches to space and living. Yet place them beside one another and a pattern begins to emerge.
Space Syntax reminds us to consider how people move through a home. Proxemics reminds us to leave enough room for people to feel comfortable within it. Feng Shui draws attention to flow, balance, light, air and placement. Japanese minimalism asks us to consider the value of what isn’t there, while hygge reminds us that whatever remains should help make a home comfortable, welcoming and worth spending time in.
That’s why genuinely good interior design can be difficult to notice.
When a room works, you don’t walk in thinking about spatial integration, proxemics or negative space. You simply move easily through it. You sit somewhere comfortable. Conversation feels natural. You can see where you’re going. The room doesn’t feel cluttered, but it doesn’t feel empty either.
It just feels right.
Published September 2026 Chitchat Newspaper.