From Cement Dust to Sacred Spaces:

I was born into architecture. My earliest memories are drenched in the scent of lime and cement, clinging to my father’s clothes as he took me through construction sites in Buenos Aires. He was a builder in the truest sense—designing and constructing with his own hands, shaping apartments one brick at a time with a small team. That intimacy with materials and process was my first education, long before I stepped into a university.

I began my career captivated by form and spectacle. Residential luxury homes, hotels, and restaurants gave me a palette to explore grand aesthetics and visual precision. But somewhere along the line, my work—and my life—took a turn. Exposure to drawing, poetry, and spiritual practices like meditation and ayahuasca introduced a new language, one not of surfaces but of sensations. Architecture began to feel less like a profession and more like a question: how do we inhabit space meaningfully?

Buenos Aires, with its layered identity of European heritage and Latin American roots, became my reference point. The city embodies contrast and coexistence, sophistication and earthiness. That duality started to reflect in my design. I wanted to understand not only how buildings stood, but how they held life, how they could embrace silence, rhythm, ritual.

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The Unseen Power of Telling Your Story

I’ve spent years listening to people, but it wasn’t until recently that I truly understood the transformational power of storytelling. Sitting down with Mona Saade revealed not just the art of preserving memories, but the deeper, personal shifts that unfold when someone begins to speak their truth. Mona doesn’t just write books—she captures lives. Through her work at “Writing Your Life,” she partners with individuals, families, and business founders to shape narratives that are as healing as they are lasting.

Her process is more than factual recounting. It’s about uncovering values, identity, and the heartbeat behind achievements. One story that stayed with me was of a man with dementia. Mona helped him tell his story while he could still remember it, crafting a legacy for his sons and grandchildren. Another was a young mother with terminal cancer, determined to leave something for her children before she lost her ability to speak. In both cases, the result wasn’t just a book—it was a lifeline for those left behind.

Mona’s work is deeply personal and entirely collaborative. Every story is unique and demands a bespoke approach. Family business projects might span years; individual stories may unfold over many months. But in each case, what starts as a conversation grows into something far more powerful. Clients often undergo emotional transformation—feeling seen, lighter, even healed—simply because someone listened deeply.

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From Scottish Textiles to Sydney Interiors: A Designer’s Story

I grew up in rural Perthshire, surrounded by rolling hills, long winters, and a creative spirit inherited from my grandparents. Those endless dark afternoons in Scotland encouraged imagination, which led me to pursue a degree in clothing design and manufacture at the Scottish College of Textiles. I was determined, even as a teenager, to build a career in fashion, and my education gave me incredible skills—everything from bespoke tailoring to painting my own fabric when I couldn’t find what I needed.

Life, of course, had other plans. I met my partner during my studies, and my dream of running off to Paris was replaced by a different kind of ambition—starting something of my own. After a stint working in fashion production, counting buttons in a broom cupboard for a Marks & Spencer supplier, I realized I craved more creativity. That was the beginning of Primrose Hill Interiors.

What started as handmade cushions and throws sold in galleries grew into a full-scale business. Over 15 years, I expanded across the UK through platforms like Not on the High Street and featured in magazines thanks to events like the Country Living Fair. One of my first stockists, a boutique interior design studio, unexpectedly asked me to run their business. I did—managing projects, clients, and curtains. That experience anchored my love for interiors.

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Red lacquer and brushstrokes:

Japan left a vivid imprint on me as a child. We moved there in 1955 when I was young—my father stationed near Hiroshima with the Australian troops. It wasn’t until much later, when a journalist asked me to reflect, that I realized how much those early years had influenced me. I looked around and saw the red lacquer, red nail polish, red keys—it had all been there for decades. Japan had quietly shaped my aesthetic without me knowing.

Growing up in Geelong, I had dreams of studying interior design, but I was turned away because I hadn’t done maths. They offered me a secretarial course instead. I took it, hated it, but to this day I can type very fast. I worked in a gallery, then someone said, “Bobby, why don’t you open a shop?” That’s how Bobby May began in 1967. I was twenty, selling Swedish glassware and Copco cookware. People predicted I’d close within months. Instead, I ran with it until it was time to move to Melbourne in 1971.

There, I found a role with Trade Action, part of Handicraft Asia. I didn’t have Myer training, but I had my own business experience, and that counted. A few months in, I was off to Russia. I had always been fascinated by Russian history. When I arrived in Moscow and opened the window to see the Kremlin and Red Square, I was awestruck. That trip was transformative, not frightening, just deeply absorbing. We took trains, shared rooms, wandered Leningrad. It made returning to Melbourne feel like coming back with new eyes.

I was lucky to work under Bob Webb, who encouraged ideas. One day, I pitched opening a special store. He said, “Where?” I said, “High Street, Armadale.” That became Myriad. We added cafés, fashion jewellery, and even plants to our stores in the ‘70s—long before it became standard retail practice.

John came into the picture in 1972. We had a few dates, I went to Greece, and he followed me. We ended up staying in Europe for over eight years. When we returned, I joined David Jones while John took on renovation and decorating work. Together, we launched Herman and Herman in 1990 in Richmond. It started as a wholesaler to the design industry. When customers began knocking on the windows, we let them in. Retail found us.

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How I Found My True Calling in Australia

I was born and raised in Brazil, where my love for communication led me to study journalism and later pursue an MBA in marketing. My early career saw me writing for newspapers, reporting on radio, and appearing on TV, primarily covering political news in Brazil’s capital. I later transitioned into corporate strategy roles, blending my media and marketing skills in a dynamic business environment.

Nearly two decades ago, I made the life-altering decision to move to Australia to learn English, driven by dreams of working in international journalism. I was drawn by the country’s familiar warmth, lifestyle, and, unexpectedly, by love. It wasn’t easy at first. Arriving with limited English, I faced the frustrations of feeling trapped by language barriers despite having so much to offer professionally. To truly integrate, I distanced myself from the Brazilian community, determined to immerse myself fully in Australian culture.

Over time, my path took an unexpected turn. I pursued a qualification in interior design, fusing my creative instincts, marketing knowledge, and business acumen into a new career. Today, I run a successful interior design business while balancing the roles of wife, mother to two boys, and active community member.

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Title: Building a Timeless Business from Natural Fibers

David built his career on a simple yet powerful idea: offering timeless, sustainable flooring that feels at home anywhere. It all started in England, working as a carpet layer, where he found himself drawn to a unique woven coconut fiber carpet. It was challenging to install and entirely different from the traditional Axminster or Wilton carpets that dominated the market, but something about it captured his imagination.

Thirty years later David is sharing his successful story.

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Timeless Craft and Character in the World of Vintage Design

Brendan's love for vintage furniture began with a sense of familiarity—memories of the pieces his parents had during his childhood. As he got older, those designs reappeared in the world around him, awakening an appreciation not just for their form, but for the stories they carried. That initial curiosity evolved into a passion, and today he has found himself immersed in the mid-century design era, celebrating its lasting impact on the way we live and interact with our spaces.

People often ask what makes a piece of vintage furniture captivating instead of outdated. The answer lies in the details and the era it hails from. Some think of the 1950s to 1970s when they hear “mid-century,” while others stretch the vintage label into the ‘90s. Regardless of the decade, there’s an enduring quality in all these pieces.

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Building a Life from Wood, Family, and Vision

In Marks words.

"From the moment I could hold a hammer, the path was set. I was raised in a world of artisans, with a tailor for a father, an artist for a mother, and a family where creativity wasn’t optional—it was how we survived. My grandfather’s handmade tools, carried with him when he migrated to Australia, are still with me. Those tools didn’t just build furniture—they built character. If we didn’t have something, we made it. That was the rule.

I was lucky to learn from master tradespeople who saw me not just as a pair of hands, but as someone worth investing in. Their philosophy became mine: give your best to others, and they’ll carry it forward. That principle shaped Freestyle Joinery, though it took me 15 years and Kelly’s unwavering belief in me to believe I could make it real. Leaving a steady job was terrifying. But staying still, afraid of failure, would’ve been worse"

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