Creative Conversations #7: Milestudio

On a cold morning by the sea, Milena sits at a worn green table, turning the pages of an interior book.
Outside the tall windows, snow settles between the pines. Inside, stone samples, wood veneers and fabric swatches are spread across the surface in front of her. She moves them slowly, testing weight and texture with her hands.
Milena is an interior designer who works from instinct as much as from plan. Her process begins quietly. With light. With material. With patience.
Dressed in a soft linen shirt, she speaks about space not as something to fill, but something to reveal. “Creativity begins with pause,” she says. “With breathing in and out.”

We begin there.

On Process & Perception

Where does creativity begin for you? 
Living slowly by the seaside, I’ve come to understand that creativity is not constant movement. It is knowing how to pause. To breathe in and breathe out. To observe people and their stories.
For me, creativity is rooted in the process. When the process feels honest and fully experienced, the result becomes something close to my heart.
Every project begins with a spatial plan. A good plan is already a strong foundation. Alongside it, I develop the concept, the idea that becomes the driving force behind the project. I build material collages, create 3D visuals and prepare technical drawings. From the first sketch to author supervision, I stay present throughout the journey.

When you step into a space for the first time, what draws your attention?
The light. The way it moves. The shadows it creates. The depth it gives to surfaces.
Light shapes the entire atmosphere of a space. It can soften, dramatize, or completely transform it. Before anything else, I observe how the space breathes.

How do you sense that a space is complete?
I follow a simple principle. If I remove an object and nothing changes, then it was not needed. I like to leave space. A little emptiness. It allows something unexpected to enter later. A new object, a memory, a discovery.
A home should have room to evolve.

On Contrast & Material

Is there a design principle you consciously challenge?
I like combining elements that might seem incompatible.
Something very soft next to something more brutal. A delicate textile beside raw concrete. I am drawn to imperfection, to materials that are not overly polished.
Real materials matter to me. Stone, wood, metal, linen. They age. They change. They carry texture and honesty. There is a certain magic in that.

Your work balances softness with raw materials. What draws you to that contrast? 
I think contrast creates tension, and tension creates life.
If everything is soft, it becomes flat. If everything is hard, it becomes cold. When those two meet, the space feels more human. Softness invites you in. Rawness keeps it grounded.

Which material feels the most personal to you?
Leather and linen.
Leather feels strong, durable, slightly bold. It carries presence. But linen is the most intimate. It exists in the closest spaces around us. Curtains that create privacy. Bedding where rest and vulnerability meet. Linen feels honest. It breathes. It softens over time. The more you live with it, the more beautiful it becomes.

On Memory & Feeling

What memories surface when you think of your childhood home?
Warmth.
I remember a strongly heated stove and the feeling of my cheeks becoming warm from the heat. Our home felt deeply cared for. Every corner was shaped by my mother’s hands. It was cozy, but not perfect. And I think that sense of care stayed with me.

Do moments of doubt appear in your process? 
Of course. There are moments when I overthink one detail and begin to question the entire direction. Sometimes I focus too much on one element and forget to step back. In those moments, I pause. I trust my intuition. I trust my team. Usually the answer is simpler than I imagine. 

What do you hope people feel when they enter a home you’ve designed? 
I hope they feel something personal.
I always begin with context. The story of the place, but also the story of the person who will live there. When those two begin to speak to each other, the interior becomes authentic.
I never want a space to feel staged or dry. It should hold memory. It should feel lived, even when it is new.

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