Arthur Dunnam and Kelly Zerbini. Courtesy of Dunnam Zerbini
Dunnam Zerbini Design: When Maximalism Learns Restraint
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These days, design often feels rushed. Images fly around, repeating endlessly until everything starts to look much the same. In such a hurried world, it seems the most captivating spaces are the ones that don’t reveal all their secrets at first glance. They prefer to unfold slowly, letting you discover them little by little, their true charm stemming not from how much they hold, but from the careful thought behind each element.
For Kelly Zerbini, who leads Dunnam Zerbini Design, this idea of holding back isn’t a barrier; it’s more like a guiding principle. Her spaces, often described as rich with layers yet always feeling understated and composed, reflect a way of thinking that values what you choose to remove just as much as what you decide to include. The result is a room that feels lived-in and considered, rather than just put together — a place designed to support the everyday flow of life without ever trying to steal the show.
Working within a practice that carries the distinct influence of Jed Johnson, Zerbini approaches each new undertaking as an ongoing conversation — a give-and-take between her client, the physical space, and the objects destined to inhabit it. While nods to history, pieces sourced from across the globe, and skilled craftsmanship are all certainly part of her toolkit, they’re never the end goal. Instead, she uses them as means to an end, carefully crafting interiors that truly feel personal, rooted, and, perhaps most importantly, built to last.
Recently, in a Bridgehampton guest house, these guiding ideas truly came to life. There, layers found their balance with clear intention, and a thoughtful purpose carefully tempered a sense of fullness. One might then start to wonder: how exactly are such choices made? What helps one decide if an object is truly essential or merely decorative? How do rooms evolve and get refined as they’re brought to life? And why, in a time when we’re constantly bombarded by images, has a sense of elegant restraint become the very hallmark of true sophistication?
Courtesy of Dunnam Zerbini
Courtesy of Dunnam Zerbini
Courtesy of Dunnam Zerbini
Courtesy of Dunnam ZerbiniYour work is often described as both highly layered and carefully balanced — how do you think about restraint within a maximalist interior?
Restraint is what keeps maximalism from tipping into chaos. I love a layered room, but I’m equally interested in what’s not there. Editing is everything. We want to make sure each element has a reason to exist. When layering is working, the room doesn’t feel busy; it feels intentional. You notice one thing, then another, as the room reveals itself, instead of shouting at you all at once.
The firm carries forward the legacy of Jed Johnson. In what ways does that history continue to inform your approach today?
Jed had this incredible ability to trust his eye over any prescribed “look,” which feels increasingly rare. He wasn’t interested in signatures or formulas, and we aren’t either. What carries through is a commitment to client collaboration, proportion, and a kind of quiet discipline. Also, a deep respect for craftsmanship. Jed worked incredibly closely with artisans, refining things until they felt exactly correct. That mindset is still very much how we approach a project today. It’s not about creating something that looks designed; it’s about creating something that feels like it existed all along.
At the same time, how have you adapted or reinterpreted that philosophy for a contemporary client?
People live more casually now, but the bigger shift has really come from the internet. Clients are seeing the same handful of interiors over and over, so the visual vocabulary can start to feel a bit compressed. For younger clients, especially, who may not yet have a fully formed point of view, it’s easy to default to what’s familiar.
Part of our role is to gently expand that lens. We draw on a broad understanding of historical precedent, vintage furnishings, and architectural periods to introduce things that sit outside of the algorithm. In a way, we act as a bit of a counterbalance to prescribed aesthetics. It’s less about steering someone away from what they like and more about showing them what else is possible. This is how the project becomes more personal and far more interesting.
Many of your interiors incorporate objects sourced globally. What distinguishes a piece that feels essential from one that is simply decorative?
You can feel it immediately. An essential piece has presence and holds the room a bit. It doesn’t need a story to justify itself, even if it has one. Provenance is interesting, but it’s not the point within our design philosophy. I’m much more interested in proportion, material, and how something sits with everything around it. Decorative pieces tend to fill space, but the right pieces define it. If you can remove something and the room doesn’t change, it probably wasn’t essential to begin with.
You’ve described your work as creating a kind of “background” for a client’s life — how do you strike that balance between presence and restraint?
I think “background” can be misunderstood. To me, it means creating a setting that supports the way someone lives rather than competing with it. The balance comes from knowing where to push and where to pull back. We want our spaces to feel composed, not performative.
There’s also a real practicality to that. Every piece of upholstery is meant to be sat in. Horizontal surfaces are there to be used, not just styled. Our clients live in their homes, and we design with that in mind. Where we tend to push is often in the layers around the functional piece, such as decorative lighting, rugs, and pattern play — the elements above and below. That allows the things people interact with every day to remain grounded and functional, while the room still has a point of view.
How do you approach editing in a room that is intentionally full? What ultimately determines what stays and what goes?
I’m always looking at the hierarchy of the room, what’s the lead, what’s supporting, and what’s just adding noise.
Our floor plans are developed at the beginning of a project, as an idea rather than a fixed solution. They’re living frameworks that evolve as decisions unfold. Objects, scale, and materials start to inform one another, and the room takes shape in a kind of natural sequence. Editing happens along the way. We are continually refining rooms as they reveal what they need and what they don’t.
Courtesy of Dunnam Zerbini
Courtesy of Dunnam ZerbiniIn a design landscape that moves quickly, how do you define longevity or timelessness in your work?
Timelessness isn’t about avoiding trends altogether — it’s about not being driven by them. We’re much more focused on proportion, material, and how things are put together. If those fundamentals are right, a space will hold up even as tastes shift. I also think restraint plays a role here. Rooms that try to do too much tend to date themselves quickly. The homes that endure usually have a kind of clarity to them that doesn’t announce when they were designed.
Looking back at your recent projects, is there a decision you made that felt like a departure — something that surprised even you?
There are always moments where we push something a bit further than we normally would, whether it’s a color, a material, or a sense of scale. What’s interesting is that those decisions rarely feel like departures once they’re in place. If they’re grounded in the same founding principles of the firm, proportion, balance, and instinct, they tend to settle in naturally.
What does surprise me is that, in every project, there’s always one room I find myself fixating on a little more than the others. Not at the expense of anything else, but as a kind of creative focal point. It’s the space where we might push just a bit further or refine just a bit longer. I never know which room it will go in, and it’s not always the obvious one. It reveals itself along the way, and in the end, it often becomes the thread that elevates the whole project.
