My grandmother taught me that. Everything else I learned by listening—to clients, to rooms, to the way light moves through a space at different times of day.
Not Just Your Things
Designing Spaces That Hold Your Spirit,
Based in: Brooklyn, New York
I'm
Amara
Stone
I grew up in a century-old brownstone in Bed-Stuy, where my Trinidadian grandmother created a home that somehow felt like both a sanctuary and a celebration. She had this belief that a house should hold your spirit, not just your furniture. That the walls should know your stories. That you should feel different—calmer, more yourself—when you walked through the door.
I didn't realize until years later that this was design philosophy. I just thought it was love.
After studying architecture at Pratt Institute, I spent eight years working for high-end commercial design firms. The work was prestigious. The spaces were beautiful. But they were also... empty. Perfect for photoshoots. Soulless to inhabit.
How I Got Here
That's the feeling I'm after.
That's when I understood: aesthetics without atmosphere is just decoration.
I launched Amara Stone Interiors five years ago with a singular focus: creating spaces that make people feel something. Not spaces designed for the camera or for resale value or for impressing guests. Spaces designed for the 7pm moment when you walk through your door after a long day and your nervous system finally exhales.
The breaking point came when I designed a stunning executive office—all the right materials, impeccable proportions, featured in a design magazine. The client called it "perfect" and then admitted, quietly, that he dreaded being in it.
I live in a garden-level apartment that my friends call "the velvet cave"—dark walls, layered textures, and enough warm lighting to make every evening feel like a ceremony. It's where I test ideas before bringing them to clients. If something doesn't feel right in my own space, it doesn't make it into yours.
I believe in slow mornings, inherited textiles, and the transformative power of candlelight. My design aesthetic is informed by old European libraries, pre-dawn stillness, and the way my grandmother layered patterns without fear.
You'll find me hunting for vintage brass candlesticks in Hudson Valley, tending to the (perhaps excessive) number of plants in my Crown Heights apartment, or reading Toni Morrison with a glass of natural wine and jazz in the background.
