“Cardamom in the Fog: Rooms, Roots & Rebirth—Becoming a Bay Area Interior Designer”
- Nina Yasavul
- Apr 25
- 2 min read
Updated: 3 days ago
If walls could speak, mine would whisper in two languages—one carried on the spice-laden breeze of Istanbul, the other on the salt-tinged air of the Bay. As a Bay Area interior designer today, I still feel that bilingual heartbeat in every room I touch.
Fifteen years ago I began weaving those cultures into rooms as intimate as perfume on skin. For nine shimmering years in Istanbul we conjured story-rich restaurants, jewel-box
boutiques, and homes that wore their owners’ personalities like couture gowns.
Then came a transcontinental leap. In 2019 my family and I landed in California, hearts brimming with possibility and suitcases heavy with marble fragments, hand-loomed kilims, and precious memories from every loved one we left behind.
Months later, the world went still. Cue the pandemic: newborn in one arm, kindergarten Zoom in the other, creativity simmering on the back burner. I wondered if the flame might go out.
And then—the knock.
My lovely neighbor, mask on and eyes hopeful:
“Would you help me turn my garage into a family living room?”
In that humble garage, the role of Bay Area interior designer became my lifeline. Between nap-time sketches and sourdough rises, that single project sparked another and another, momentum rolling through the neighborhood like a benevolent snowball.
With every space I touched, my family healed, my clients healed—this astonishing place revealed new colors. The Bay opened its diverse heart one shade at a time, until it felt unmistakably like home.
Over three spirited years I measured progress in heartbeats rather than spreadsheets.
First, I re-rooted—listening to Pacific light, the hush of redwood shadows, the texture of terracotta warmed by marine-layer mornings.
Next came a cascade of residential commissions—Victorian façades hiding modern souls, glassy hillside aeries, mid-century gems hungry for new stories. Gratitude, and yes revenue, grew in tandem.
Finally, referrals bloomed like night-blooming jasmine. Larger scopes, braver palettes, deeper trust: my atelier hummed right alongside my heart.
Designing here stretches me in the most delicious ways—seismic retrofits one day, salvaged-oak millwork the next, West-Coast sustainability woven through it all. Every project reaffirms why I love being a Bay Area interior designer: spaces are portals, vessels, mirrors, and this region—diverse, daring, wildly alive—is the perfect canvas.
So here I stand, ever thankful to the neighbor who knocked, to the clients who opened their doors (and hearts), and to you, dear reader, for joining this unfolding story. May the next chapter be filled with generosity, curiosity, and rooms that make your pulse quicken.
With love and layered textures,
Nina
P.S. I’ll be spilling more secrets—material alchemy, soulful sourcing, the quiet thrill of a perfectly placed sconce—right here. Stay for the journey.
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