Thirty Years in Design: Why Experience Still Matters
At 54, I sometimes look back and realise how much of my education came when I did not know I was learning. Standing on a building site as a younger man, convinced I had it all sorted, only to watch a mistake unfold right in front of me. The quick scramble to put it right, the quiet lesson tucked away, the scar tissue of knowledge that no book could give.
The Long Road to Knowing
At 54, I sometimes look back and realise how much of my education came when I did not know I was learning. Standing on a building site as a younger man, convinced I had it all sorted, only to watch a mistake unfold right in front of me. The quick scramble to put it right, the quiet lesson tucked away, the scar tissue of knowledge that no book could give.
Design education is not a classroom. It is a lifetime of decisions, some clever, some less so, and the wisdom that comes from making them.
Learning Without Realising
What you learn in thirty years is rarely the big lecture stuff. It is the smaller, practical things. The way timber moves when the weather turns. The patience of a plasterer who has seen it all before. The electrician who shakes his head and explains why your bright idea is not going to work.
You store these things up without noticing. They become part of you, like muscle memory. Eventually, you can walk onto a site and know instinctively where the problems might appear.
The Value of Mistakes
When you are young, mistakes sting. They feel like failure. With time you come to see them as the best lessons you will ever get. Mistakes force you to adapt, to listen, to think on your feet. They make you better, not worse.
The difference with experience is that you stop panicking when something goes wrong. You know it can be solved, and you know it can be solved faster if you work with the people around you rather than against them.
Collaboration Over Ego
Design is not a place for brittle ego. It requires belief, yes, but also humility. Some of the best solutions I have ever been part of came not from my sketchbook but from a conversation with a builder, a contractor, or a specialist on site.
A designer who cannot listen will always miss something. A designer who can, who respects the knowledge of others, ends up with stronger projects and better relationships.
That is why my studio is not named after me. StudioFab exists because I believe design is bigger than the designer. It is not about a name above a door. It is about collaboration, about the project, about the outcome.
What Really Matters in the Industry Today
The industry loves to chase newness. New tools, new software, new ways to present ideas. All useful, but none of it replaces the fundamentals. Humility, compassion, active listening. These are what make projects work. A flashy website may attract attention, but it will never solve a problem on site.
Clients are not looking for someone who can dazzle them with a slideshow. They want someone who will stand beside them, who will understand their aspirations, and who will calmly find a way through when the unexpected appears.
Why Experience is a Quiet Luxury
Experience is invisible until you need it. Then it becomes priceless. It is knowing when to fight for a detail and when to let it go. It is understanding where money should be spent and where it can be saved without harm. It is the ability to predict challenges before they show themselves.
In an industry that can sometimes prize image over substance, experience is the quiet luxury. It does not shout. It works steadily in the background, making sure things get done properly.
Still Curious After All This Time
After thirty years in design, you might expect to feel tired of it. Oddly enough, I feel the opposite. I am still curious. Still willing to sit and listen if someone has a better idea. Still eager to learn from a builder who has solved a problem a hundred times before.
If ego is the only thing that drives you, then life must be a shallow place. For me, the drive has always been to learn, to improve, to create homes that feel like they truly belong to the people who live in them.
Maybe There Is Life in the Old Dog Yet
At 54, I carry the lessons of every mistake, every conversation, every site meeting. They have shaped not just the designer I am, but the person I am.
Experience is not about clinging to the past. It is about using the past to make the present stronger. It is about sharing knowledge, respecting others, and knowing that design is never about ego. It is about people, about homes, and about listening.
So yes, maybe there is life in the old dog yet. And maybe that life, shaped by years of learning without realising, is exactly what today’s industry still needs.