Scott Maddux on why travel is the best source of inspiration for your interiors

Some of the best interior schemes are not collections of borrowed ideas, but rather an accumulation of experiences. The insights absorbed from visiting new countries strongly inform the way that I design. My radar is always on. I love how travel exposes us to many different ways of living, to different approaches to materiality and colour, and to different relationships with the natural world. It can refine our sensitivity to how light, texture and function interact, and shift how we understand space. The interiors we create should feel as though they have somehow always been there – shaped by time, place and the quiet layering of inspiration. It is not about imitation, but about evolution. There is nothing more exciting than finding something for the first time and understanding why it works in its original setting and how it can then be translated – not replicated – into a new context.

Japan distils design so well. On a recent trip, I noted the use of timber panelling and framing in traditional domestic architecture, as seen in Kyu Asakura House in Tokyo. It is particularly effective in spaces with lower ceilings and more horizontal orientations. For the renovation of an Arts and Crafts house in London, we found these devices particularly useful in adding interest and structure to rooms and corridors that lacked the height and decoration of grander archetypes. In a way, this sort of simplicity permeates traditional Japanese architecture and echoes the spirit of the Arts and Crafts movement, so it was a perfect fit for this project.

Local house museums are also fertile grounds for ideas and I always search them out when I travel. These former residences, which are more domestic in scale, showcase extraordinary art and design within a historic context, and offer an abundance of fine architectural details and craftsmanship. In Porto, the interior of the pink Art Deco marvel Casa de Serralves struck a chord with its immense scale and delicate plaster work. This served as a springboard for the look of a hallway in a current project. And in Brussels, I visited the restored Maison Hannon, with its expressive mosaic floors, which we have translated into a bathroom design for a London house owned by an Art Nouveau enthusiast.

I have a penchant for hotels that have managed to retain their old-world charms, steeped in history and unmistakably local. A few nights in Gio Ponti’s masterpiece in Sorrento, the Parco dei Principi, was enough to have me seeing blue and white geometric patterns everywhere. Staying there is like sleeping in a museum: an immersive experience of his design ethos and a rare treat.

Then there’s my obsession with floors and doors. My iPhone is full of door designs, panelling, tiling, balustrades, railings and patterned tiles from so many places. I stop dead in my tracks to look up or down, with the floor tiles often matching my shoes quite by chance. Even the simplest entrances, from the grandeur of 18th-century European palazzos to the stark minimalism of Brutalist modernist structures, reveal lessons in proportion and transition. Exquisite metalwork, intricate glazing patterns, complex marble and terrazzo inlays and wood-panelled or decorative plaster walls have all contributed at some stage to one of my mood boards and have sometimes made their way into a realised project.

Perhaps the greatest joy of travel is discovering local makers, sourcing new materials and coming across specialist galleries with one-of-a-kind pieces that add layers of meaning to a space. Bringing home antiques, hand-crafted objects or a regionally specific material allows interiors to develop a unique narrative. A trip to Beirut led me to a contemporary product designer who crafted two exquisite bowls that proved to be perfect washbasins for one of our projects in Notting Hill. The process of importing them in my carry-on luggage and repurposing them by adding holes for plumbing made them even more personal.

I think that travel is like coffee beans for jaded eyes: it wakes you up. The exposure to new light, new climates and new natural conditions – and therefore new colours and materials – is where new palettes take root in your mind. A trip to the deserts of the American south west or even Ibiza can create a desire for warmer, earthier reds, ochres and browns, influencing my mood boards and my schemes. My own sitting room at home became a mix of warm desert hues, which works particularly well with the soft evening sun streaming in, all moodily lit. Observing these nuances teaches us how the best design must adapt to its surroundings, rather than impose upon them.

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