Film Edmund Cook
Editor David Potter
Production Hannah Phillips
Graphic design Ben Tucker
Photography Alexandros Pissourios
Words Amy Bonifas

The townhouse, which Michael has been evolving for over a decade in collaboration with an architect friend, stands as a testament to the power of patience and creativity. "This house has been pure improvisation," explains Michael, recalling how the original plan for an all-white kitchen was abandoned when he saw the warm wooden cabinetry take shape. Mahogany is now a defining material throughout the home.

Living in a perpetual state of evolution seems to suit Michael's creative process. "I never felt it was finished, even today – you constantly discover things and want to change this and that," he reflects. The home has expanded vertically over time, with a conservatory space added six years after the initial renovation, followed by another floor above his bedroom a decade later that offers incredible views of Waterloo station and the railway tracks.

Despite its narrow footprint, his home feels surprisingly expansive – a quality Michael intentionally cultivated. "I remember loving these open-plan loft buildings. So, I had this translated on a vertical scale," he explains. The verticality is enhanced by clever design elements like cupboard doors that slide away to reveal staircases and strategic sight lines that connect different levels.

Growing up in Cyprus, he claims that he took light for granted. “You almost have too much of it [...] you have to shield yourself from it," he says. This contrasted with London's atmospheric fog when he first arrived in the capital. "These extremes in two different settings helped me build an appreciation for both worlds." This sensitivity to light manifests throughout the home which ingeniously capitalises on natural light, stealing it and lending it to other spaces, keeping each room as connected as possible.

But perhaps the most striking thing is how Michael transformed the sound of the train tracks into a source of inspiration. “The noise of braking trains comes into the house, but the moment you change that and see it in a positive way, it stops bothering you.” This perspective shift stemmed from a friend’s visit when she announced that she loved ‘the sound of the singing trains.’ “My perception was changed from this being a nuisance, and we turned it into something positive – almost like a sort of abstract composition.”

As day turns to evening, the designer is as much about embracing darkness as light. "I love low-lit spaces at night, there's a reason why we have to wind down in the evening," he says. (There are no kitchen spotlights here; only one wall light and a subtle illumination from the base of the wall units.) Michael’s home is the culmination of its urban context and his experimental creativity – it’s a place where constraints become opportunities and even the sound of passing trains becomes part of the natural harmony.

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