For me, colour isn’t decoration, it’s atmosphere – why I’ll always choose colour over neutrals at home

Screen printer Hannah Carvell is one of Ideal Home's new Open House contributors, sharing her thoughts on colourful home design for a creative family to live in. See the rest of her articles here.

I know I’m supposed to say something sensible here. Something balanced. Something along the lines of: “Neutrals are timeless, and colour is best used sparingly.” But the truth is, I’ve never been very good at restraint. I am, quite unapologetically, a colour person. Not just in my work as a screen printer, colour is quite literally my job but in the way I experience the world.

Colour is how I remember places, how I make sense of a room. It’s instinctive. Emotional. Almost physical. While I understand the appeal of a calm, neutral home, I also know this: I will always choose colour, because for me, colour isn’t decoration. It’s atmosphere.

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In my studio, nothing starts neutral. Every print begins with a base layer normally my brightest or deepest colour first, and then another, and another, colours overlapping, shifting, reacting in ways I can’t always predict. That moment when two inks meet and create something entirely new? That’s the magic. And I think that’s why I struggle with neutral interiors. They feel… finished. Fixed. Whereas colour feels alive.

At home, I approach rooms in exactly the same way I approach a print. I don’t sit down with a master plan or a perfectly curated palette. I add, adjust, respond. A pink cushion here. A green jug there. A slightly questionable patterned sofa that probably shouldn’t work, but somehow does, the more colour in a room the more options you have.

It’s not about getting it “right.” It’s about letting things evolve. When I think about the homes I’ve loved most, they’ve never been the perfectly restrained ones. They’re the ones that feel layered, a bit chaotic, slightly unpredictable I always decorate (and print) with instant rather than a perfect plan, that instinct is something I’ve learned to trust more over time.

In my work, I don’t start with a perfectly mapped-out palette. I start with a feeling. A colour I can’t shake. And then I build from there adding, adjusting, sometimes ruining it completely before it comes back together again.

One of the biggest arguments for neutrals is that they create a sense of calm. And yes, they can. A soft beige room, light filtering through linen curtains, everything in its place it’s undeniably beautiful and for sure something I admire in other peoples homes or on holiday in a pretty hotel room. But calm doesn’t have to mean colourless.

For me, calm looks like a kitchen table covered in flowers I’ve grown myself. It’s the deep, muddy green of the garden bleeding into the house on muddy boots. It’s a shelf of mismatched ceramics in every shade imaginable, each one holding a memory.

There’s a kind of comfort in colour that neutrals can’t quite reach. It’s warmth. Familiarity. A sense that a home is being lived in, not just styled.

I sometimes think neutral homes are a bit like wearing a very good outfit to hide how you’re actually feeling. Polished. Controlled. Slightly guarded and no where to hide the mess, I feel like just as I could never wear white jeans as I literally wouldn’t be able to stay clean for more than 10 minutes, it must be the same in neutral home, the paw prints and craft projects would show me up.

Colour, on the other hand, draws the eye away. You can tell what someone loves by the colours they surround themselves with. The person who paints their walls deep blue probably isn’t afraid of a bit of drama. The one who fills their home with clashing prints and bold tones (hello) is likely embracing a certain level of chaos. And I think that’s why I’m drawn to it.

Colour feels honest to me. My home isn’t minimal. It isn’t restrained. It’s layered, slightly chaotic, constantly shifting and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Working with colour every day has taught me one important thing: it doesn’t always behave. What looks perfect on paper can feel completely different in real life. A shade you thought you loved can turn flat. Another you barely considered can suddenly sing when paired with something unexpected. And that unpredictability? That’s the point.

When I bring colour into my home, I’m not looking for perfection. I’m looking for that moment of surprise that little spark when something just works, even if I can’t quite explain why.

Neutrals, by their nature, are safer. More predictable. Less likely to clash. But they’re also less likely to delight you.

I think there’s a quiet pressure, especially now, with endless scrolling and perfectly styled homes to get things “right”. To choose the palette that won’t date. The sofa that will appeal to everyone. The walls that won’t offend and I have certainly fallen for this way of thinking in the past but those are not rooms I remember fondly from houses past.

A home isn’t supposed to appeal to everyone. It’s supposed to reflect you. And for me, that means colour. Lots of it. Not in a loud, shouty way (although sometimes, yes), but in a layered, evolving, deeply personal way. Colours collected over time. Colours that remind me of places, seasons, moments. Colours that make me feel something.

Do I get it wrong sometimes? Absolutely.

Will there be combinations that don’t quite land, shades that jar, moments where I think, what was I thinking? Of course.

A recent example was my Snug, we spent a weekend painting it pink, and by that evening I knew it wasn’t quite right. So back to the shops, a different shade chosen and now its perfect, still pink but a shade that contrasts perfectly with the colourful rug and furniture and art in the room. But I’d take that over playing it safe any day.

Because when colour works, when it really works it transforms a space in a way neutrals rarely can. It brings energy. Personality. Joy. I love how warm my snug feels when the sunshine hits the pink walls in the morning and how cosy it feels by night and ultimately, that’s what I want my home to feel like. Not perfect. Not polished but alive.