Designing Eden: Notes from Our Studio

In the beginning, I try not to design anything too quickly.

It’s more about collecting references—sometimes very loosely. The striations inside a geode. The way stone breaks unevenly. The softness of linen that’s been washed over and over again.

That’s where something like Barts started—looking at those jagged, layered formations and translating them into a pattern that still feels controlled, but not rigid. It has that haphazard chevron movement, almost like it formed naturally over time rather than being drawn.

Other times, it’s quieter. With Lucia, we kept coming back to the idea of a linen that feels familiar—soft, grounded, nothing flashy. Just a surface that settles into a space without asking too much from it.

As we started developing patterns, we were constantly editing back. If something felt too precise, we’d soften it. If it felt too flat, we’d add texture.

You see that a lot in the upholstery patterns.

Alder has this lush, almost untamed botanical quality—like layered ferns or long-stemmed leaves overlapping in a way that feels dense and alive, but not decorative in the traditional sense.

With Plume, we were looking at classic fern motifs, but pushing the scale and texture so it feels more etched, almost embroidered into the surface. Something that nods to tradition but doesn’t feel stuck in it.

And then something like Cobble goes in a completely different direction—it’s less about pattern and more about touch. That boucle texture, the crosshatch, the softness—it’s the kind of material that immediately changes how a piece of furniture feels in a room.

Color came together slowly, almost subconsciously. We weren’t trying to create a “statement” palette. It was more about tones that feel like they already exist in a space—earth, moss, stone, softened neutrals. Even when the patterns are more expressive, the palette keeps them grounded.

With something like Monaco, which has that painterly, almost hand-rendered floral quality, the color helps keep it from feeling overly precious. It stays relaxed. Livable.

Because ultimately, we kept asking:
Will this still feel good in a year? In five years?

I’m always imagining these materials outside of the studio.

A healthcare space where pattern needs to feel calming, not busy.
A hospitality setting where texture carries more weight than color.
A workplace that needs warmth without distraction.

That’s where the wallcoverings really came into focus.

Woodland came from thinking about depth—trees, branching forms, almost like an impressionist landscape across the wall. Something immersive, but still soft.

Belvedere is more restrained—it has that worn, almost leather-like surface. A little timeworn, a little tactile, but still clean enough to work across a lot of different spaces.

And then with Loop Halo and Loop Vapor, we were thinking less about pattern and more about atmosphere—bouclé-like texture that wraps a wall, or something softer and more diffuse, like mist or clouds settling into the background.

Looking back, Eden doesn’t feel like one idea.

It’s more a collection of small decisions—what to keep, what to soften, what to let be slightly imperfect.

If anything, I hope it gives you materials that feel easy to work with.
Things that add depth without overwhelming a space.

Something you can layer, interpret, and make your own.

If you want to see how it all comes together—or experience the textures in person—you can explore the full collection here.

Aliesha Crosby is the Design Director at Carnegie, bringing a background in interior design and a deep expertise in textile development. With years of experience working closely with clients, she helps lead the creative direction of Carnegie’s collections—translating real-world design needs into thoughtful, material-driven solutions. Her work is rooted in a balance of intuition and insight, shaping textiles that feel as good as they perform.