Joseph D’Urso: the Case for Less
- May 6
- 3 min read
Some designers add more; more texture, more color, more pieces. Joseph D’Urso did the opposite. He took things away, and not in a cold or empty way, but rather like he was trying to see what a space actually needed, and what it didn’t.
The 1970s are known for busy and eclectic interiors; layers, patterns, and decoration everywhere. D’Urso’s work stood out because it felt almost bare in comparison. His work was sustained by black floors, white walls, low furniture and open spaces. That could sound harsh, but when you look at it, it doesn’t feel uncomfortable. It feels calm, like nothing is fighting for your attention. He wasn’t trying to make rooms look empty, he was trying to make space itself more visible, thorough light, movement, and how things sit in a room, and that became the main focus.
A lot of his early work happened in big New York lofts, open spaces that weren’t originally meant to be homes. Instead of dividing them up, he leaned into the openness. Furniture stayed low, pieces could move around, and nothing felt fixed. A table wasn’t just a table. It could shift, roll, change position depending on how you used the room that day. That idea of nothing being locked in place was a big part of his thinking.
When he worked with Knoll, that same approach carried over. The pieces are simple when you first see them; clean lines, steel, glass, or leather. Not much decoration, but then you notice how they work. Tables on hidden wheels, sofas that feel more like platforms and pieces that don’t demand attention but quietly support how you use a space. He once said everything should have more than one function, and you can see that in almost everything he made.
A lot of design from that time feels dated now. You can tell exactly when it was made, but D’Urso’s work doesn’t really do that. Look at photos of those interiors today, and they still feel current. Not trendy, but just clear. That might be because he avoided trends in the first place, he didn't use bold patterns tied to a specific era. No colors that scream a certain decade, but just the organic use of materials and space.
Some of his most well-known work comes from interiors that were photographed and shared widely. Apartments on the Upper West Side, showrooms for Calvin Klein, and even private bedrooms that ended up in magazines. They all share the same feeling, a strong contrast and clean lines. They’re easy to recognize, and you don’t need to know design history to get what’s happening.
What made his work different is that he didn’t treat furniture as separate from architecture. Through the room, the objects and the light, it all worked together, they were part of the same idea. That’s probably why his spaces feel so consistent and nothing feels added on at the end.
It wasn’t about minimalism for the sake of it. It wasn’t about being strict or rigid. It was more about clarity, and asking questions like what do you actually need in a space? What can move? What can change? What can stay simple? And maybe more importantly, what happens when you stop filling every corner? That’s where his work still feels relevant. Not because it’s trying to impress, but because it leaves room.
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