The Beauty of Blank
Big news over here: RAREculture just signed a lease for a brand new office on Fifth Avenue.
It’s the first time our whole team will be working together in the same space since before Covid—honestly, it feels huge. Hopeful. Like the start of something we didn’t even realize we’d been craving.
Last week, we all found ourselves sitting together on the bare floor, right in the middle of it. No desks. No art. Just sunlight pouring in and the Empire State Building outside the window.
It was completely empty. And it was perfect.
There’s something electric about a blank space.
The floors bare. The walls waiting. A stillness that hums with possibility.
Emptiness as the highest form of potential
In Buddhist philosophy, there’s an idea that emptiness (Śūnyatā) isn’t a void to fear—it’s actually the greatest form of potential. Because it holds everything. It’s unformed, unbound, open to become anything.
I’ve been thinking about that a lot as we start dreaming up this studio.
How the quiet of an empty room is less a sense of absence but more of an invitation.
A chance to be intentional, to really listen, to decide what belongs before the noise of “should” creeps in.
“When you plant a seed in the ground, you don’t worry that the soil is empty.
You trust that emptiness is necessary for growth.”
— (paraphrased Buddhist teaching)
Building a narrative of an empty space
In the interior design world, we’re so quick to fill rooms—cover every wall, style every surface, cram every corner. But sometimes the most compelling spaces start with absolutely nothing.
“Space is the breath of art.”
— Frank Lloyd Wright
Blankness isn’t cold or unfinished. It’s margin. It’s potential. It’s what gives everything else the room to resonate.
It’s the pause that lets your eyes, your mind, and your nervous system wander—without being overwhelmed.
Right now, this office is exactly that: a blank canvas.
Which means we get to ask:
- What kind of energy do we want here?
- What stories will we tell on these walls?
- How do we build a space that holds focus, creativity, and calm equally well?
Because once it’s full, it’s full.
It’s harder to edit later than to begin with intention.
So for now, we’re savoring the emptiness.
The wide open floors, the echo that says anything is possible.
Final thought
It’s funny how the emptiest spaces are often where the biggest things begin.
Here’s to seeing what this new chapter at RAREculture will become.
💌
Elle
P.S. What blank space—at home, in a project, or in your life—is waiting to be shaped into something new? Tell me in the comments. I’d love to hear.
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