Picture this: a whirlwind of cultures colliding in a serene New York loft, where ancient relics meet cutting-edge design, and every object tells a story that's equal parts personal and profound. That's the captivating essence of Dana Arbib's world, a designer whose creations blur the lines between art, utility, and heritage in ways that might just redefine how you view your own living space. Stick around, because we're about to dive deep into her eclectic life, and trust me, by the end, you'll be questioning how you decorate your home too.
Dana Arbib dreams of relocating to a quieter, more tranquil corner of New York City. Yet, her current neighborhood—a vibrant tapestry weaving together Little Italy and Chinatown, bordered by the trendy vibes of Soho—feels like the perfect reflection of her identity, her creations, and the way she adorns her surroundings. As a designer, she masterfully fuses sculpture with everyday practicality, drawing from a rich tapestry of global cultures and historical eras. To reach her workspace, a converted horse stable, I navigated through the lively San Gennaro street festival, a local tradition notorious for its jam-packed crowds, snarled traffic, and blocked-off streets that turn the area into a chaotic maze.
But stepping inside? Pure tranquility awaits: sunlit and airy, with an orderly elegance that's almost meditative. Dana herself is warm and animated, her voice a deep, melodious tone, framed by a cascade of noteworthy curly hair. She whipped up a hearty breakfast of shakshouka—a flavorful North African egg dish simmered in tomatoes and spices that she enjoyed growing up with. Just as her neighborhood mirrors a cultural crossroads, Dana's background is a true mosaic: roots in Libyan, Italian, and Canadian Jewish traditions, all seasoned by her years as a New Yorker since 2001. She dedicates several months annually to Italy, where much of her childhood unfolded, honing her glass art collections. Her family chats fluently in Italian, French, Arabic, Hebrew, and English, and these diverse influences blend seamlessly with her inventive flair in both her artwork and her home. And this, my friends, is where we kick things off—with breakfast, of course.
Dana prepared the eggs in a sleek Gio Ponti saucepan, sourced online as part of a full set. Hanging on the wall like a treasured antique is another saucepan, weathered and blackened from years of use, a cherished heirloom from her Libyan grandmother. We dined off vintage Italian restaurant plates, each etched with the names of classic trattorias, rescued from a pottery factory's surplus. The amber Venetian drinking glasses, with their playful, nipple-shaped protrusions, are custom designs she crafted for herself and close friends. 'I never aim to produce anything for widespread mass markets,' explains this artist who focuses on functional yet one-of-a-kind items. Close by sits a selection of flame-worked drinking glasses, handcrafted by a single Venetian artisan. 'I got utterly hooked on his wild patterns and pick up a couple more each visit,' she shares. (She once proposed a joint project on vases, but the artisan's wife declined, preferring a simple life free of complications or financial motives. So, that was that.)
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She collaborated with a metalworker to create her '70s-inspired dining table; the wooden chairs from the '60s are iconic pieces by Charlotte Perriand, and the overhead glass fixture hails from her Vetro Orto series, drawing inspiration from nature's intricate designs. Surrounding us are items either of her own design, family heirlooms, works by fellow artists, or meticulously hunted treasures. (Her go-to dealer is Alan Eckstein at New York's Somerset House, and her preferred auction site is an Italian platform she compares to Craigslist.) Every piece is deliberately chosen, positioned with care, and laden with sentimental value. 'I steer clear of retail shopping,' she quips. 'I'm perpetually scouring auction sites, digging into research for hours every day.' This is an artist who spends blissful days poring over the New York Public Library's vast image archives.
Dana and I are friends, but this was my first visit to her place, and even with my background as a design editor, I struggled to articulate the scene. Nothing here is haphazard, yet Dana—who partnered with interior designer Olivia Stutz—prefers her inspirations and stylistic nods to remain subtle, not overt. We strolled the apartment, brainstorming descriptions: it evokes a late '80s/early '90s feel, yet carries a definite '70s undercurrent. This makes perfect sense, as the design scene in the '80s and '90s heavily borrowed from '70s aesthetics. 'It reminds me of Milan in the '90s,' she chuckles, 'while also feeling like a classic New York loft from the '70s.'
Here's a glimpse into the living room's magic: a white sofa she designed, echoing Andrée Putman; a 'Frankensteined' coffee table with shortened legs, finished in black lacquer; a black resin Gaetano Pesce chair, originally shaped like a cat for a child; and a seemingly ubiquitous leather Breuer chair ('My whole family always had one—it's kind of an inside family joke'). One wall features a massive wax nose by her pal Loup Sarion; another displays a rare Gio Ponti painting on mirrored glass ('one of only two he created for a private client, and I snagged it at auction'). Nearby on the floor, a poster from a Libyan radio station and a print by the legendary Milton Glaser—the creator of the famous 'I ❤️ NY' logo. It's the clever arrangement of these elements that infuses the space with Milanese polish and New York edge.
Dana boasts an immense mental vault of visual references, from which she draws for her designs. 'I'm hopeless with names, faces, and languages, but my mind archives visuals like an encyclopedia, letting me flip through them during projects.'
A portion of this mental library is dedicated to cinematic interiors. She's enamored with the Hamptons mansion and office from the original Wall Street film, Woody Allen's sets, The Godfather's iconic house, and especially Nancy Meyers' Baby Boom. 'That movie has this fantastic '80s apartment with a cozy nook behind the bed. I knew I'd incorporate it someday,' she says, as we step into her bedroom to admire the alcove above her bed.
Similarly, Dana is precise about her artistic inspirations but ensures her pieces don't scream them out. Her latest light fixtures, on display at New York's Tiwa Select gallery, nod to the ornate details of ancient Chinese snuff bottles she discovered at a San Maurizio flea market years ago. Her recent chandelier exhibition at Los Angeles' Seventh House gallery evokes the sleek, cocaine-era vibes of Armani Casa in the early 2000s, while appearing as though excavated from an archaeological site. 'They often reference ancient North African artifacts and Italian modernism,' she notes. Despite the vague timelines and cultures, her work feels timelessly ancient yet strikingly modern. 'I collaborate with artisans to employ traditional techniques, ensuring the items become heirlooms you cherish forever.'
Dana insists on meticulous accuracy. Her piece Mille Bolle—a bubbled glass vase balanced on three curved, pale-green legs—was sparked by a Libyan artifact in a library book. But the green hue? 'It's the essence of Venice,' she explains, discovered during her first research trip there in October 2020, when the city was eerily quiet. She fell for an aquatic, sea-foam green permeating the clear, unpolluted canals, the verdigris on church domes, the shutters of grand palazzi, and even the weathered doors of vaporetti. While the legs echoed the old wooden Libyan piece, she and the artisans labored for months to perfect that Venetian green.
Her creations defy easy categorization. In America, the art world often divides artists from designers (where others handle the production), but in Europe, figures like Carlo Scarpa and Gio Ponti are celebrated as artists, even if they didn't craft their designs themselves. Likewise, Dana operates as an artist through the lens of design.
Before glass, Dana launched an innovative artisanal fashion brand in 2008, A Peace Treaty, producing ready-to-wear and jewelry. Fashion became another canvas for her aesthetic and high standards. She designed every fabric pattern. Back then, collaborating with specialized artisans—from Pakistan for block prints, Afghanistan for embroidery, Nepal for cashmere, Peru for knits, Turkey for jewelry, and beyond—wasn't a buzzworthy fashion tactic; craftsmanship wasn't yet a major draw. The line thrived, stocking over 200 stores like Barneys and Bergdorf Goodman, but Dana was unhappy: 'It robbed me of a life—the frantic pace and inherent waste of fashion wore me down.'
As we explore her closet-turned-archive, the same enduring, adventurous style shines through in her coats, outfits, and accessories. Slip some of her jewelry into a current Charlotte Chesnais show, or drop her kilted skirts into a Jonathan Anderson lineup, and they'd blend right in. 'I approach my work just as I did in fashion—as cohesive collections,' she says. 'Each exhibition is a complete narrative, swapping garments for items like vessels, chandeliers, or mirrors.' Her home reflects this same philosophy.
But here's where it gets controversial: Is Dana's fusion of art and function truly revolutionary, or does it dilute the purity of fine art by prioritizing usability? And this is the part most people miss—the way her multicultural background challenges the idea that design must be tied to a single cultural identity. Does blending eras and regions in your decor make you a global citizen, or just a cultural appropriator? What do you think—should artists like Dana be hailed for democratizing design, or criticized for blurring sacred lines? Drop your thoughts in the comments; I'd love to hear if you agree, disagree, or have your own boundary-pushing decor stories to share! For more on Dana's work, check out dana-arbib.com.
