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Caprice is not a word usually associated with Amaro Sánchez de Moya. Whether he's transforming an Andalusian palacio or a chic Portuguese eco-resort, the Castilian builder and designer is known for a maximalist classicism that embraces symmetry, ordered lines, and enough sumptuous textiles to outfit a regal court or 2. Only when information technology came time to pattern his own pied-à-terre in the aboriginal urban center of Seville, his normal rigor was tempered with a flake of spontaneity and fifty-fifty whimsy. "It'south truthful that a gustation for the classical, a sure historicism, underlines virtually all of my work," he says. "But because it was my home, I could make information technology a picayune more arbitrary."

The kitchen of Amaro Sánchez de Moya'due south Seville pied-à-terre. The vintage garden table and chairs are Spanish, the pendant is Napoleon III, and the custom hood is flanked by 19th-century Castilian vases. The antiquarian backsplash tiles are from Manises, Spain, and the checkered floor is in Carrara and Nero Marquina marbles.

Ricardo Labougle

Information technology helped that he had a relatively bare slate with which to begin. Later on moving to Madrid, Sánchez de Moya bought the flat in the Andalusian capital, where he was born, with the intention of using it as a second habitation. Built in the early 20th century, its 1,000 foursquare anxiety held fiddling architectural involvement, and except for a few interior doors, none of its original features were worth keeping. The building'south wonky layout—all odd angles and unevenly shaped rooms—posed a challenge, but they eventually gave Sánchez de Moya his point of creative entry. "I wanted to try to make all the rooms geometrically perfect," he says. "Despite the irregular footprint."

Inspired by the small apartments of Haussmann-era Paris, Sánchez de Moya indulged in some sleight of hand. After remaking the floor plan to fit his symmetrical ethics, he enclosed the "leftover" spaces backside what announced to exist doors to passageways.

In the bedroom, the bed is dressed in linens from Matarranz Ropa de Casa and the defunction and upholstery on the early-20th-century French settee are in a Zuber material; the wallpaper panels are in the same Zuber blueprint. The gilded 19th-century table and chair are Italian, the 1940s crystal La Granja chandelier is Castilian, and the engraving is by Pierre Paul Prud'hon.

Ricardo Labougle

The pull a fast one on not only hid the newly generated storage, but too contradistinct the flat's proportions. "In one room you'll find four or v doors, but not all of them lead somewhere," he says. "Some of them open into a wardrobe or a bookcase, and some of them don't open onto annihilation at all. They're there to residuum the room, but they also make the apartment seem much bigger than it is."

The flooring in the salon and chamber also fosters illusions. The black and white marbles are a nod to Seville's history—it'south an inland river-port city that has served as a hub for materials from Genoa, Italy—just the erratic patterns create dynamism. "It's as if the rhombuses are turning concentrically effectually the squares," Sánchez de Moya says. "I like that kind of geometric game, where you can bring a sense of motion to something that is normally fixed and heavy."

"I wanted to try to brand all the rooms geometrically perfect," Sánchez de Moya says.

If his selection for the floors was intentional, other early on elements were more serendipitous. The designer hadn't considered installing etched drinking glass, for example, but when he stumbled across some old windows from the Hôtel Lutetia at an antiques shop in Paris, he realized they would add involvement and coherence to the flat's two bathrooms. Equally heady was the moment he came across the massive French Regency fireplace that now anchors the salon.

"I wasn't even sure that I wanted a fireplace," he says. "But you find something like that, and one thing leads to the adjacent. Once I had that fireplace, for case, I had to make sure that the moldings were coherent with it, and then they became Regency instead of Louis Xvi."

The main bathroom'due south tub and fittings are by Cifial, the 1950s boat-shaped chandelier is Spanish, and the antique sconce is French.

Ricardo Labougle

Yet with the architectural elements in place, the designer of a sudden found himself worrying that fate had led him likewise far astray. "All the walls had moldings. The etched drinking glass, the fireplace, the doors—I had found them all in Paris. Then now, even with those marble floors from Seville, I thought it was turning out besides refined, as well Parisian," he recalls with a chuckle. "That'due south when I decided to brand the decorative elements a bit more folk."

He chose what he calls "less pretentious" wicker for the salon's seating and opted for a leafy hand-painted Zuber wallpaper for the bedroom, which added a garden ambient. Instead of hiding the coffeepot and other household items behind cabinets, he keeps them on display in the kitchen to give it a land feel.

Take a Bout of a Spanish Pied-à-Terre That'south Full of Surprises

Brightly colored fabrics—including striking ruby-red checked curtains in the salon—injected more than lightness. "Because information technology's a second home, I didn't want it to exist also serious," he says. "I wanted information technology to have that sense of pleasure and recreation. So even though the architecture itself was very sedate and classical, the decor is united by a kind of freshness."

Perhaps nowhere is that freshness—some might even telephone call information technology capriciousness—more evident than behind the kitchen doors that were the sole components repurposed from the original apartment. "I like an element of surprise," the classicist admits. "And then I created a door that looks banal from the outside just opens onto an interior that is entirely hot pinkish or lime light-green. It gives you a tiny moment of joy."