How Ben and Leon of ‘Coincidentally Us’ Turned Their Sydney Rental Into an Urban Oasis

“T o order space is to give it meaning.” That’s what Isamu Noguchi, the American artist, furniture designer and landscape architect whose work has graced the Pinterest boards of many a millennial around the world, once said. If that’s true, then Ben Burrows – an interior designer and Noguchi acolyte, in both theory and practice – has been creating a whole lot of different meanings in the Newtown home he shares with his partner Leon Chen.

“I unfortunately just love re-arranging the house,” admits Ben. “I move all the furniture around, probably… once every few weeks? I think it’s been three times this past month.” Beside him, Leon laughs. “I just leave him to it. If anything heavy needs to be carried, I’m there.”

Ben has lived in a total of thirty-five properties – almost one for every year of his life – so moving and organising and re-organising is all second nature. “I’ve been like this my entire life,” he says. “Since I was a kid.” Perhaps all roads, then, would have led to Ben’s chosen career path.

It was when he met and fell in love with Leon, a photographer, that they realised the potential of their combined skills. The couple’s social media account, @coincidentallyus, quickly gained a loyal following for its account of their shared life, their home, and the DIY shenanigans involved in turning a rented home into a textural, stylish design-lover’s paradise.

In the eighteen months since Ben and Leon moved into their two-bedroom, split-level Newtown home, they’ve undertaken a flurry of improvements. (All documented online, naturally.) A lime-green splashback has been covered over with sleek, contact wood paper; DIY wooden bedheads have been installed and stacked with well-thumbed books; and the pièce de résistance – a lush, semi-covered outdoor space – has slowly and surely come into its own.

Their urban oasis began simply. Tired of walking past the “empty grey box” of a balcony that jutted out from their living area, they built a small elevated platform from a stack of concrete vessel blocks, plywood and simple deck tiles. They filled the rest of the space with clean white pebbles, punctuated them with a trail of polished stepping stones, and hung a lightweight washi lantern. The result was a kind of miniature Zen garden, tallying with Ben’s love for Japanese design.

Things escalated when Leon was away visiting family in Taiwan. Ben’s restless energy was in search of an outlet. “I decided I wanted bamboo, a beautiful Japanese maple tree, a blueberry bonsai. Just a heap of plants.” He also installed a walnut-stained box seat and a wall of mirrors to create the illusion of more space. It’s still open to the elements, but now features a blooming lattice overhead, lush with hanging ferns that lend a natural, dappled light.

Inside the home, an exposed brick wall acts as the centrepiece of the living area, hung with a gallery of paintings and framed photographs. While the art is striking and high-contrast, the tonal, warm colours keep the space as a whole from feeling crowded. Little treasures gathered from travels dot their shelves: a quartet of handcrafted timber masks from Japan; a set of mineral ceramic cups (which promise to make “even cheap wine taste amazing”) from Taiwan. Textures are layered, opulent but without fussiness. It’s a style they’ve developed together, a convergence of aesthetics plucked from their two favourite places: for Leon, Norway, and for Ben, Japan. Together, as their relationship has developed, their tastes have enmeshed into a kind of Japandi style, characterised by warmth, clean lines and a fundamental belief in longevity over trend-cycling.

Which brings us back to Noguchi. “We have five Noguchi lamps now,” says Ben, almost apologetically. “But we’re done now! That’s it.” Leon cuts in. “Well, maybe one more. The big one.” Ben nods. “Yes. True. But after that, we’re really done.”

The delicate paper lamps are a defining feature of their home, lending a soft, indirect glow to the space. One rests on a table, another on a countertop. Their newest purchase, the black and white polka dot UF3-Q Akari lamp, glows in the corner. For these creatives, purchasing the work of an iconic designer whose fingerprints have left an indelible mark on modern design is about honouring good design and the permanence of beautiful things – even in transitory spaces. “It’s about quality and craftsmanship,” says Ben. “As a designer, I know the painstaking hours that go into these things, all the thought. I would never buy a replica. If I can’t have the original, I’ll just wait.”

Refreshingly, in the often snobbish design world, they share a staunch love for Ikea. “We’d go for Ikea over replicas any day,” says Ben. “Ikea is designed. They’re original designs by designers, it’s affordable, and it’s quality.” Case in point: the couple has held onto the Omar shelving from the Scandinavian home furniture giant for almost a decade. “It’s lasted forever.”

Within this singular and comforting space, the couple’s weeks fall into a sweet rhythm. Seven-year-old Zissou, their Burmese cat, winds around their ankles as they move through the cosy home they’ve created. Fridays are for the dulcet tones of Sade, set to glowy low-lighting. Sundays begin with Zissou scratching at the door, followed by pottering around the house and making strong black coffees on the Bialetti, letting the smell permeate the home. Then, perhaps a trip to the Carriageworks farmers’ market and a walk here or there. “We spend a lot of time at home. We just enjoy each other’s company. And we love our space.” And if things get too quiet? Ben can always start moving the furniture around again.