Designer Dani Dennis Turns Her Gramercy Park Apartment Into a Gallery of Black Joy

Interior designer Dani Dennis spent more than a decade at Mark Cunningham Inc. before founding her own New York practice, Danielette Dennis Interiors. Yet her hardest project turned out to be her own Gramercy Park apartment, shared with her husband and two daughters, where she had no client brief and no one to make the final call but herself.

"I'm such a decisive person," Dennis says of her professional work, which ranges from a traditional Brooklyn Heights townhouse to a sleek Park Avenue pied-à-terre. When her family moved in three years ago, the apartment already offered tall windows, handsome moldings, and an airy living and dining area. Dennis left the architecture alone and let furniture, textiles, and her growing art collection do the work.

What does the collection say?

The walls wear Benjamin Moore's Steam, a warm white. "I almost wanted it to feel like a gallery," Dennis says. "But, obviously, it's lived in, and I have kids, so nothing is too precious."

A first-generation American of Liberian heritage, Dennis collects contemporary Black artists from across the diaspora. A painting of girls playing in a circle takes her back to her school days in Côte d'Ivoire; other works show Black women in moments of rest. "I want my kids and my family to be surrounded by reflections of us," she says. Black joy runs through the collection, but Dennis doesn't shop by theme. "I buy what I love," she says. "I don't buy for decoration."

How does the furniture mix work?

Dennis borrows from everywhere, favoring clean lines and unexpected combinations. The living room pairs a custom sofa in Sanderson velvet with a curved Marked NYC design in Pierre Frey wool and mohair. Camel-colored lounge chairs sit against the sharp geometry of a Roger Sprunger coffee table, joined by a 1906 Josef Hoffmann side table and an early-20th-century Alfred Grenander chair. "When the harmony comes from shape and proportion and feeling, I think that's what makes spaces dynamic," she says.

The dining room centers on a table that seats 10, ringed with Joseph-André Motte chairs, with a 1960s Italian burlwood credenza and a Crosby Street Studios rug anchoring the space. Guests, however, haven't arrived yet. "I haven't had people over yet, because in my head it's not done," Dennis says.

For her daughters, 10 and seven, the mohair-and-wool sofa comes with rules: "You guys can sit on it, you can perch, but if we want to play, let's do it elsewhere." The library is fair game — though the girls rarely use the sofa. "They're always lying on the rug," Dennis says. She painted its walls a deep olive-green, carried across the ceiling for an enveloping effect, and hung moodier works: a floral painting by Alexandria Tarver and a black-and-white self-portrait by Hazel Mphande.

The primary bedroom offers a brighter, quieter escape. "I always wanted to be in a cloud," Dennis says of its neutral palette. An upholstered bed, a 1970s steel bench in alpaca wool, and leather-bound nightstands supply the texture.

Is the apartment ever finished?

Since the photo shoot, Dennis has swapped accessories and rearranged objects. When she recently changed a lamp in the living room, even her husband noticed: "Another one?" At work, Dennis knows when to call a room finished. At home, she's beginning to wonder why she should — which suggests the editing will continue long after the first dinner party.