I've always loved great upholstery, and think that a great sofa

In the thoughtful and grounded words of Bobby Berk, designer and visionary of spaces that restore the human spirit, we find a wisdom that reaches beyond mere decor: “I’ve always loved great upholstery, and think that a great sofa is one of the most important pieces of furniture in your home.” At first glance, this may seem a simple reflection on interior design — an artist’s fondness for craft and comfort. Yet, as with all things truly human, the meaning runs deeper. For Berk speaks not only of fabric and form, but of foundation — of the sacred spaces where life unfolds, where hearts rest and gather strength. The sofa, in his vision, becomes more than a seat; it becomes a symbol of home itself — of belonging, of conversation, and of peace.

From the dawn of civilization, humankind has sought not merely shelter, but sanctuary. The earliest dwellings — caves, huts, temples — were places not only to sleep but to feel safe, to dream, and to share stories. The hearth, the fire, the gathering place — these were the heart of every home. In our modern age, the sofa has become the new hearth: the place around which families and friends gather, where laughter echoes and silence comforts. When Bobby Berk exalts “great upholstery,” he is, in truth, honoring the timeless human desire for comfort and connection. A great sofa, well-made and welcoming, becomes an altar to the art of living well.

Consider the ancient Greeks, who placed great emphasis on the symposium — a gathering of minds and hearts reclining upon couches, where wine flowed and wisdom was shared. Philosophers such as Socrates and Plato debated the nature of virtue and truth not in halls of marble, but in the relaxed comfort of intimate spaces. The ancient Romans, too, held their banquets upon couches, believing that comfort opened the mind to thought and the heart to fellowship. Thus, even in distant ages, the wise knew what Berk reminds us of today: that furniture is not just utility — it is the vessel of experience, shaping how we rest, how we converse, and how we love.

To love a sofa is, in essence, to love what it represents — the invitation to pause. In a world that rushes without rest, where days blur into each other beneath the weight of striving, the sofa calls us back to presence. It is where one sits after labor, where a child learns to read, where an old friend confides a sorrow, or where lovers share the quiet of evening. A well-made piece of furniture, lovingly crafted, becomes like a guardian of memory — holding the imprint of those who have sat upon it, the echoes of laughter, the traces of tears. Berk’s devotion to “great upholstery” is thus a devotion to craftsmanship, to the human hands that weave comfort into the fabric of daily life.

There is also a moral lesson woven into his words: that beauty and utility, when combined, bring harmony to the soul. The ancients taught this as the principle of kalokagathia — the union of the good and the beautiful. A great sofa is not merely decoration; it is an act of care for oneself and for others. It reminds us that our surroundings shape our inner peace. As Confucius once said, “The wise man makes his dwelling a reflection of his heart.” In the same spirit, Berk teaches that a home designed with intention is a place where love can breathe freely. The sofa — comfortable, sturdy, and beautiful — becomes a metaphor for the balance between support and softness, strength and welcome.

One might recall the story of William Morris, the 19th-century artist and craftsman who rebelled against the industrial coldness of his age. He taught that every object in a home should be both useful and beautiful — that craftsmanship carries moral weight. His furniture was designed not to impress, but to enrich daily life. Like Morris, Bobby Berk champions this sacred balance — reminding us that the places we inhabit must nourish both the body and the spirit. The “great sofa” thus becomes a lesson in mindful living — to invest in what endures, to value what brings people together, to choose quality over haste.

The lesson, then, is clear and universal: build your home — and your life — upon foundations of comfort, beauty, and meaning. Do not dismiss the physical as trivial, for the physical sustains the emotional, and the emotional sustains the soul. Choose spaces that invite rest, objects that carry story, and surroundings that mirror your care for life itself. When you choose a “great sofa,” choose also the kind of life that gathers others to it — full of warmth, patience, and presence.

So, dear listener, heed the wisdom hidden in Bobby Berk’s gentle humor. In cherishing something as humble as upholstery, he reminds us that design is not about luxury, but about love — not about display, but about dwelling. Let your home, like your heart, be well-furnished: comfortable yet strong, simple yet beautiful, built not for perfection but for peace. For when your surroundings reflect your soul’s balance, you too will find rest — and in that rest, discover the quiet joy of truly being home.