The art of large format, or the alchemy of small spaces
The morning’s slanting light slips across the wall of Clara’s Paris studio, revealing a blue-tinted fresco where waves seem to escape the frame and dance across the ceiling. Barely twenty square meters, yet the space breathes. Visitors pause, perplexed: how can this wall, painted with an endless mar
By Artedusa
••9 min read
The art of large format, or the alchemy of small spaces
The morning’s slanting light slips across the wall of Clara’s Paris studio, revealing a blue-tinted fresco where waves seem to escape the frame and dance across the ceiling. Barely twenty square meters, yet the space breathes. Visitors pause, perplexed: how can this wall, painted with an endless marine horizon, create the illusion of a room twice its size? The answer lies in a paradox as old as art itself—one where the larger the work, the more the space appears to expand. An optical magic that turns constraints into freedom, walls into windows, and studios into miniature palaces.
It is no accident that the frescoes of Pompeii once played with fictive architecture to enlarge Roman baths, or that Tiepolo’s ceilings in Würzburg make it seem as though angels might take flight into the sky. Today, in our urban homes where every square centimeter counts, large-format art has become more than mere decoration: it is a strategy of aesthetic survival. But how can a monumental work, against all logic, stretch a space? And what secrets have artists and designers uncovered to deceive our perception?
When walls become doors to infinity
Imagine stepping into a room where the far wall is no longer a boundary, but an invitation to travel. That is the effect of Olafur Eliasson’s The Weather Project, an installation where an artificial sun seems to float in a golden haze, reflected endlessly by mirrors. Though designed for the Tate Modern, this work has inspired hundreds of New York and Tokyo studios. The principle? Using light and reflection to create the illusion of depth.
Contemporary artists have taken this idea even further. Consider Yayoi Kusama’s Infinity Mirror Rooms—enclosed spaces where hundreds of LEDs and mirrors conjure the sense of a boundless universe. In a fifteen-square-meter studio, a miniature version of these installations (like those offered by some galleries) can make the room feel as though it extends forever. The secret lies in the repetition of patterns and the strategic use of light. Cool colors—blues, greens, pearl grays—also play a crucial role: they recede visually, pushing back the walls as if by enchantment.
But large-format art does more than play with perception. It tells a story. A mural depicting a dense forest, for instance, does not merely enlarge the space—it introduces a narrative dimension. Branches that seem to escape the frame, shadows that dance with natural light—everything works together to create a sense of continuity. As if the studio were merely a window onto a larger world.
Masters of illusion: when art defies the laws of physics
Some artists have made visual expansion their specialty. David Hockney, for example, spent his career exploring the limits of perspective. In A Bigger Splash, he uses exaggerated vanishing lines to make the pool appear to stretch far beyond the frame. Transposed onto a studio wall, this technique can turn a narrow room into a tranquil oasis.
Closer to our time, the French artist Julie Mehretu creates monumental canvases where thousands of lines and abstract forms seem to explode outward. Works like Stadia II give the impression of a space in constant expansion. Hung in a small apartment, a reproduction of her paintings (available in large formats from certain art publishers) can produce a similar effect: the walls seem to dissolve, yielding to a whirlwind of color and movement.
But one of the most striking examples remains JR, whose large-format photographs pasted onto city walls around the world transform urban spaces. In a studio, one of his works—a giant face of a woman gazing through a fictive window—can make the room feel as though it opens onto the outside. The viewer’s gaze is drawn toward the horizon, creating an immediate sense of openness.
These artists share a common intuition: to enlarge a space, one must deny its limits. Whether through perspective, color, or narrative, their works function like hidden doors to other dimensions.
The science behind the magic: how our brains are fooled
Why can a mural make a studio feel larger than it really is? The answer lies in our brains. Neuroscience studies have shown that certain visual techniques activate precise mechanisms of spatial perception.
Take color, for instance: cool tones (blues, greens, grays) are perceived as more distant than warm colors (reds, oranges, yellows). That is why a fresco depicting a summer sky or a turquoise sea can make a wall seem to recede. Conversely, a work in warm tones will visually bring the room’s boundaries closer.
Another fascinating phenomenon is the effect of continuity. Our brains tend to complete shapes and patterns that appear to extend beyond the frame. This explains why a mural of a road disappearing into the horizon can make a room feel as though it stretches far beyond its physical limits. Renaissance artists understood this well: the trompe-l’oeil of Mantegna’s Camera degli Sposi plays with this illusion to create the impression that the room opens onto imaginary landscapes.
Finally, light plays a crucial role. A well-lit work—whether by natural light or strategically placed spotlights—can heighten contrasts and shadows, reinforcing the illusion of depth. Some designers go even further, integrating LEDs directly into frescoes, as in teamLab’s installations, where walls seem to come alive and transform with the viewer’s movements.
The studio as canvas: when art enters intimacy
In the 1960s, as cities grew denser, some artists began exploring the potential of small spaces as artistic supports. Sol LeWitt, with his Wall Drawings, demonstrated that a work could adapt to any surface, regardless of size. His geometric compositions, designed to be traced directly onto walls, inspired a generation of designers to rethink mural art.
Today, this approach has given rise to a true trend: statement art for small spaces. Studios are no longer decorated with small paintings hung here and there, but with monumental frescoes that cover entire walls. In Paris, some owners of micro-apartments do not hesitate to invest in custom works, turning their twenty square meters into personal art galleries.
But how does one integrate a large-format work into a studio without overwhelming the space? The key lies in balance. A mural that is too busy can make a wall feel like it is advancing, while one that is too minimalist risks going unnoticed. Designers often recommend choosing one main wall—the one that immediately draws the eye—and treating it like a canvas. The other walls can remain neutral or be decorated more discreetly (mirrors, floating shelves, smaller works).
Another trick is to play with proportions. A work depicting a distant landscape, for example, can be enlarged so that the foreground elements seem to spill out of the frame. This creates an immediate sense of depth. Conversely, an abstract fresco with repetitive patterns can make walls feel as though they dissolve into infinity.
The new alchemists: when technology meets art
In the digital age, large-format art has taken on a new dimension. Transparent OLED screens, like Samsung’s The Frame, now allow high-resolution artworks to be displayed, with the option to change the image according to mood or season. In a studio, such a screen can serve as a virtual window onto the world: one morning, it displays a tropical forest; by evening, a Mediterranean sunset.
Light projections offer another solution. Artists like teamLab use projectors to turn walls into interactive landscapes. In a small space, a projection of a waterfall or a field of flowers can create total immersion, as if the room opens onto another universe. And unlike traditional frescoes, these installations are adaptable: simply change the digital file to transform the space in an instant.
But technology does more than reproduce art—it reinvents it. Thanks to artificial intelligence, it is now possible to generate unique works tailored to each space. Platforms like NightCafe or DALL·E allow custom frescoes to be created in a few clicks. Imagine a work depicting a landscape that adapts to the natural light in your studio, shifting colors throughout the day.
These innovations open endless possibilities. What if, tomorrow, our walls could not only enlarge our spaces but also tell our stories, reflect our emotions, or even interact with us?
The art of living small: when constraint becomes creativity
In cities where space is a rare commodity, large-format art has become more than a trend: it is a philosophy of life. In Tokyo, where rabbit hutches—studios of less than ten square meters—are common, residents have learned to turn their walls into works of art to escape claustrophobia. Some opt for frescoes of traditional Japanese temples, while others prefer futuristic urban landscapes.
In Paris, where the housing crisis forces more and more people into tight quarters, designers are getting inventive. Interior architect Sarah Lavoine, for example, recommends using large-format works to create "focal points" that draw the eye and distract from the room’s limits. A mural of an infinite library, for instance, can make a studio feel larger than it really is.
But large-format art does more than enlarge spaces—it humanizes them. In a world where housing is becoming increasingly standardized, a custom mural can add a touch of uniqueness and personality. It tells a story, reflects passions, or simply brings beauty into daily life.
And if, in the end, true luxury is not space, but the ability to transform it through the magic of art? In a fifteen-square-meter studio or a palace, a well-chosen work can open doors to infinity. All it takes is knowing how to look.
The art of large format, or the alchemy of small spaces | Decoration
