“Mum, I have to go now. Vallgatan 12 is here to do a feature. We’ll talk later.” Lina, one of the founders of Dusty Deco, slips her phone into her pocket and closes the heavy entrance door leading into the showroom. “Sorry I’m running a little late. Have you had coffee, or should we put a pot on? I could really use a cup.” Still wearing her shoes, Lina steps into the apartment without a second thought for the luxurious wool rugs covering the floors. While it may be her own showroom, perhaps it also reflects a more relaxed Scandinavian attitude towards homes and interiors. Located in the centre of Palma, the apartment exudes Southern European architecture. The walls and floors gently lean in different directions, while the soaring ceilings create the feeling of being inside an 18th-century palace.

Lina’s husband Edin, who co-founded Dusty Deco with her, has previously mentioned that both Picasso and Joan Miró are said to have attended parties in the apartment. I bring it up as Lina walks towards the kitchen, talking about Edin’s passion for art. “There’s actually a small Picasso hanging over there. It’s probably the smallest and least expensive piece he ever made. But it’s still a Picasso,” she says, pointing towards a small brown painting featuring a sketch-like self-portrait. I ask whether she has a favourite artwork. She looks up at the wall and points to a photograph of Lara Stone. “Yes, actually that one. She had just given birth when the photo was taken, so her breasts are completely full of milk, and she has this apathetic expression, as if she couldn’t care less.”

Lina explains that Edin gave her the photograph after years of her sending images of it to friends almost every weekend. The photographer was initially reluctant to sell the work, but Edin managed to convince him to produce a signed edition. “It says, ‘To Lina, Happy Birthday.’” Lina keeps her eyes fixed on the photograph as she continues the story. “Unfortunately, it’s not allowed to hang at home. The children think all the breasts are embarrassing, so all these ‘boob paintings’ have to stay here until they understand that it’s actually art.”

The “boob paintings,” as Lina calls them, blend seamlessly into the rest of the collection. Some are so large they cover entire walls, while others are so small they almost disappear. Among the framed works are postcards, children’s drawings, and pieces by established artists. I ask whether the drawings were made by her children. “Yes,” she replies with a smile stretching from ear to ear. It is clear she is a proud mother. “Our daughter loves painting. In fact, she drew the eye that we use as our logo today.”

Art continues all the way into the open pantry. Lina, who has already mentioned coffee several times, lights up when she spots a package of Zoégas on a shelf. “Did you bring this? Someone must have brought it as a gift. Shall we make some? Swedish coffee feels like such a luxury.” Holding the package as if it were a treasure, Lina turns towards a gigantic wooden display cabinet perfectly fitted to the wall behind it. The cabinet is filled with vintage cups and glasses, and there is probably not a matching set among them. “We bought this cabinet before we even had running water or eggs at home.”

It is clear that interiors and design have long been passions for both Lina and Edin. Not a single corner is left untouched, and even the kitchen sink area is decorated with dried chillies and garlic garlands.

Once the coffee is ready, we settle into one of the apartment’s three living rooms. It is only ten in the morning, but the first rays of sunlight are already streaming through the doors leading out to the terrace. Alongside design classics and unique vintage finds, the room is filled with Dusty Deco furniture. I ask whether the showroom resembles her own home. Lina shakes her head. “We’re definitely the shoemaker’s children. At home it’s much more eclectic. Of course, we have some Dusty Deco pieces, but otherwise it’s mostly Ikea furniture and flea market finds. And an awful lot of extension cords. Can’t I just grow up and have the electricity properly installed?” she says, laughing. She turns towards a peach-coloured patterned sofa. “But I would happily have that one at home.”

Lina explains that she first became fascinated with the designer behind the fabric more than twenty years ago. At the time, she worked at H&M, where her department collaborated with Matthew Williamson, known for his colourful aesthetic. When Williamson recently visited the showroom to purchase furniture for his home, they began discussing a collaboration.

“We had a meeting and spoke quite casually. Since I’m not very digital, we both brought physical images. He showed me leopards, moons, suns, animal prints and loads of colour. I was just thinking: yes, yes, yes, yes!” The same excitement struck Lina the first time she saw the showroom. The building’s owner didn’t speak English, so she handled the conversation in Spanish while Edin barely understood a word. Despite that, they both knew immediately. “I simply asked, ‘Where can we sign?’” Shortly afterwards, they had the keys in hand.

“We actually tried living here for a few months at first. But it was winter, and rain came through everywhere. We basically lived on an Ikea sofa in the kitchen because it was the only room we could keep warm with a heater.” She laughs as she recalls it. “But that’s what happens when two twins are in a relationship and make every decision together.” According to mythology, two twins are apparently not an ideal match, she explains. “It’s like having a relationship between four people. Everyone is intense and stubborn.”

How does that work when running a company together?

“We’ve learned how to work together, and I could never have built this company without Edin. But of course, it can be difficult. One of our best-selling products is actually known as the divorce rug.”

I ask her to explain.

“We were at a Guns N’ Roses concert in Lisbon. All I wanted was to drink beer from plastic cups and listen to November Rain. Edin was tired and hungry and wanted to leave early to get food. We argued so much that we eventually went back to the hotel.” Lina exhales as though the memory still annoys her. “So depressing. Luckily, November Rain started playing just as we were leaving.” She continues: “But when we got back, we noticed how beautiful the hotel floor was. That’s where the idea for the rug came from. Officially, it became the Lisbon Rug.”

It is not the only product name with a story behind it. Lina explains that the name Dusty Deco also came about spontaneously during a dinner in a courtyard in Barcelona. Dusty Springfield was playing through the speakers when she asked Edin what they should call the company. “He simply said, ‘Dusty Deco.’” Lina gestures with her hands in the same way Edin did when he casually came up with the name—palms turned upwards, shoulders slightly raised.

“We were in our twenties and had spent a few weekends selling vintage pieces. Eventually, we had saved €4,000 to travel to the United States and buy furniture. We felt incredibly wealthy.” I ask whether she still owns any furniture from that period. After a moment of thought, she tells me about an old wooden table from a children’s home that they once sold to an acquaintance. “We practically had to beg to buy it back. He kept it for years. Then he got divorced, and we thought, now’s our chance. But no, no, no—he still wanted to keep it.” Lina shakes her finger as she repeats the words. “But a few years ago, he called and said he was finally ready to let it go. Now it’s in our home, and that’s where it will stay.”

What makes the table so special?

“Nothing, really. But it has a patina that is almost impossible to recreate. That only comes with time and use.”

Speaking of time, I ask what she wanted to be when she was a child. “

"A retiree and a mother.”

And what do you want to be when you grow older?

Lina leans back in her armchair. “This is such a Miss World answer, but I have to pinch myself every day. I want to keep doing exactly what I’m doing now. Sitting here and designing rugs. I love my job.” Lina lights up in the same way she did when talking about her daughter earlier. It is obvious that she is passionate about what she does. And she certainly looks at home sitting in her self-designed armchair, shoes still on, in an 18th-century palace in Palma, with a cup of Swedish coffee in hand.