Saw a funny Facebook meme and rambled about it in a post, so came here to ramble about the same thing in depth: this right here is one of the reasons why these kinds of overly poetic descriptions are a sign of young/immature writing, but it goes far beyond getting the "wrong color." As a writer, you don't want to paint a picture; you want to paint a feeling. Your reader's brain will paint the best picture from that. Too many details, and their brain gets too busy figuring out what the room looks like to fully experience what the room feels like.
Amateur: He walked into his bedroom, polished shoes stepping on the crimson carpet as his eyes wandered over the dark brown, solid oak furniture and the burnt orange walls. Twenty feet across from him, a fire blazed in the fireplace, shades of gold and vermilion dancing behind the black, wrought-iron guard. On the wall above, pictures of family going back generations were framed in gold, and on the wall to his left, miniature chandeliers dangling over his dresser like lamps. He looked at his bed, red like the carpet but darker in shade and adorned with bronze and gold intricacies that patterned a web over its plush surface. He was so happy to be home, where things were familiar, and he walked to his bed with a faint smile.
Expert: Tired feet struck the crimson carpet and stopped, equally tired eyes wandering over the familiar shades of earth and sunset that painted the landscape of his bedroom. Across the chamber blazed a fire, warm and welcoming, which so starkly contrasted the family portraits hanging above and displaying the faces of people he barely knew. He knew the fire, though; the crackling and popping cadence that never failed to lull him to sleep when the people in the portraits couldn't even do that much. Sleep, which he desperately wanted and needed, so he turned toward the bed, spread with a comforter that matched the carpet almost perfectly, ornate in design and—most importantly by far—covering a mattress so soft and deep that he often lost consciousness the instant he fell into its warm comfort and left the world's oh-so-cold discomfort behind. He had gone so long without that. Still smiling, practically salivating, he moved toward the bed, desperate to feel like he was finally home again.
In the amateur example, you can better see the room as the author sees it—what it looks like as a room. In the expert example, you can better see the room as the CHARACTER sees it—what it FEELS like as THEIR room. And that is so, so much more important when you're trying to bring your reader not into your world, but into your character's world.
Your definition of an 'earthy, homey room' can be different from that of your readers. In the second example, you leave out the fact you see chandeliers on the wall or golden frames around the portraits when you picture it in your own head; but that's okay, because the readers know the character feels warm and safe and at home. Maybe your reader thinks an antique lamp sitting on the dresser better fits in this 'posh but warm' scenario. Maybe they think candles or oil lamps. Maybe they think a dim room that isn't lit up in any significant way by anything other than the fire.
All of those are fine, and they don't impact the story. What does impact the story, however, is if you start talking about the chandeliers, and your reader has to go, "Oh, I assumed—okay, I can see that. Chandeliers. Got it." It happens in a split second, and your reader doesn't even know they're doing it, but their brain is taking that moment to recalculate its understanding of the scene. It breaks the immersion, it breaks the flow; it's the equivalent of pressing pause during a movie so you can take in the insignificant details of the set and then hitting play and trying to get back into the emotion you were feeling before you hit pause.
Concepts over colors. Feelings over facts. Less is more.
