1. Mediterranean bloom from Gaudí’s garden | 2. Toshiko Takaezu’s ceramics at the Noguchi Museum| 3. Seaweed-covered rocks on the Maine coast | 4. 150-year-old summer home off the Massachusetts shore| 5. Haystack Mountain School | 6. Sakurai Japanese Tea Shop in Tokyo | 7. Carved doorbell and  weathered stone in Venice | 8. Staircase at Gaudí’s Casa Batlló | 9. Sulfur-stained rocks in Saratoga Springs with my good friend Natalie

Inspiration is a big part of my job, but lately I’ve noticed how often it appears when I’m not chasing it. Not when I’m sitting at a desk or crafting moodboards with a deadline, but when I’m just…looking.

 

It shows up when I’m walking somewhere without urgency, when I’m scrolling through old photos, when I’m out of my element in a new place, or caught in an unexpected conversation. These can be the smallest of cues: a color combination, a texture, a feeling, even a question without an answer.

 

Sometimes those things link together quickly, like they were just waiting to be noticed. Other times, they float around for years before finally attaching themselves to a project that needs them. I think that’s what the creative process looks like most of the time. It's not a flash of genius, but a slow gathering. A back-and-forth between wandering and sorting, following instincts and making sense of them through experimentation.

 

That’s where the best work comes from, I think.

A sneak peek of our Vermont Project 

Recently without meaning to, I found myself gathering a palette, one that feels closely tied to my current work on a home in Vermont. I started noticing a pattern in the places, textures, and colors that caught my attention: sulfur-stained rocks in upstate New York, the carvings of a Venetian doorbell, the seaweed-lined coast of Maine. Each one carried a kind of quiet moodiness, a reverence for landscape, and a certain material honesty. 

This particular project invites that kind of slowness. It’s a reminder that creativity isn’t always linear. It takes time. It takes presence. And often, it asks us to listen before we make. I’m looking forward to watching it take shape.

While inspiration can strike at any time, it does often show up in motion—through doing, making, and exploring without expectation. These are some of the practices and places that help me to reconnect with intuition, deepen our respect for materials, and stay grounded in the joy of process over perfection.

While inspiration often begins in quiet, unseen places, we'd love for you to explore where it all leads. Our portfolio is a reflection of thoughtful collaboration, storied materials, and the belief that beauty should be both felt and lived.