Most of my days are spent in conversations with people who create worlds. Painters who mix colors I've never seen, sculptors who talk to stone, digital artists who build universes in code.
They come with this beautiful, specific energy – holding something precious they want to share, looking for the right space to let it breathe online. My work lives in that translation: between the studio and the screen, between what's made and how it's seen.
I've learned to listen for what's underneath the questions. When someone asks about website builders, they're often really asking, "How do I build a room that feels like my mind?" When they ask about loading images, they're asking, "How do I make someone feel what I felt when I made this?"
Over time, I've collected notes – not just technical solutions, but ways to help a website hold presence. How to make a scrolling page feel like walking through a gallery. How to let silence sit around an image. How to make contact forms feel like extending an invitation, not just collecting emails.
