I'm a sucker for analog practices: film photography, listening to albums on the record player, sketching in my journal. There's something about holding a physical object that keeps me grounded as a designer. With so much digital noise, my best ideas come when I detach: dumping thoughts onto paper, making collage moodboards with printed images I can move around. The creative process and analog practices are inseparable for me.
I pay a lot of attention to vibe—how a space feels, how a playlist flows, how food should be plated. It's something I've always been attuned to, maybe obsessively so. Friends trust me with the aux or ask me to help arrange a room, and I've realized that same instinct translates directly into my design work. I'm constantly trying to read what a concept is asking for, what feeling it needs to land, and how to shape that into something people can actually connect with. I'm drawn to work that doesn't sacrifice concept for craft or vice versa—where every choice comes from somewhere real and felt.
What really drives me, though, is getting to work in the spaces I lose myself in: music, food, film. Music especially; it's how I process the world. I've spent my entire life building playlists like personal essays, memorizing album art before I even knew what graphic design was. The connection between sound and visuals obsesses me, and it's taught me how to think about emotional resonance in all my work. I want to design album covers, but that same instinct—finding the exact visual language that makes something feel right—is what I bring to every project.