Communication (visual and otherwise) should feel less like interruption and more like invitation. When it’s done well, it respects people’s time, offers real value, and doesn’t assume everyone wants to be shouted at all day.

This approach tends to work better—for audiences, for teams, and for anyone who has ever quietly closed a tab and never come back.

Earlier in my career as a designer, I spent a good portion of my time working with marketing agencies, large organizations, and businesses I helped build myself. Along the way, I learned that success without meaning gets old fast—and that the best work happens when you believe in the mission and genuinely enjoy the people you’re doing it with.

That perspective shapes how I choose my work today, and why I’m intentional about where I invest my time and energy.

Most days, I work from a rustic workshop in the woods of New Hampshire—part antique motorcycle shop, part creative makerspace, and occasionally a quiet place to think. In winter, that means pausing between meetings to feed the woodstove. In summer, it means open doors, oil under the fingernails, and the steady satisfaction of restoring old things rather than constantly chasing new ones.

Now while I do enjoy the quiet creative space of my hermitage, I am often fortunate enough to find myself collaborating on long-term projects, with hand-chosen talent, both digitally and on location around the world.

These days, my work centers on leading creative and communication efforts at WildAtHeart.org—clarifying messaging, building sustainable systems, and helping good ideas travel further without losing their integrity.

I’m not actively pursuing freelance work, but I’m always open to thoughtful conversations, long-term collaborations, and always up for a talk about what happened on a recent adventure.

I’m not actively pursuing freelance work, but I’m always open to thoughtful conversations, long-term collaborations, and always up for a talk about what happened on a recent adventure.

Drop me a note