Designer

JOURNEY 

My grandparents lived with quiet simplicity, nestled in a 500-square-foot cottage where the walls seemed to hum with warmth and memory. Though their home was small, their lives were expansive. In retirement, they wandered far beyond the familiar horizon, crossing oceans and continents with a spirit of wonder that no modest dwelling could contain.

Each time they returned, my grandmother would place a tiny offering in my hands — a trinket, a keepsake, a piece of some distant place woven into her travels. I would cradle these treasures with reverence, tracing their shapes and textures, imagining the bustling markets, sun-soaked villages, and sweeping landscapes from which they had come.

To me, these small artifacts were more than mere objects; they were keys — opening doors to worlds I had yet to see, stitching my young imagination to places and people far beyond my reach. In them, I found a deeper bond with my grandmother, a shared language of curiosity and wonder, and a lifelong yearning to explore the beauty and mystery of the world.

Creativity has always been part of my story — a quiet thread stitched into my life by my father, who has spent over fifty years crafting stained glass windows. From a young age, he brought me into the art show world, showing me how beauty is made by hand and heart. I grew up in Cleveland, Ohio, close to the ever-changing shores of Lake Erie, where, as a teenager, I spent hours making friendship bracelets and tiny seed bead flower necklaces, losing myself in the simple joy of creating.

I followed that pull toward beauty and expression, earning a BFA in painting from Miami University. After graduation, I packed my car and drove across the country to San Diego, California, chasing new beginnings. There, I found work with a small jewelry designer, learning the delicate balance between art and livelihood. When the 2008 recession shook everything loose, I applied to graduate school at SCAD, and soon found myself living in the soft, historic streets of Savannah, Georgia, studying Design Management. It was during my thesis research that I met someone who changed my life — and after graduating, love carried me back to the Midwest.

I made a home in Detroit, Michigan, where in 2012, I co-founded Ponyride, a nonprofit that offered space and support to creative and social entrepreneurs inside a 30,000-square-foot industrial building. At the same time, I stepped into my own role as an entrepreneur, working with a corporation to launch a project that connected the rhythms of the local community to a global audience.

Life grew full with the arrival of two young children, and for a time, I poured all my energy into nurturing them. Yet the desire to create never left me — it only waited, patient and steady. Slowly, I found my way back: taking online classes late at night, watching tutorials with the eagerness of a beginner, reading anything I could get my hands on. It has been a journey filled with trial and error, but also with deep joy and rediscovery.

My path has never been straight — it twists and circles, shaped by family, by love, by loss, and by the quiet, persistent need to make something beautiful with my own hands.

My studio was born from a season of profound grief. After the unbearable loss of my two brothers, I found myself reaching for something tangible, something that could anchor me in a world that suddenly felt unmoored. I turned to my hands — to the ancient, grounding practice of creation. Designing and crafting jewelry became a sacred ritual, a meditation where time and space dissolved, leaving only the stillness of the present moment. In the quiet act of making, I discovered that grief demands expression, a vessel through which its heavy waters can flow. Creativity became my lifeline, a slow and tender way of healing — not from the outside in, but from the soul outward.