When I was a kid, I was always building something.
Tree forts.
Hidden places in the woods.
Rooms made from blankets.
Anything that could become a place where life happened.
I didn’t know it then, but I wasn’t just building structures.
I was building experiences.
Years later I became a carpenter.
There was something deeply satisfying about watching ideas become real with my own hands. Every day ended with something tangible that hadn’t existed that morning.
Eventually I discovered architecture.
It brought together everything I loved: creativity, craftsmanship, problem solving, and the opportunity to improve people’s lives through the places they live.
For nearly thirty years I’ve been helping families design homes, renovations, additions, and places that reflect who they are and how they want to live.
Over the years, though, something changed.
I realized that people rarely came to me because they wanted a house.
They came because they wanted something the house represented.
A quieter life.
A place for family to gather.
More beauty.
More connection.
More peace.
The architecture was never really the destination.
It was the path.
Today, every project begins with a simple question.
What are you drawn to building?
That conversation shapes everything that follows.
Because when we understand the life you’re hoping to create, designing the building becomes a very different—and much better—process.
When I’m not designing homes, you’ll usually find me with my children, outdoors, swimming, skiing, riding my bike, exploring the coast, or simply paying attention to beautiful places and asking what makes them feel the way they do.
Those questions never really stop.
They’re part of how I live.
And they’re part of how I design.
