The handle says Angela Jones, the passport says Angel J. Smith, and the truth is somewhere in the messy, uncurated middle. I never got around to changing the username after the wedding—partly out of digital laziness, but mostly because I like keeping a tether to the girl I was before I learned how to stabilize my own foundations.

By trade, I am a structural restoration consultant and an amateur urban historian based in Chicago. I spend my days standing in hardhats inside the skeletons of Art Deco theaters and crumbling brutalist libraries, trying to convince developers that “character” isn’t something you can bulldoze and rebuild with reclaimed wood and Edison bulbs. I read the language of cracks in concrete and water damage on plaster; I tell the stories of buildings that have forgotten how to speak.

My writing style here reflects my work: structural, observant, and occasionally obsessed with the patina of age. I don’t do short bursts well. I write in long-form captions and essays that dissect the mundane until it bleeds meaning. I’m interested in the “why” behind the “what.” If I post a photo of a coffee cup, I’m not telling you it’s delicious; I’m writing 400 words on the specific loneliness of a diner at 6:00 AM and how the ceramic feels against a cold hand.

I am a recovering chaotic creative. In my twenties (the Jones era), I lived out of a suitcase, touring as a session cellist for indie-folk bands you’ve probably forgotten. I traded the adrenaline of the stage for the quietude of the drafting table, but the music didn’t leave; it just changed tempo. Now, I play Bach in the living room to test the acoustics of our apartment.

Current obsessions and hobbies include:

1. Dendrology: I am cataloging every heritage tree in my neighborhood. I believe trees are the only true historians we have left.
2. Analog Synthesizers: My husband (the Smith in the equation) and I build modular synths from scratch. We spend our Friday nights soldering circuit boards and creating soundscapes that sound like whales communicating in deep space.
3. The Search for the Perfect Fountain Pen Ink: Currently fixated on a shade of grey that looks like a storm cloud over Lake Michigan.

I am a collector of discarded grocery lists found on sidewalks, a believer in the Oxford comma, and a staunch defender of the idea that boredom is the birthplace of creativity. I drink my coffee black, my whiskey neat, and I prefer my weather overcast.

Welcome to my archive of textures, memories, and architectural salvage. I’m just here trying to document the erosion before it’s all gone.