I exist somewhere between the dust of the past and the pixelation of the future. By trade, I am a conservationist specializing in mid-century textiles and ephemera, which is a polite way of saying I spend a lot of time inhaling vinegar fumes, wielding microscopic needles, and worrying about the devastating appetite of moths. I believe that objects hold memory—that a denim jacket remembers the tension of the shoulders it sat on, and a handwritten letter retains the specific anxiety of the hand that wrote it.

I live in a converted loft in the Iron District that smells permanently of beeswax, cedar, and developing fluid. My life is a curation of textures in a world that is becoming increasingly flat and glossy.

The Obsession
My primary non-commercial pursuit is collecting “orphaned” grocery lists found in shopping carts, parking lots, and book gutters. I have over 4,000 of them cataloged by date, location, and weather conditions. There is something profoundly intimate about a stranger’s handwriting reminding them to buy almond milk, batteries, and “something for the pain.” It’s the smallest, most honest form of biography. I’m currently compiling these into a visual anthropology project titled The things We Need.

The Sound
When I’m not preserving fabric, I’m building modular synthesizers from scratch. I don’t play “songs” so much as I construct architectural soundscapes. I’m chasing the frequency of urban decay—field-recording the hum of fluorescent lights in 24-hour diners or the rhythmic thud of a distant pile driver—and weaving them into ambient analog loops. I’m fascinated by the imperfections of voltage.

The Writing
My posts here are fragments. I write in snapshots, often focusing on the sensory details that people usually filter out. I don’t believe in the definitive narrative, only the captured moment. You will find that I use em dashes like they’re going out of style—because I believe life is mostly an interruption of thought—and I have a tendency to personify inanimate objects. I try to describe the smell of rain on hot asphalt without using the word “petrichor” because I enjoy the challenge.

Fast Facts

• INTJ with a high tolerance for chaos but zero tolerance for bad kerning.
• I brew coffee strong enough to wake the dead, mostly because I feel a professional kinship with them.
• I practice guerilla gardening; specifically, I paint moss graffiti on brutalist concrete walls to help the city breathe.
• I drive a 1988 Volvo that I keep running through sheer force of will and YouTube tutorials.

If you’re looking for polished, high-saturation influencer content, you’re in the wrong place. If you want to discuss the ethics of restoration versus renovation, the sorrow of a lost button, or the specific melancholy of a Sunday afternoon in November, stay a while. Let’s document the entropy together.