Personal Perspective & Origin

Early on in my current career, we weren’t required to be on camera. But during a few initial meetings, we chose to turn them on—just to get to know one another. That’s when I met one of my managers for the first time. I had just moved into my NYC apartment after COVID, and behind me was a completely blank wall. With complete sincerity, he said, “I love the décor—are you planning on getting any pictures for that wall?” I laughed. As a designer, I needed a clean slate. Blank walls give me room to breathe. They wait.

Over the years, though, I went through a series of personal experiences that changed me. Slowly, that wall stopped feeling like a placeholder and started feeling like a responsibility. If I was going to put something there, it had to mean something—something layered, symbolic, and honest.

So I created a piece using two photographs of the World Trade Center—one old, one new. I framed them with two thin lines, like windows looking into the past and the present at the same time. Two moments. Two perspectives. Two people separated by tragedy, yet connected by calmness in their final shared moments.

There’s a father and daughter in the past, traveling together, capturing the towers without knowing what they would come to represent. There’s another loss later—Alzheimer’s—where memory fades but meaning remains. There are friendships interrupted, places tied together—New York and New Jersey—where those photos were taken. Everything begins with two strong, tall buildings. People. Time. Distance. Connection.

And now, in my current work, I find myself designing two risers. Two vertical lines again. Stability. Separation. Balance. Power.

It feels full circle. Quietly powerful. And brilliantly done—not just as a system, but as a reflection of how I see the world.