Let’s slow down for a moment.

This is where I reflect on how I see, think, and move through the world as a designer. It’s less about credentials, more about curiosity, attention, and the quiet patterns that guide my work.

Bioengineer turned storytelling designer.
My early years were spent in labs, designing microscale tools (called organs-on-chips) to study human tissue and drug responses. That work taught me precision, patience, and the art of asking better questions. But I found myself equally drawn to what couldn’t be measured. For instance, how information feels, how systems shape behavior, how clarity changes everything. So I shifted toward design. Not away from science, but deeper into meaning.

Today, I work across product, brand, and information design to make complexity feel human. I enjoy designing systems that hold space for complexity without overwhelming it. I aim to build infrastructure for insight: tools, identities, and experiences that feel calm, expressive, and deeply usable.

Sometimes that means designing intuitive platforms for scientific research. Other times, it means crafting visual languages for founders or illustrating abstract ideas in motion. The medium shifts, but the throughline stays the same: to make the invisible visible. I see design as a kind of quiet alchemy, a practice of reduction without oversimplification, where form reveals essence and structure invites understanding.

A few things I value in my practice.
Slowness, systems thinking, visual honesty, quiet confidence, collaboration without ego, tools that serve meaning, and design that earns attention without demanding it.

Outside of work.
I recharge through indoor climbing, long afternoons at art museums, and the clatter of my 1960s typewriter. I write a newsletter full of raw, unfiltered thoughts, typos and all. I also co-host a podcast, a space where ideas, presence, and observation come into play. I practice photography too – documenting travels and quiet moments for myself, friends, and family. Climbing keeps me grounded in the present, and one day I’d love to take it outside and scale El Capitán.

Glance

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