Seraphina Sol

My background in art and design has always been grounded in close observation and a deep appreciation for the natural world. I initially studied fine arts and scientific illustration, which gave me a foundation in both traditional techniques and research-driven image-making. Over time, I expanded my practice by working with architecture firms—an experience that taught me how design shapes space, experience, and systems of meaning. It also helped me develop a sensitivity to materials, scale, and how visual communication functions in both practical and poetic ways. I didn’t always know I would become an artist or designer in this specific sense. What drew me in was the desire to connect disciplines—to create work that doesn’t just convey information, but fosters understanding. In both architecture and botanical illustration, there’s a shared emphasis on structure, clarity, and storytelling. That crossover continues to shape how I work: blending precision with emotion, scientific accuracy with aesthetic care. Ultimately, I see my path as one shaped by attention. Whether drawing a pressed plant or developing a visual narrative for a design project, I’ve always been most compelled by the question: how can we learn to see more deeply? That question still guides everything I do.

My studio practice is rooted in thoughtful design, art, ecology, and research. It was founded on the belief that design can be a powerful tool for attention, care, and environmental connection. We specialize in detailed, research-based visual storytelling—particularly through botanical illustration—but our work spans a range of formats, from print and exhibition design to educational materials and public art. At the heart of it all is a commitment to translating scientific knowledge into emotionally resonant, visually engaging experiences. The studio began organically, growing out of my background in fine arts, scientific illustration, and years working with architecture firms. That cross-disciplinary experience shaped the way I approach projects—blending clarity and structure with sensitivity and nuance. Architecture taught me how materials carry meaning, how scale affects perception, and how every design decision—no matter how small—is ultimately about shaping how people interact with their surroundings. Those lessons have become essential to the way the studio now works. One of our most recognized projects is Field Notes Botanical Illustration, a multi-year body of work that documents native and at-risk plant species through a blend of traditional drawing and digital refinement. This series has been exhibited in museums, universities, and public institutions across Canada, and it continues to evolve as both an art project and a platform for environmental education. The studio's practice extends beyond illustration alone—we develop our own materials, such as handmade recycled paper embedded with native wildflower seeds, to reinforce the ecological values embedded in the work. Collaboration is central to the studio’s ethos. We often work with scientists, conservationists, educators, and cultural institutions to create work that is not only visually compelling but also deeply informed. Whether it’s designing a publication for a botanical garden or developing interpretive graphics for a public installation, we aim to create experiences that are grounded in both accuracy and emotion—helping people connect more deeply with the living world. Sustainability and material ethics are also foundational. Whenever possible, we use eco-conscious materials—natural inks, post-consumer waste paper, biodegradable substrates—and always consider the life cycle of what we create. We see each design as part of a larger system, one that ideally gives back more than it takes. Ultimately, the studio’s goal is to inspire stewardship—through beauty, through knowledge, and through design that encourages care. We want people to not only learn something new from our work, but to feel something: a spark of curiosity, a moment of recognition, a renewed sense of connection. In a world that often moves too fast, our studio creates space to pause, to look closely, and to rediscover the wonder of the natural world. Whether through a finely detailed leaf vein or the careful design of a printed page, our work is an invitation—to see, to feel, and to protect what matters.

Design, for me, is a practice of deep observation and connection—an intentional way of shaping how we see, feel, and relate to the world around us. It’s not only solving problems, but also how we create meaning through form, material, and experience. At its best, design invites care, curiosity, and a deeper relationship with both people and place. I envision a future where beautiful design builds stronger connections, and where thoughtful innovation supports life by inspiring us to care for each other and the environment.

I’m most drawn to designing work that emerges from collaboration—projects where different perspectives come together to create something richer than any one voice alone. I especially love working on botanical and nature-based pieces that take me outside of my everyday rhythms and ask me to slow down, observe closely, and notice the often-overlooked details of the living world. These kinds of projects challenge and ground me—they’re as much about connection and care as they are about aesthetics or function.

My favorite design is nature itself—it is the original and most enduring form of design. In every seed pod, branch, or wing, there’s a quiet intelligence, a sense of balance and purpose that feels both effortless and profound. The role of the artist is to respond to what already exists—to observe, to learn, and to reveal the beauty that’s often overlooked. Nature doesn't ask to be improved—only seen more clearly.

The first project I designed for a company was a series of botanical illustrations and prints inspired by the seasons. I created these visuals to support their branding across packaging, marketing materials, and stationery. Combining hand-drawn detail with digital techniques, the work aimed to capture the beauty of nature’s cycles while bringing warmth and personality to the company’s visual identity.

I am most drawn to traditional botanical inks for their richness and the way they allow me to capture fine, expressive details by hand. At the same time, I embrace digital tools that allow me to deepen textures and add subtle layers, enhancing the illustration without overshadowing its original character. This blend of ink and technology lets me explore traditional drawing techniques while exploring new possibilities.

I feel most creative after traveling—when I return carrying impressions, memories, and subtle marks left by new places. Travel breaks the familiar rhythm and opens me up to seeing details I might otherwise overlook: the way light shifts on surfaces, the quiet textures of a landscape, and sunrise from a new horizon.

When designing, I focus deeply on observation and intention—making sure every detail serves a purpose and speaks to the story behind the work. I pay close attention to structure and clarity, ensuring the design communicates its message accurately while remaining visually engaging and beautiful. Equally important is the emotional resonance—the ability of the design to invite curiosity, connection, and care beyond just its surface appearance.

When I design, there’s a blend of calm and curiosity—a feeling of ease that invites me to explore without boundaries. It’s a space where precision meets playfulness, where each stroke or detail uncovers something new. That balance between thoughtful control and creative freedom keeps the process fresh, alive, and deeply rewarding.

When my designs come to life, I feel a deep sense of fulfillment and excitement. There’s something extremely rewarding about seeing ideas move beyond the page, becoming tangible and being able to share that with others. It’s also a moment of connection—knowing the work can inspire curiosity, spark conversation, or foster care in ways I hadn’t fully imagined.

A design feels successful when it truly connects—when people react, whether through curiosity, emotion, or new understanding. Success isn’t just about aesthetics or function; it’s about creating a moment that invites engagement and sparks a response. When a design moves someone to pause, reflect, or see something differently, that’s when it has truly succeeded.

With any design, I first consider the emotional reaction it evokes—does it invite connection, curiosity, or care? This emotional impact reflects the thoughtfulness behind how the design engages the viewer, encouraging them to pause, reflect, and fully experience the work. A successful design creates a meaningful experience that lingers and leaves a lasting impression. When a design invites repeated returns, offering fresh inspiration each time, it fulfills its purpose deeply.

From my perspective, a designer’s responsibilities extend beyond aesthetics and function to include care for both society and the environment. Designers have the power to shape how people interact with the world, so it’s vital to create work that respects cultural contexts, promotes inclusivity, and encourages thoughtful engagement. Environmentally, designers should prioritize sustainable materials and processes that minimize harm, fostering a deeper connection between people and nature. Design holds the power to inspire stewardship and to open meaningful pathways for caring for both the planet and its people.

The design field is evolving toward greater connection and collaboration, breaking down traditional boundaries to embrace multidisciplinary approaches. It’s becoming a space where diverse perspectives and ideas are not just welcomed but essential—where design at its best is about listening, learning, and responding to complex, real-world challenges. The future of design lies in its ability to create empathy, bridge gaps between disciplines, and innovate solutions that are inclusive, thoughtful, and deeply connected to both people and the environment.

My last exhibition was held in Canada, where I had the opportunity to engage with a diverse audience and share the work deeply connected to local ecosystems. For my next exhibition, I’m excited to expand abroad—and bring the project to new places and communities to foster broader conversations about nature, art, and conservation on an international scale.

My design inspiration comes primarily from the natural world—its forms, rhythms, and intricate details that invite close observation and reflection. I feed my creativity by spending time away from home, exploring different landscapes, and immersing myself in the subtle textures and patterns that might otherwise go unnoticed. Beyond nature, I draw inspiration from art, history, and the stories embedded in places. I am always looking to connect ideas across disciplines and uncover new ways to see and express the world around me.

My design style is rooted in careful observation and a balance between precision and poetic expression. It blends traditional techniques—like detailed hand drawing—with digital refinement to create work that feels both grounded and alive. What led me to this style was a desire to honor the complexity of natural forms while making them accessible and engaging, inviting viewers to slow down and connect deeply. The main characteristics of my style include clarity, texture, and a thoughtful layering of details that reveal new insights on closer look. My approach to design centers on respect—respect for the subject, for the viewer, and for the broader context—always aiming to create work that is both informative and emotionally resonant.

I live in Canada, where experiencing the full cycle of four distinct seasons—each with its own colors, textures, and rhythms—deepens my botanical inspiration and encourages me to capture the subtle changes and resilience of plants throughout the year. While the harsh winters can be challenging, limiting time spent outdoors, they also invite deeper reflection and artistic experimentation, offering space to explore new techniques and perspectives until the landscape begins to bloom again. One of the advantages of living here is the friendly, open spirit of collaboration—there’s a genuine willingness to meet people different from oneself and to work together across disciplines. This approachability creates a supportive environment where ideas can grow and evolve.

I work with companies both locally and internationally, often remotely, in ways that are flexible, collaborative, and grounded in shared values. My botanical illustrations help bring a sense of care, clarity, and connection to their projects—whether it's for packaging, product design, interiors, or storytelling. Alongside the artwork, I offer guidance rooted in sustainability, helping teams think more deeply about materials, environmental impact, and how to align their work with sustainability goals in a thoughtful, meaningful way. What I bring is not just an image, but a way of seeing—supporting projects that want to communicate with intention, care for the natural world, and create lasting, responsible design.

Some of the most important things for companies is to look for are shared values and a clear alignment of goals. The strongest collaborations for me have been built on mutual respect, openness, and a willingness to listen and exchange ideas. I pay attention to how a designer thinks, communicates, and approaches problem-solving. A good designer doesn’t just execute a brief, but they ask the right questions, challenge conventions, and help shape the project with genuine care and insight. The best partnerships happen when there’s trust and a shared commitment to creating something meaningful, thoughtful, and lasting.

My process always starts with slowing down and really paying attention. I spend a lot of time observing—whether I’m walking through a garden, visiting a natural site, or studying specimens in a herbarium. I’m drawn to the smallest details: the texture of a leaf, the curve of a stem, the way a plant leans toward light. It’s in noticing these quiet things that a bigger picture starts to emerge—how a plant fits into its landscape, its history, its relationships with other species. That kind of study helps me understand not just what I’m looking at, but why it matters. From there, I sketch by hand in ink to get the structure and feel of the plant, then bring the work into a digital space where I add depth and texture. It’s a process that blends observation, research, and care—so the final piece holds both accuracy and a sense of presence.

My top design items at home include my drawing tablet, a collection of inks, handmade seed papers, vintage botanical prints, and a fountain pen that adds a timeless touch to my creative process.

A typical day for me blends is a blend between creative focus with collaboration. I start by sourcing inspiration—whether through nature walks, visiting gardens, or exploring new materials—and then dive into writing, sketching, and digital drawings. Most of my time is spent working alongside other artists, design studios, and architects, to support their projects that help achieve their sustainability and community engagement goals. Balancing independent work with these collaborative moments allows me to bring both fresh perspectives and thoughtful expertise to every project.

As a young designer, I’d say: stay curious and patient. Design is as much about seeing and understanding as it is about making. Notice the smallest details and the stories they hold. In this digital age, take moments to write, sketch, and gather your own thoughts—these quiet practices shape a vision that’s truly your own.

Being a designer means balancing creativity with responsibility. On the positive side, there’s a lot of joy that comes with bringing ideas to life and the privilege of shaping how people experience the world—whether through objects, spaces, or stories. It is a career that invites continuous learning and connection across disciplines. On the other hand, the work can sometimes be unpredictable and the need to adapt to different perspectives. It can also demand patience, as progress often unfolds slowly and requires ongoing study. Still, these challenges offer opportunities to grow and deepen your understanding of both the craft and yourself.

My golden rule in design is to create more than I consume—and to leave things better than they were found. My goal is to contribute original ideas while improving the world around me, making design a force for positive change and lasting impact.

The most important skills for a designer go beyond just creativity—it’s about having a clear vision and the focus to see it through. Being organized, communicating effectively, and building trust with clients and collaborators all come together to turn ideas into something real. It’s this combination of clarity, connection, and follow-through that really makes design work.

I work with a blend of digital and traditional design methods to bring ideas to life. Adobe Photoshop, Illustrator, and InDesign help me layer details and refine compositions, while my drawing tablet bridges hand and screen—offering precision with a human element. Much of my process begins with fountain pen and ink on paper, capturing the subtle imperfections and spontaneous energy that only hand drawing can offer. There’s something deeply comforting about surrounding myself with the history plants hold—vintage botanical guides, herbarium specimens, and illustrations. These carry stories of the natural world across time and provide a grounding force behind my work, creating a quiet dialogue with the past. Museums and gardens are my favourite places of reflection and inspiration, and remind me that design is more than creation, and problem-solving, but and has the ability to inspire and give back deep sense of gratitude for the world around us.

Design can definitely demand a lot of time and focus, so managing it comes down to balance and intention. I set clear priorities and break projects into manageable time blocks and deadlines, which helps keep the work steady. I also make space for breaks and moments away from the screen—whether it’s a walk outside or time spent observing nature—which recharges my creativity and keeps me grounded throughout the process.

Designing an object can take anywhere from a few focused minutes to several years—it really depends on the complexity and purpose and no two projects are the same. Sometimes inspiration comes quickly, and a concept comes together almost instantly. Other times, the process involves deep research, conversations, multiple revisions, and layers of refinement that unfold slowly over time. Every project has its own rhythm, and part of the craft is learning to be patient and open to the needs of the project.

The question I hear most often is, “How did you start?” For me, it’s less about a single moment and more about following the gentle call of curiosity, shaped by the quiet courage of those who simply began before me. Like a slow unfolding, design is a continuous journey—a conversation with time, place, and self—where each step has revealed something new to me, and invited me to keep moving forward with openness and patience.

One of the most important experiences in my career was the opportunity to study closely with both botanists and leading architects. Working alongside botanists truly deepened my understanding and appreciation of the natural world—how plants grow, adapt, and interact within their environments. This knowledge shaped my approach to design, teaching me to observe with patience and respect for nature’s subtle complexities. At the same time, training under prominent architects gave me a rigorous grounding in process, precision, and structure. I learned how careful planning and attention to detail turn ideas into something tangible and functional. My background has given me a blend of scientific study and technical discipline which I've found to be essential—it reminds me that my creative concepts are not just visually compelling but also practical and purposeful. Combined, these experiences have shaped how I approach design as both an art and skill, balancing inspiration with technical knowledge to create work that feels both thoughtful and grounded.

I’ve worked extensively with clients in the built environment—real estate developers, architecture firms, interior designers, and urban planners. These collaborations often focus on integrating botanical illustrations and sustainable design principles into residential, commercial, and public projects. I also collaborate with museums and cultural centres, helping to create narratives and visuals that connect visitors with nature and history. Beyond spaces, I work with clients in product design and packaging, bringing the same thoughtful, nature-inspired approach to materials and storytelling across different platforms.

I’m most drawn to design work that invites collaboration and pushes me beyond my everyday perspective. Projects that involve botanical themes are especially rewarding because they connect me to nature’s quiet complexity and invite a slower, more thoughtful way of seeing. I enjoy work that encourages me to notice details often overlooked, whether it’s in a plant’s form or the interplay of light and texture. These moments of discovery keep the process fresh and inspire designs that feel alive and meaningful.

I’m focused on deepening my knowledge of sustainability and material exploration, seeking out new ways to create with intention and respect for the environment. Moving forward, I'm excited to continue collaborating across disciplines—with architects, other designers, educators, and innovators—to bring thoughtful, conscious design into spaces, products, and experiences. Ultimately, my goal is to keep pushing the boundaries of what design can do, blending beauty with purpose to inspire deeper connections between people and the natural world.

I usually begin with a clear vision for the project, but I believe great design is rarely a solo effort. When a project calls for it, I bring in talented specialists and collaborators to help shape and refine the work. It’s about guiding the creative process while trusting the expertise of others, knowing that the best results come from a thoughtful balance between personal vision and collective skill.

Right now, I’m developing a series of paintings and illustrations specifically for interior designers, designed to complement and enrich built environments. These works explore themes of sustainability, wellness, and our relationship with nature, aiming to bring a subtle, thoughtful presence into spaces people visit daily. It’s a project that blends art with purpose, and I’m collaborating closely with design teams to make sure these pieces resonate both visually and conceptually within their settings.

People can reach me through my website, seraphinasol.com, or on Instagram @seraphinasol. I’m always open to messages and conversations—whether it’s about a new project, collaboration, or simply to connect over shared ideas. The best way is to send a message directly, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.

One thing I’d like to highlight is how much I value the physical, tactile side of design, even in a digital age. While much of my work happens on screens, I’m a strong advocate for hand-drawn sketches and materials that you can touch and feel. There’s a kind of quiet reflection and connection that comes from working with your hands—whether it’s ink on paper or studying plants in person—that digital tools alone can’t replace. This balance between deep noticing, care, and technology is central to how I approach each design and the creative process.

My work as an artist and designer is deeply shaped by the years I spent working within architecture studios. That experience taught me how to think in layers—how structure, material, and intention come together to shape space and experience. It gave me a strong foundation in precision and process, but also a deep respect for the quiet details that often go unnoticed. When I illustrate now, especially in the botanical realm, I’m drawing not just from observation, but from that architectural way of seeing—understanding context, proportion, and how things relate to one another. It’s a practice of both care and building, and one that continues to evolve through each collaboration.

I became a designer slowly—through a series of quiet recognitions rather than a single decision. Growing up, I was always drawn to observing the world around me, sketching small details, and noticing the way light would shift across surfaces or how plants responded to their surroundings. That curiosity led me to study both visual art and architectural design, where I found a language that combined imagination with structure. Working in architecture studios early in my career shaped the way I think—about space, material, and the importance of intention behind every choice. But alongside the technical training, there was always this desire to connect more deeply with nature, to slow down and observe. Botanical illustration became a way to do that—to blend the clarity of design thinking with the intimacy of close observation. I don’t think there was one person who pushed me toward design, but rather a continuous pull—an internal drive to understand, to notice, and to communicate care through the things we create. For me, becoming a designer wasn’t about arriving at a role, but learning how to see, and how to make that seeing meaningful for others.

When I begin any project, my priorities are always rooted in observation, material sensitivity, and emotional resonance. I spend time closely observing—whether it’s a plant, a site, or a concept—studying not just how something looks, but how it lives in its context. I’m interested in the relationships between things: form, function, and feeling. That kind of deep noticing is the foundation of everything I make. Second, I care deeply about materials—how they’re sourced, what they communicate, and what histories they carry. Whether I’m working with handmade papers, botanical inks, or digital tools, I try to choose methods that reflect the values of the project. There’s a balance between hand and machine in my work; I often begin with ink sketches or field notes, then refine digitally to build depth and clarity. Lastly, I always consider how the design will make someone feel. I want the work to invite reflection, care, and connection—whether it's an illustration, a spatial narrative, or a printed piece. If the viewer pauses, feels something, or sees the world differently, even for a moment, then the design has done its work. At the center of it all is a quiet theme that runs through everything I do: to pay attention. That’s where it starts.

Designing brings a mix of calm focus and excitement—almost like getting lost in a conversation with the work itself. There’s a certain ease that comes when I’m in the process, especially in the early phases of observations and sketching. That’s where I feel most connected—studying forms, exploring ideas, letting small details guide the direction. I find the journey most fulfilling. The act of slowly building something—shaping it through layers of thought, material, and care—is where the real satisfaction lies. There's a kind of joy in noticing the moment a design starts to speak back, when it begins to carry a feeling or idea beyond what I could have planned. Seeing a finished piece is meaningful, especially when it resonates with others. But what keeps me coming back to the work is the feeling of curiosity and exploration—of being reminded that design is a way of noticing the world more fully. That, to me, is the most rewarding part.

Some of the most important aspects of my background that shaped me as a designer didn’t come directly from design at all. My early experiences working with botanists, for example, taught me patience and precision—how to slow down and really study a subject. That kind of scientific observation has stayed with me, grounding my visual work in a sense of care and accuracy. Similarly, my time working in architecture studios gave me a deep appreciation for process, material thinking, and the discipline required to bring an idea into form. Non-design skills like research, writing, and collaboration have been just as essential. Research allows me to understand context more deeply, writing helps me shape narrative and communicate ideas clearly, and collaboration opens me up to perspectives beyond my own. These skills make the work more layered and responsive—less about self-expression and more about shared meaning. If there’s a thread through it all, it’s the value of attention. The most influential figures in my life—whether mentors, artists, or peers—were people who knew how to look closely, ask better questions, and treat design as a form of stewardship. My journey has been shaped by working alongside those kinds of people—scientists, architects, craftspeople—who taught me that good design often begins with listening.

I’m interested in growing in ways that feel intentional, thoughtful, and rooted in care: care for materials, for place, for process. I want to continue bridging disciplines—working at the intersection of botanical illustration, sustainability, and the built environment—while collaborating with architects, researchers, and communities to create work that’s both beautiful and responsible. In the future, I hope to develop more projects that explore regenerative design: using art and illustration to support ecological education, sustainable development, and public engagement. I’d love to contribute to larger spatial or cultural projects—working with museums, gardens, or community spaces to design site-specific installations or materials that encourage people to see their environment differently. My dream projects are the ones that create space—for reflection, learning, and care. Whether through a quiet drawing on seed paper or a larger collaboration with architects on sustainable materials, I want to design in ways that last—not just in time, but in feeling. I hope to be remembered as someone who helped people look more closely, and feel more connected, to the natural world.

For designers just starting out, I’d say this: protect your curiosity, and don’t rush to define your path too quickly. The design world moves fast, but some of the most meaningful work takes time—time to notice, to listen, to understand the layers of what you’re creating. Stay open to learning from people outside your field—scientists, craftspeople, gardeners, builders—because good design doesn’t happen in a vacuum. One of the best pieces of advice I received early on was to stay close to the materials. That means understanding not just how something looks, but where it comes from, what it costs to make, and what happens when it’s no longer needed. That kind of care builds integrity into your work. It’s easy to feel pressure to be everywhere at once, especially in the digital world. But it’s just as important to take time to collect your own thoughts, to build a perspective that’s grounded and thoughtful. Read widely. Visit places. Keep notebooks. Find mentors. Most of all, allow yourself space to grow into your voice—not as a brand, but as a way of seeing and responding to the world with clarity and care.

One of the most important practices is to listen deeply—not just to clients or collaborators, but to the context of the project itself: the site, the materials, the culture, and even the unspoken needs of the people who will live with your work. That kind of attentiveness shapes designs that feel honest and lasting. Avoid the trap of chasing trends or trying to please everyone. Instead, focus on clarity and intention. Ask yourself what story your design is telling, and if it holds up under scrutiny. A timeless design isn’t just about aesthetics—it’s about meaning and function working in harmony. Another key is collaboration. Surround yourself with people who challenge and expand your thinking. Different perspectives push your work beyond the obvious and open up new possibilities.

Most of my days are spent in my studio, immersed in sketching and drawing, exploring finishes, textures, and materials with care and attention. Writing is also a big part of my process—to process new ideas and concepts and create a thoughtful archive I can return to later. I also love staying connected with my network of designers from studios around the world, keeping up with what’s happening globally. Being engaged with new shows, museums, and exhibitions constantly fuels my inspiration and keeps my work in conversation with the wider creative community.

I keep an eye on design trends, but I never let them dictate my work. Trends can be useful, but lately I find myself more interested in developing work that feels authentic and connected to my own voice and values, rather than chasing what’s trending for the season. Inspiration comes from nature, history, and the subtle details I notice in everyday life—these are the elements that give my designs depth and staying power. Ultimately, I want my designs to transcend trends and invite people to connect on a more impactful, memorable level.

Good design is thoughtful, emotionally resonant, and quietly invites you to return with new eyes each time.

I know a design is ready when it feels like it naturally belongs—when it complements a space or project so seamlessly it’s as if it’s always lived there. It no longer feels like something I’ve made, but something that simply is, complete in its presence and purpose.

One of the most meaningful projects I’ve worked on is a series of large-scale botanical illustrations commissioned by a hospitality group for their new hotel concept.. The work explored native plant species and how they respond to seasonal and environmental change—a theme that sits at the heart of everything I do. What made it special wasn’t just the visual outcome, but the way it brought together art, ecology, and place-making. It became part of the built environment, offering not just beauty but education and reflection. It challenged me to think about scale, narrative, and how illustration can live within architecture—not just on paper, but in public life.

Isamu Noguchi has always stood out to me—not just for the elegance of his forms, but for how deeply he understood the relationship between object, space, and feeling. His work moved seamlessly between sculpture, design, and landscape, always grounded in a quiet sensitivity to material and place. If I could speak with any designer from the past, it would be him—not to ask about technique, but to listen to how he thought, how he noticed. His ability to make work that feels both timeless and human continues to influence how I approach my own practice.

I travel often, exploring studios, architecture, and gardens that continually inspire and expand my creative perspective. I draw deeply from nature’s changing seasons and believe the best designs shape how we live, making even small choices meaningful and sustainable. I always carry my sketchbook and paints to capture ideas as they come, keeping my creativity grounded and alive. Working remotely and internationally, I’m always open to connecting with others who have ideas for new projects. Collaboration is at the heart of my practice, and I love partnering with people on exciting projects that advance sustainability, education, and art for change.

My work centers around openness and collaboration. I know how great design grows from honest conversations and the exchange of ideas, so I prefer working with teams where everyone brings a unique perspective to a project. When choosing partners or collaborators, I look for people who are passionate, curious, and adaptable—those who care deeply about the process of design and are willing to explore new approaches. Clear communication and shared values are key because that’s how productive, creative relationships thrive. For me, it’s about shaping ideas thoughtfully while always keeping people and the environment in mind.

I believe design is a form of care—and with that comes a responsibility to give back. Part of my work involves helping people and organizations meet their sustainability goals and deepen their engagement with the environment. This includes contributing botanical illustrations and documentation for herbaria and community gardens, projects that preserve plant knowledge and create meaningful connections between people and nature. I also support non-profits and sustainability-focused initiatives, and mentor emerging designers exploring nature-based or socially responsible work. Designers, artists, and architects have a unique opportunity to create systems and spaces that foster healing, inclusion, and awareness. When design moves beyond the studio and engages with communities, it becomes a powerful force for positive change. Helping others find their creative voice and align their work with sustainability is one of the most rewarding ways I contribute.

Attending the A’ Design Award has been a truly positive experience—connecting with a global network of talented designers has broadened my perspective and deepened my understanding of great design. I’m looking forward to the collaborations that come from this connection. Design awards like this not only celebrate creativity but also open doors to growth, learning, and meaningful partnerships. Thank you for having me.