I've always believed that our homes become part of who we are.

A drawing by my son

Travel became another classroom. Museums, gardens, old cities, left a lasting impression, but it was visiting my great-uncle's farmhouse and gardens in France that made me think seriously about architecture. A famous landscape designer in his own right, he encouraged me to live in Europe and to follow a creative passion. During a semester abroad in Spain, I knew Architecture would be my path forward.

While I studied design in a modernist program at NCSU, I found myself continually drawn to older homes—not because they were old, but because they possessed qualities that transcend style. They were carefully proportioned, thoughtfully detailed, and designed around the rhythms of everyday life. They felt settled and comfortable.

Today, my work draws from those same principles.

Whether designing a new home or thoughtfully transforming an existing one, I'm less interested in recreating a historical style than in understanding why certain homes continue to feel relevant generations later. Good architecture should improve with age. It should feel connected to its surroundings, support the lives of the people who live there, and become richer through years of use.

No two families live the same way, and no two homes should either.

Every project begins with listening—not simply to a list of rooms, but to the stories, traditions, and aspirations that make each family unique. The goal isn't to create a house that looks like mine. It's to create one that couldn't belong to anyone else.

Years from now, I hope the children growing up in the homes I design will remember them the way I remember mine—not because of the floor plan or architectural style, but because they were places where life unfolded, traditions were formed, and lasting memories were made.