Shadows slide over arches like they have somewhere to be.

Geometry and restraint in the frame, until the orange tree leans in with its burst of character.

A hedge framed like art, teaching me what not to touch.

Stone done right, the tree plays sculptor, and the doors insist on being noticed.

Clay stealing the spotlight, framed by a sky so vivid you’d swear it was filtered.

Golden hour doing what it does best, turning everything it touches into a masterpiece.

Shadows that turn metal into lace. Proof that strength can still feel delicate.

Terracotta underfoot, palm in the middle, arches framing the sky, the kind of balance you feel before you notice it

Every step a pattern, every pattern a memory. A reminder that repetition doesn’t have to mean the same thing twice.

Tile that catches the light like it’s telling you where to go. The invitation is in the detail.

Arches throwing shadows like they know exactly what they’re doing

One perfect pop of red against a wall too calm to compete.

That curve, that shadow, an architectural side-eye.

Every chair, rug, and bottle earning its place. Took that photo while waiting for our tasting

Every tile on these stairs feels like it knows a secret. And the higher you climb, the better the view gets.

The kind of reminder you don’t just walk past, you carry it with you the rest of the day.

Sun, shadow, and a plant with more attitude than half the people you’ve met.

The best spaces don’t just look good, they make people stay. That’s the kind of design I’m known for.

A red facade so rich it makes the shadow of the tree feel intentional.

Striped umbrellas, dappled light, and a tree planted dead-center, balance without boredom.

Spirals of yellow staircases under a sky strung with lights. Drama meets precision.

Lake Tahoe’s way of reminding me that even the most utilitarian shapes can feel like sculpture when they meet a still, snowy shore.

One side winter, the other reflection.
A perfect example of how a single line, natural or designed, can shift your perspective instantly.

Design loves a vanishing point. Here, it’s not about arrival, it’s about the discipline of leaving open space ahead.

The weight of evergreens grounded by rock. Every home needs this balance, rooted and enduring, with just enough wildness left in place.

A beach umbrella waiting for summer, framed by lodge architecture and pine silhouettes. The kind of seasonal pause that reminds me how context transforms design.

A cabin half-hidden behind bark and snow. I’m drawn to how framing changes what you notice, whether it’s a doorway or a design concept.

Icicles against a warm interior shadow line. Nature’s own trim work, proof that scale, proportion, and light are everything.

Where glass meets timber and the sound of water is part of the architecture. The kind of symmetry nature doesn’t mind sharing with design.

Snow melting into moss, wood meeting water, proof that contrast is the most natural design principle there is.

A quiet curve through wet stone and evergreen, an invitation to slow down before you arrive.

An early morning climb through Las Catalinas, where every corner feels like it was built to slow you down and make you look up.

The kind of street that makes you want to walk without a map, just following the curve until it opens up to something unexpected.

Even the smallest spaces in Las Catalinas hold moments of intentional design, where rock, plant, and light meet in quiet harmony.

A glimpse into Casa Chameleon, where warm wood, stone, and soft light promise an evening you’ll wish could last a little longer.

Sun-warmed sandstone stacked by hand, still standing against wind, time, and everything in between.

A cut in the rock, framing not just the desert, but every life that’s walked it before us.

Weathered wood, red earth, and the kind of craftsmanship built to last longer than the desert sun.

The Colorado River carving its way through the canyon floor, slow, steady, and unstoppable.

A weathered beam frames the canyon’s vastness, reminding you that even our strongest structures are fleeting here.

One lone stalk stands guard at the edge, rooted in desert resilience, staring out at a horizon without end.

Guadalajara, Jalisco

A wall that holds both history and shadow, each brick catching light differently. I loved the sharp contrast of old red clay and an endless blue to remind me how color defines scale.

Tapalpa, Jalisco

This façade captures the kind of texture play I look for in interiors. The natural variations in color and finish keep it grounded, while the precise masonry work shows how repetition and proportion can create quiet drama.

Guadalajara, Jalisco

Stonework that frames the day, ornate yet solid. I admired it for the way depth and relief create natural shadow play, the kind you can’t fake with paint.

Guadalajara, Jalisco

Morning light spilling over layered textures, ceramic, paper, foam—each telling its own material story. I took it for the way the neutrals play against the crisp white, like a moodboard you can sip.

Uruapan, Michoacan

A pink facade, weathered but confident, flanked by neutrals that make it effortlessly beautiful. Look at that balance of symmetry and imperfection—proof that patina and proportion matter more than polish.