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Ceramic Tile Art · Each Piece a Gift
One-of-a-kind illustrated tiles created from genuine human connection, co-written story, and intricate black-and-white linework. None are for sale. Every piece is a gift.
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Creating at the intersection of human connection, technology, and craft.
I'm an artist, architect, and lifelong learner who creates at the intersection of human connection, technology, and craft.
Every piece I make starts the same way — a conversation. Not a commission, not a brief, not a request. Just a genuine exchange with another person that plants a seed. I take that seed home, co-write a short story with AI to develop the world around it, then pull a single scene from that narrative to illustrate. The finished piece goes back to the person who inspired it, as a gift. Always.
My medium is ceramic tile, using a laser to fuse a titanium dioxide mixture directly onto the surface — a process that produces permanent, highly detailed black-and-white illustrations with intricate linework and rich texture. Every tile is one of a kind. None are for sale.
I've spent my career as an architect and have alpha and beta tested software and hardware for companies including Beck Technology and Sonos. That same instinct — to understand how things work, push their limits, and make them better — drives my art practice too. I'm not interested in just consuming tools or techniques. I want to learn them, break them, and build something meaningful with them.
This portfolio is the beginning of that story going public for the first time.
Kuroneko Series
The first tile I ever made. The one that started everything.
Someone I cared about was going through one of the hardest moments of her life. I had no words. So I went home and let the feeling take over.
I was drawn to the Japanese folklore of Kuroneko — the black cat believed to guard the home, ward off evil spirits, and bring peace and good health to those it watches over. But I also kept thinking about the ocean — that feeling of something vast and ancient that holds you when nothing else can. A symbol of cleansing. Of carrying someone through. I wove both into the composition: a cat emerging from swirling, wave-like florals, fierce and tender at the same time.
When I gave her the tile, she cried. She told me that just that morning she had told her husband she needed to go to the ocean. I hadn't known. I couldn't have known. She asked me to make her four more cats after that. That's how the Kuroneko Series was born.
These tiles carry no inscription on the back. For this series, there were no words. There still aren't.
Personal Commission
Every life deserves a story.
A friend mentioned in passing that he was about to become a first-time grandfather. That was all it took. Something about that moment — the quiet pride in his voice, the magnitude of what was coming for his family — moved me to go home and make something for him.
I co-wrote a short story with AI built around the joy and wonder of new life, and from that narrative pulled a single scene: a playful lamb floating skyward on a cluster of balloons, surrounded by spiraling clouds — dreams taking flight. The birth details of his granddaughter, Isabel Grace, are woven directly into the composition itself, part of the art rather than an afterthought.
Inscription on reverse
"Welcome to the world. May your dreams soar high and your days be filled with wonder and love."
Hare Series
Some spaces tell you everything about the people who live in them.
I was house sitting for close friends when I found myself standing in their kitchen — and I couldn't leave it. Clippings, photographs, hand-written notes, and mementos covered nearly every surface. Each one was a piece of a larger story — family, love, tradition, the values they'd built a life around. They have a beautiful home, a serious art collection, rooms that stop you in your tracks. But the kitchen was something else entirely. It was the growing heart of the house.
Easter decorations covered the countertops that week. And somewhere between the morning coffee and the quiet of an empty house, I felt it — that familiar pull that means I need to go make something.
I wanted to create a piece that belonged in that kitchen. Not on the walls with the collection, but among the notes and the clippings and the things that matter most. Something that felt like it had always been there. The Jubilant Hare became that piece — and the beginning of the Hare Series.
This tile arrived with a handwritten note. It carries no inscription on the back.
Hare Series
Some traditions don't need a reason. They just need to be kept.
This piece wasn't born from a single conversation. It came from a feeling — the memory of getting dressed in your finest clothes for no practical reason other than that the season called for it. The anticipation of something simple made special by the care everyone took to show up fully.
I wanted to capture that. The formality of it. The joy underneath the formality. A family dressed in their Victorian best, gathered in a blooming orchard, baskets full, children wide-eyed — not because anyone told them to celebrate, but because this is what families do. They show up. They dress up. They pass it down.
The rabbits aren't symbols here. They're us.
This tile carries no inscription. Some things speak clearly enough on their own.
Personal Commission
Citizenship isn't given. It's earned, chosen, and sworn to.
A friend had just completed their Naturalization Oath of Allegiance — the ceremony where someone who has journeyed from another land stands up and formally, irrevocably claims America as home. I was moved in a way I didn't expect. This wasn't just a legal milestone. It was the conclusion of a promise someone had made to themselves, sometimes across years, sometimes across oceans.
I wanted the piece to carry that weight. Lady Liberty isn't serene here — she's dynamic, emerging from a storm of motion and detail, the flag unfurling behind her with both power and fragility. Freedom, the image suggests, is not a passive thing. It is fought for, dreamed toward, and finally — fully — claimed.
The date worked into the composition marks the day they took the oath.
Inscription on reverse
"Through tides of hope, on wings of courage, liberty is achieved by those who dare to dream. This art honors a promise fulfilled — to stand on this ground, to call it home, and now to claim it fully as your land, with all the rights and freedoms of an American Citizen."
Named for the black cat of Japanese folklore — guardian of the home, keeper of peace, warden against unseen harm. This series began with a single moment of inadequacy in the face of another person's pain, and the discovery that imagery could carry what language could not.
Each tile carries no inscription. There were no words. There still aren't.
View the seriesThis series is not about Easter as a religious symbol. It is about the human rituals of the season — gathering, dressing up, tradition, and the quiet passing down of memory between generations.
The rabbits are not mascots. They're us.
Everything begins with a genuine human exchange. Not a brief. Not a request. Just a moment with another person that plants something.
I take that seed home and use AI as a collaborative writing partner to build the world around it — developing a short narrative from the emotional core of what I heard.
From the story, I pull one image. One moment. That becomes the illustration — rendered in meticulous black-and-white linework, with intricate stippling, hatching, and layered pattern.
The illustration is laser-fused onto ceramic tile using a titanium dioxide mixture — a permanent, archival process that produces rich detail and deep tonal range in stark black and white.
The finished tile goes back to the person who inspired it. Always as a gift. Never reproduced. Never for sale. The work belongs to the moment that created it.
"Each piece begins with a real human connection. A conversation becomes a seed."
Every tile is made for a specific person. Every tile is a gift. None are reproduced. None are for sale.
The use of AI as a creative collaborator isn't the focus of this practice — it's one tool among many, used the same way an architect reaches for the right instrument at the right moment. The human connection is the work. Everything else serves that.
If something here moved you — or if you're simply curious about the work, the process, or the medium — reach out. I read everything.
A note: this is a portfolio, not a shop. The works shown here are not available for purchase. If you're interested in connecting over the work itself, I'd love to hear from you.