I grew up in rural Northeast Ohio.

My childhood was not what you’d call "artistically enriched." I grew up in rural northeast Ohio, where the main cultural attractions were cow pastures and the occasional county fair demolition derby. We didn’t have galleries or modern art museums. We had barns. And yet, somehow, amidst the mooing and the corn husks, a tiny designer brain was developing.

My first "art installations" were makeshift forts in the woods. I used stray branches and questionable construction techniques to build these precarious hideouts, which were absolutely not up to code. But to me, they were masterpieces, akin to the work of Frank Lloyd Wright.

When I wasn’t in the woods contracting poison ivy and Lyme’s Disease, I’d often tag along with my dad, who worked in home remodeling. I’d help with painting, laying tile, and other very adult-sounding things for which I was wildly underqualified. I really enjoyed witnessing the transformation—watching a room or a home addition go from studs to drywall to a fully trimmed out space. That feeling was the same feeling I now have when I complete a branding project.