DESIGNED BY, ME
Finding authorship in a studio made for others
Part I: Why the name change?
If you’ve been here for a while, you might be surprised to see me.
Typically, this newsletter has lived under a different name: Science Art.
And for a while, it worked… until it didn’t.
Let me explain.
When I first started INT.D, I didn’t want my name to be the company.
I wanted it to be about something bigger—something that felt more important.
I wanted to remove the ego from it all. I was more interested in interiors and what they mean—how they’re defined, what makes them great. And, honestly, I believed that if I tied the studio to me, it wouldn’t be able to outlive me. That any designer who came to INT.D would always be working under the shadow of my own complex.
The intentions were good. But looking back, I think they missed the mark.
What ended up happening was a studio and a brand that started to exist in the void—with very little sign of life. It wasn’t what I intended. And it’s not how I want to build moving forward.
So, I’m fixing it.
Starting here.
Starting with this newsletter.
I talk a lot about how every space has to feel like someone. Not just look good.
And I realized—this newsletter needed to do the same.
But there’s another piece of this. A conversation that feels especially relevant to anyone working in the business of creativity: authorship.
Part II: On Authorship and Restraint
Designing for yourself is hard.
Designing for someone else? Even harder.
Designing for both at the same time? That’s where it gets interesting.
When I started INT.D, I built it with restraint at the center. I didn’t want the work to feel like a mood board of my own taste. I didn’t want every project stamped with some recognizable “INT.D aesthetic.” I wanted INT.D to be a framework—a space where our clients, their stories, and their ambitions could lead the way.
That meant keeping the edges a little soft.
It meant resisting the temptation to over-curate.
It meant staying… neutral.
And for a while, that worked.
But over time, I noticed something missing—not in the work itself, but in the space around it. The space where ideas live. Where philosophies form. Where creative instincts get tested, poked at, and developed.
The truth is, good design—timeless, thoughtful design—doesn’t happen in a vacuum. It happens when your perspective and your client’s collide in the right way. When your experience, your influences, your biases even, meet their needs, their values, and their vision.
But that only works if you actually have a point of view to bring to the table.
Which brings me back to authorship.
It’s not about ego. It’s not about putting your name on the door.
It’s about knowing when to step forward and when to step back.
It’s about designing with restraint—but not erasing yourself entirely.
INT.D is still intentionally ambiguous when it comes to “a look.” That hasn’t changed. But behind the scenes? In the frameworks, the process, the conversations? My fingerprints are all over it.
And this newsletter? It’s where I get to put the restraint down for a minute. To share the philosophies, the quiet opinions, the design rabbit holes, and the moments that shape how I work—and how I think.
Because in the end, every good space feels like someone.
And the best ones? They feel like a collaboration.
Would love to know—how do you find that balance in your own work? Hit reply.
Cheers,
.