Most of what makes someone love a hotel does not happen on the website. The work began by noticing the objects, spaces, and interactions guests already used.
Nobody briefed this. The bikes were one of the first things guests touched and one of the only unbranded objects on the property — a rack of beach cruisers by the door that people borrowed, rode into town, and photographed without being asked.
That's most of the job, honestly. Spotting the thing that's already working and giving it a name.

A Maine plate on the back of a beach cruiser. I designed it in the shape guests already recognise, specified it for weather and salt air, and got it made and mounted. It cost almost nothing, and guests photograph it constantly — which turns a borrowed bike into something that belongs to the place, and to the guest's memory of it.


A menu is a working object before it is a piece of design. This one had to be read in the real environment: outdoors, late, by candlelight, by someone who has already had a glass of wine. Type size, contrast, and stock were decided in that room rather than on a screen.

The Happy Clam mark belonged to the client. My role was taking it off the page and onto the building: sign-ready application, material and finish specification, fabrication coordination, and support through installation at Wells Beach.

The physical work only matters because it fed the digital work. Across thirty properties, content and channel strategy used what guests were already doing — the borrowed bike, the evening table, the sign they drove past — so the portfolio spoke with one voice about place rather than thirty voices about rooms.