There is a ruckus in Savannah. Just beneath her pale mossy veil—on the same street that cart horses trod—something wonderful is brewing. Not typically a city that one would consider when picking the best places to find amazing design, Savannah in these recent years has been incubating a crop of wonderfully talented, angry designers.
Yes. ANGRY. They are angry that this nostalgic city doesn’t always understand the wonderful talents that inhabit its ancient streets. Angry because they often find their ideas being run-over, ignored, or executed by unenthused craftsmen. But like any good lot of rabble-rousers this crew will not go gently. Their numbers are made of writers, furniture designers and makers, leatherworkers, sculptors, fashion designers, thinkers, painters, and altogether can’t-sit-still-have-to-keep-moving people. So in honor of this motley crew—of which I count myself a member—I created this humble diary, because these days I promise you will be looked back upon as the ripples that made waves and the rumbles that moved mountains. Prepare yourselves, and join me as I chronicle, interview, berate, agitate, and offend.
Design is my love; my life; my gift to the world, and though sometimes it may seem that we are running in circles, coming up short, or just plain lost; we must persevere. We are all leaning as we go. Enjoy!