We’re a creative agency (and a B Corp) made of people who care. We care about growth as much as great design. Community more than profit. Connection above all. Our partners are nonprofits and for-profits, startups and industry leaders who believe in strategy, consistency, and working together to ignite change that lasts. We create brand identities, websites, messaging, and all the weird projects in between for people who care, too.
We find the necessary tools to help our partners execute their vision. The key to our collective success is the ability to work comprehensively and collaboratively from strategy to delivery.
They matter. And it’s important our clients align with us.
We embrace our work ethic, compromise, and failure because these open new doors while navigating constraints.
We actively engage in each conversation, project, and opportunity with our collaborators, partners, neighbors, and community. These relationships create interwoven, healthy growth for everyone.
Balance comes through our confidence to explore different parameters and creative practices, finding new successes in each approach.
Our decisions make an impact, and we’re each responsible for every step we take each day, knowing that inaction is also a decision.
Austin Hohiemer is cool, thanks, and sorry in quick succession. He is a dog in a window and a cat in a precarious situation of its own making. He is the bonus hour you get when you drive west. He is saying no worries even when you’re pretty worried. He is a last-minute Halloween costume and a sentence that took way too long to write. He is having a problem that can be solved with either a spreadsheet or a poem. He is trying both, just in case.
Caleb Costelle is the first few hours of the new year. He is an afternoon with no responsibilities, eye contact with no expectations, and a good book with three chapters left. He is a local breakfast, a great museum, and an out-of-the-way park with the best view of the city. He’s the childhood game you invented, the one with a golf ball and a basement window. And when it all went wrong, he was the voice in your head telling you to make it right.
Dana Rogers is the welcoming vibe and guiding high five at the end of a trail of breadcrumbs. She’s the homegrown counter culture, turning old and new into something fresh. Always fermenting thought and foraging to make room for more. She’s a bear hug of curiosity when you least expect it and a listening ear when you most need it. She’s every buttery layer of a lattice pie. Sweet and tart, clear and complex. Dig in, and you’ll find a good balance.
Elizabeth Hall is moseying, dilly-dallying, dawdling, and loitering. But if it looks like she’s not doing anything, that’s only because you can’t see thoughts. She is embroidering during a movie and she’s not feeling bad about it. She has considered the lilies and they never toil (they only bloom). She is page 152 of Will Huygen’s classic Gnomes. She is a cat in a sunbeam and a book under lamplight, a michelada by the creek and a streetcar in the city. The place to be, in any case.
Garrett Hutson is a morning stretch followed by morning coffee. Yesterday’s coffee was perfect, but today’s is even better. He is rock climbing in the fall (a metaphor and a fact). He is a dog named Muggins watching you watch The Nightmare Before Christmas. He is winter in a small town. He is summer in the wilderness. He is the last punch in your punchcard before you get a free sandwich. And he’s the free sandwich. It’s the best one yet.
Haley Barlow is a fly on the wall having a staring contest with your cat. They both know things you never will. She’s a mind reader and astral projectionist (according to her dentist). She’s your first screenname, your favorite microgenre, and the perfect search query on the first try. She’s the feeling you get when you cut a stick of butter with your hands and don’t need to wash the knife. She’s MSG, influential and versatile if a little misunderstood. And she’s the protein included with the meal — no upcharge. The way it should be.
Paris Triantafilou is a crime of the heart. She is a jack-o'lantern carved to look like your worst nightmare: a spider. She is the bruise on your shin that you don't remember getting. She is a lizard and a parrot; unlikely friends. She is glow-in-the-dark mini golf. She is a bowl of spaghetti sitting on the forest floor: possible bigfoot trap? She is an enigma inside of a goblin inside of a mummy's tomb. Paris Triantafilou does not exist.
Sarah Brown is a bicycle at the foot of a rock face, the midpoint between a new adventure and the nearest road. She is the art project you started last year and will definitely finish, just not today. She is a dog and a cat living in peace. She is early morning in the spring and prepared for Halloween at a moment’s notice. She is currently (but not permanently) in the dirt. Like everything around you right now, Sarah Brown is only temporary.
Shawn Saylor is the scenic campsite at the end of a long hike at the end of a long drive. He is a welcoming smile when you feel out of place and inner confidence when you don’t. He is not hesitating. He is a chimp (strong, flexible) and a centaur (horse, man). He is a roller coaster with the right ratio of adventure to whimsy and a cold brew with the right ratio of coffee to nothing else. And, coffee in hand, he’s taking the long way home.
Stevie Morrison is the voice in your head telling you to compost those food scraps. Not obligation, but optimism. She’s a good-morning wave from a neighbor and the scenic walk home from work. She’s the section of a trail with all the litter cleaned up; the every little bit that counts. She’s a homemade sandwich with home-grown vegetables on homemade bread. She’s the coffee shop in an art museum where you can sit and think when you’re inspired — about the art and the coffee, but mostly about what we can do if we all work together.
Susan Steward is a hot beverage on a cool morning; the breath you can see and the warmth you can feel. She’s a bookstore between a coffeeshop and a brewery, the just-right balance of energy, curiosity, and a little bit of everything else. She is a handmade sweater from a sheep named Julian. She is learning, doing, making, and repeating. She is the middle school spelling bee you missed when you were suspended and she’s your favorite teacher whispering, “sometimes bullies need to be slapped.”
Teagan Miller is a beach chair in the mountains. She’s a stack of good books you haven’t read yet (but you definitely will. And besides, they brighten up the place). She’s the first hour of sunlight late in the fall, warmth breaking through the crisp morning wind as it carries leaves to their winter home. She’s a shapeshifter: spooky and silly, an aspiring wellness coach with a sweet tooth, everything in equal measure. She’s enjoyment when she can and endurance when she must. She’s also really nice.