Launching this first drop feels a little surreal.

For a long time, One of Studio existed mostly in pieces. Saved photos, early morning estate sales, pottery wrapped in newspaper in the back of the car, screenshots of lamps I wanted to rewire someday, shelves slowly filling up in our house while I tried to figure out whether this was becoming a real business or just a very expensive hobby.

Now, seeing everything together for the first time feels surprisingly emotional.

One of the things that has surprised me most throughout this process is how naturally the collection began to form itself. Especially with pottery. I didn’t set out with a specific style in mind, and I still don’t know that I could clearly define my taste if someone asked me to. But over time, I started noticing the same instincts appearing again and again: texture, worn finishes, handmade shapes, earthy colors.

Watching all of the pottery come together has been one of my favorite parts of building this first collection. Individually, each piece felt special. Together, they started telling a larger story about the kinds of homes, objects, and spaces I’m drawn to. In some ways, I think the collection has helped me understand my own eye a little better.

The fish pieces have also become unexpectedly personal to me.

I come from a fishing family, so seeing fish motifs appear over and over again while sourcing across the Pacific Northwest felt strangely familiar, even so far from home. Some of them are playful, some a little unusual, and some feel like they belong just as good in a home in Miami, as they do in a family home in the Bahamas, or a kitchen somewhere along the Oregon coast.

Every time I found another one, I felt the same excitement.

There’s one set of green fish-shaped serving plates in this drop that I almost kept for myself. It was in the middle of a stack of mismatched dishes at a flea market, easy to miss if you weren’t digging. The glaze has this beautiful crackling that only comes with time, and the shape feels both kitschy and strangely elegant. It’s probably one of the best examples of what I love most about sourcing, which is finding objects that feel full of personality, but unlike anything I’ve seen before.

I’ve also been surprised by how much I’ve fallen in love with glassware. Especially coupes and serving pieces. There’s something about vintage glass that feels practical and celebratory at the same time. Beautiful enough to display, but still meant to be used. I think I’ll always be drawn to objects that live somewhere between those two things. Like these Libbey coupes.

At the same time, building One of Studio has been much more overwhelming than I expected.

There’s the very real reseller problem of buying far more inventory than you’ve actually sold yet. There’s the challenge of figuring out whether you can turn a curious eye into a sustainable business. And then there’s family life layered into all of it.

Some weekends I left the boys behind for estate sales I didn’t want to miss. Other weekends I skipped sales because I didn’t want to spend time away. Through it all, I’ve had the best life partner by my side. But I’m still learning how to build this business alongside my actual life instead of against it.

I think that’s part of why future drops will likely include more family adventures woven into the process. Road trips, antique stores between snack stops, quick detours to flea markets, objects wrapped carefully into already overcrowded cars. The overlap between family life and this work feels less like a compromise now and more like the shape this business was probably always supposed to take.

Because at its core, One of Studio was never only about vintage objects.

It’s about Saturday mornings at estate sales, pottery spread across the dining table after bedtime, overloaded cars after family road trips, and slowly figuring out how this passion fits into the life we’re already building.

It’s been about learning how creativity, ambition, family life, and everyday routines can all exist together, usually imperfectly, but still meaningfully.

Maybe it’s also been about rediscovering parts of myself I hadn’t made space for in a long time. The part that loves wandering antique shops for hours, rearranging shelves late at night, researching pottery marks after the kids go to bed, and building collections slowly over time just because they make me happy.

This first drop feels like the beginning of so much. A point in time where dream finally meets reality. I hope you enjoy this drop as much as I’ve enjoyed curating it.

And, if you’ve read this far, I hope the stories behind these objects—and the sentiments behind the building of this drop—resonate with you in some way. 

Until the next one!