Creating art with your partner is a pretty wild thing.
It’s intimate, unpredictable, and constantly evolving. It’s not something David and I ever planned to do. It just sort of unfolded that way. In the early days of our relationship, I was a photography major in college, working on my senior thesis. My project was to build a body of work around a central theme and show it in a gallery at the end of the year.
I took my first photography class when I was 15, and from the very beginning, I knew it was my thing. It became my way of expressing feelings, connecting with people, and finding quiet. I’d spend hours in the darkroom, lost in the process of developing film and watching images appear from nothing. It felt like magic.
David’s the kind of person who likes to be behind the scenes. He’s incredibly skilled, thoughtful, and detail-oriented. He’s someone who makes anything he touches better. He blends his creativity into what others are doing in a way that feels supportive, never intrusive. So when he showed interest in helping me with my thesis project, I let him in.
At the time, I was photographing “sad, lonely girls.” That was the theme. David helped me layer in color, creative lighting, and projections that completely transformed the work. He helped me shoot, build the frames by hand, and hang the show. I can’t deny it. The work got better.
But creating with him isn’t always easy. What we learned early on, though, is that when we add to each other’s ideas, we make something neither of us could have created alone. And that feels powerful.
Over the years, how we create together has evolved through businesses, creative projects, and art. Somehow, we’ve found our way back to making art together. It feels full circle, like returning to the truest version of ourselves.
Creating with another person can be really hard. No matter who it is. Creativity demands clarity of vision. To take something from your mind and bring it into the real world, you have to see it clearly. But translating that vision to someone else? Nearly impossible. It requires openness and a release of control. You have to trust that there are many right ways to create and be willing to explore those paths together. Much easier said than done.
Creativity also requires vulnerability. It’s deeply personal. Sharing your ideas can trigger insecurities you didn’t even know you had. And when those ideas aren’t received with care, it can sting. There’s nothing worse than offering a piece of your imagination and having it dismissed or misunderstood.
That’s why collaboration is such a balancing act. For it to work, everyone involved needs to see themselves in what’s being created. Otherwise, one of you loses the spark that makes creating feel so alive.
So yes, creative collaboration isn’t easy. But when it works, it’s powerful.
And when that collaboration is with your life partner? It’s either the absolute best or the absolute worst.
When we’re in sync, communicating, staying open, and building something we both love, it’s an unbelievable high. There’s nothing like achieving your creative goals with the person you love, knowing you both poured your hearts into it. But when one of us is off, out of balance, tired, or just not listening—it can get rough. And those creative ruts and disagreements have a way of bleeding into real life.
The highs and lows are intense. But the highs are so good, they make the valleys worth navigating.
We recently worked on a project where David wanted to push his set-building skills by creating bendy walls. He sketched the design, and we started building. Usually, our workflow looks like this: David designs the set, I choose the paint colors, he lights it, I photograph it, he touches up the images, and I color correct. It’s a creative ping-pong match with each of us continuously adding our energy to the process so both voices shine through.
For this shoot, I wanted to paint a striping pattern to exaggerate the curves. I pictured thin stripes. David pictured thick, bold stripes. Neither of us said that out loud. We put off painting until a few hours before the shoot, only to realize our visions were completely opposite. It was a prime setup for a creative fight.
We went back and forth, explaining our perspectives and reminding ourselves what the project really needed. In the end, we compromised with 7-inch stripes somewhere between our two visions. Not exactly what either of us pictured, but it worked.
Moments like that happen all the time. Sometimes we handle them gracefully; other times, not so much.
But no matter what, I always land on the same truth: we make each other better. As people, as artists, as partners.
We’re opposites in so many ways. David is logical, intense, and goofy all at once. I’m emotional, slower, more impulsive. But somehow, our differences create balance.
Creating with someone forces you to set your ego down. Artists are known for having big ones, and collaboration humbles you. It reminds you that what’s best for the whole is ultimately what’s best for you, too.
The way David and I create is a constant dance around that truth—each of us learning to serve the art, not the ego.
Creating with David has been one of the greatest gifts of my life and one of the greatest challenges. It’s stretched me, softened me, and made me a better artist and a better human.
Because the truth is, when you create with someone you love, the work becomes a mirror. You see yourself reflected back through their eyes—your strengths, your stubbornness, your tenderness, your flaws. It’s humbling. It’s sacred. And it’s worth every hard moment.
