Making Before MAking

Making Before Making

The Origins of House of Henley

Before there were cushions, or designs, or even the name House of Henley, there was just a feeling.
Not a plan — an atmosphere.

I didn’t know how to sew but I bought a piece of fabric with a vision to make something; a turquoise Tommy Bahama print covered in banana bunches tha felt playful and special. I had no idea what it would become — only that it already belonged, even without purpose.

At the time, I was moving between San Francisco and Maui. The island offered beauty without effort. Back in my small SF apartment, that feeling began to shape the space.

I reimagined my surroundings. I repurposed a plain wooden coffee table with a glossy surface layered in epoxy and palm trees embedded beneath. I collected Tiki lamps, Vintage idols. Hung Gauguin prints in faux wood frames. A red sectional anchoring the room. No design degree. No Pinterest board. Just instinct.

The space didn’t need more theme. It needed confirmation.

Not tiki.
Not Hawaiian.
Not retro.

Vacation.
Leisure.
Paradise.

That confirmation arrived — through music.

That banana print in the corner kept on singing to me “Day-O” by Harry Belafonte. The fabric, the rhythm, the imagined island world — they fused. I didn’t just see it. I heard it. The atmosphere came alive. That roll of fabric stayed in the corner for weeks, but it had already spoken.

As a musician, my creative process often starts with a soundtrack. Music unlocks the visual — it lets the world form from the inside out. In this case, Belafonte opened the door.

The cushions became inevitable.

To make them properly, I had to learn. Sewing classes turned into formal training at City College of San Francisco, and later a scholarship to complete my studies at the Academy of Art University. Fashion design, illustration, textiles — the tools finally met the vision.

The banana cushions were the first finished pieces.

They weren’t random. They were necessary. They resolved the room.

That shift — from decorating to designing — changed everything.
From then on, I realized I wasn’t just creating objects. I was creating feeling.

That realization deepened years later during a visit to Miami. A friend told me, “I need to take the week off. It feels like I’m on vacation when you’re here.” He wasn’t talking about what we did. He meant the shift — the energy I brought into the space.

It wasn’t the first or last time I heard something like that.

For over a decade, I owned a yoga studio in San Francisco.

— a space I personally designed. I painted the walls a deep, metaphysical purple called Xanadu. My co-owner was horrified. Purple?! But the color wasn’t arbitrary — it resonated with the spiritual energy of Ascended Master St. Germain.

Nearly half the floor plan was devoted to a front lounge: cream sofas, oversized drapes, black accents, and a chandelier shaped like an octopus — our logo at the time. Some thought it was wasted commercial space. But it had the opposite effect. People lingered. Conversations started. Weekly gatherings emerged organically. The studio began to function like a social club. And it thrived because of it.

More recently, a private project in Presidio Heights brought that instinct to another level. The client gave me full creative freedom to redesign her bedroom. French doors opened onto a wild garden of exotic, non-native plants — surreal, like an old film set.

The atmosphere suggested cinematic glamour. I followed that impulse to 1930s Art Deco, and ultimately imagined Tamara de Lempicka’s private quarters — as she might’ve styled them herself. I repainted the room in rich jewel tones, designed custom Deco-inspired mirror frames, and layered in jungle accents. What had been beige and functional became immersive — a bold, feminine, quietly luxurious atmosphere.

I repainted the room in rich jewel tones, designed custom Deco-inspired mirror frames, and layered in jungle accents.

And it finally clicked:
I wasn’t just styling rooms.
I was designing atmosphere.

That realization became House of Henley.

Not a fashion label.
Not an interiors brand.
A studio for atmosphere design.

My work now spans fashion, photography, and narrative — in print, in film, in space — but the thread running through it all is this: crafting worlds people want to stay inside of.

House of Henley didn’t begin with a business plan. It began with a need to make — not just objects, but meaning. To create not just décor, but experience. Little worlds. Places that hum with life, color, memory, and story.

This blog will continue to unfold that journey — one entry at a time — showing how the instinct to create shaped me into a designer, director, and founder.

Because making always begins long before we realize we’re making.
And that’s where this story begins.