What interests me is the meaning already embedded in a place, and the possibility that technology might let people find it, walk around inside it, and add something of their own. The six working principles below are the ideas I keep coming back to.
Most AR begins with the wrong question — what should we show? The right one is: what does this place mean, and how can we change it? My projects don’t transport people elsewhere; they transform where people already are.
You experience spatial media with your body, and when it works, your body becomes part of the meaning. AR is closer to theater, or even poetry, than to cinema — what matters is how a piece is placed, and how the body engages it.
Every medium has an intrinsic nature: things it does easily, things it resists, and things it makes possible. Good design begins by paying attention to that nature and finding ways to make it serve the purpose of the work. A small room, an accessibility requirement, early hardware, or a tight budget can give an experience its shape—and sometimes reveal what the work should be about in the first place.
A million-dollar dragon is still empty if no one asked why it’s there. I start with an emotionally compelling idea and let curiosity lead. People remember discoveries far longer than explanations, and they’ll overlook imperfections if you’ve given them a reason to care. Grab the heart and the mind will follow.
The experiences that matter most are the ones people help make. Meaning is idea plus experience plus community — participation creates its deepest effect when people see, remember, and share together.
The most meaningful immersive experiences don’t compete with reality, an organization’s identity, or an existing medium. They amplify what’s already there — and when digital and physical reinforce one another, each becomes more emotionally significant.
