Stories We've Helped Tell

The Memory

When Sarah and Michael first met, it was February in Chicago. They'd both wandered onto the same frozen pier at Navy Pier, seeking solitude from a city wrapped in grey. She was escaping a difficult conversation. He was trying to find inspiration. They stood in silence for twenty minutes before he finally spoke: "The lake is so still, it looks like glass."

That moment—the stillness, the cold, the unexpected warmth of connection—became the foundation of everything that followed. Four years later, they were planning a wedding in California, but their hearts kept returning to that pier.

The Challenge

How do you evoke the feeling of a frozen Chicago pier at a sunset wedding overlooking the Pacific? The obvious approach—ice sculptures and winter whites—would feel forced. We needed to capture the emotion, not the temperature.

The Environment

We designed the space around stillness and reflection. Cool blue-grey undertones in the linens. Mirrored surfaces that caught the light like frozen water. Crystal chandeliers that cast the same quality of light as winter sun through clouds. The tent itself was positioned so guests would be facing west during the ceremony—watching the Pacific turn to glass as the sun set.

At each place setting, guests found a small card with a single line: "The lake is so still, it looks like glass." No one knew what it meant. Everyone felt what it meant.

Design Elements

The Memory

When the Rodriguez family came to us about Richard and Elena's 50th anniversary celebration, they brought a box. Inside were fifty years of photographs, a pressed flower from their wedding bouquet, Elena's mother's embroidered handkerchief, and a collection of recipe cards in three different handwritings—grandmother, mother, daughter.

"My grandmother started these recipes," Elena's daughter Maria explained. "My mother added her variations. I've added mine. This is how we've talked to each other across generations." The cards were stained with olive oil and tomato sauce. They smelled like Sunday dinners.

The Challenge

This wasn't just a party—it was a celebration of lineage, of tradition passed down, of love expressed through food and handwriting and the quiet rituals of family. How do you honor something so intimate on a scale meant for 150 guests?

The Environment

We designed the space as an extension of the family kitchen. The color palette drew from the handwritten recipe cards—the warm cream of aged paper, the faded red of tomato stains, the deep green of olive oil bottles. The table linens were custom embroidered with patterns inspired by Elena's mother's handkerchief.

At the center of each table, instead of traditional centerpieces, we placed framed reproductions of the family recipes—enlarged so guests could read the handwriting, the corrections, the notes in the margins. The bar featured drinks named after family members. The escort cards were printed on vintage recipe card stock.

And in a quiet corner of the tent, we created a small display: the original handkerchief, pressed and framed, alongside photographs of three generations of women carrying it at their own weddings.

Design Elements

The Memory

When David Chen founded his biotech company in 1999, he was working out of his parents' garage with $15,000 and a conviction that science could change lives. Twenty-five years later, his company employed 400 people and had developed treatments that reached millions of patients. The anniversary celebration wasn't just a party—it was a moment to reconnect 300 employees with the purpose behind their work.

"They see the corporate headquarters now," David told us. "They don't see the garage. They don't see the years of failure. They don't see why we do this."

The Challenge

Corporate events often feel corporate—polished but impersonal, celebrating achievements without conveying meaning. How do you design an environment that reminds 300 people why they come to work every day?

The Environment

We designed the event as a journey through space. Guests entered through a recreation of the original garage—complete with the actual workbench David still kept, his father's tools, and the whiteboard where he'd sketched his first product design. The lighting was warm, slightly dim, intimate.

As guests moved through the space, the environment evolved. The materials shifted from raw and industrial to refined and modern. The lighting grew brighter. The ceiling rose. By the time they reached the main celebration space, they'd physically experienced the company's transformation.

Throughout the tent, we integrated artifacts from the company's history: early prototypes, rejection letters that had been framed (David's idea), photographs of the team at different stages. And at each place setting, guests found a card with a handwritten note from a patient whose life had been changed by the company's work.

Design Elements