Preserving the Pulse of Music History Through the Lens

When I walk into Blender Gallery, I’m not just stepping into an art space—I’m stepping into living, breathing memory. That’s what makes this gallery different. The walls don’t just display photographs; they hold emotional weight, collective nostalgia, and cultural reverence. From the iconic gaze of Jimi Hendrix to candid moments with Fleetwood Mac, every image captures a moment in time that still pulses with life.

My work is grounded in authenticity. Every piece in the gallery is 100% original—handcrafted, signed, or authenticated by the photographers themselves or their estates. I work directly with these artists or their closest representatives to ensure each image maintains its integrity. One standout example is Dominique Tarlé, the only photographer to have documented the Rolling Stones during their 1971 exile in the South of France. He still handmakes every print in his Paris studio, right down to the stamp and signature.

It’s not just about the names or the fame. What moves people—what moves me—is the emotional connection.

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From Chicago to Sydney:

I was just fifteen when I left my hometown of Chicago and stepped into the home of a Swiss family whose legacy would shape the course of my life. I didn’t know it then, but that family’s grandfather, Jan Tschichold, was a pioneer of modern book design. Listening to stories about his work, his confrontations with the Nazis over modern design, and his eventual role as art director at Penguin Books showed me that design was more than aesthetics—it could be powerful, even dangerous.

Returning to the U.S., I pursued art history at Hope College in Michigan, a place steeped in design influence. The presence of Herman Miller and the legacy of Ray and Charles Eames surrounded my education, embedding modernist ideals in my thinking. Eventually, I enrolled at the Illinois Institute of Technology, the spiritual successor to the Bauhaus. There, under the shadow of Mies van der Rohe’s iconic buildings, I studied architecture and felt certain I was on the right path.

New York was next. Working with Charles Gwathmey, one of the New York Five, was an education in itself. Through him, I connected with Richard Meier, Peter Eisenman, and Stephen Holl. These names weren’t just on the covers of architecture magazines; they were in the room, sketching, debating, creating. It was surreal. Our team became one of the seven finalists in the World Trade Center Memorial design competition. Although our design wasn’t chosen, the experience—working on a project with such emotional and global significance—was unforgettable.

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Living Modernism: From Sydney to Palm Springs

My love affair with modernism began in an architectural history class. While my classmates scrambled for familiar movements like Art Deco and Renaissance, I ended up with the Bauhaus — simply because no one else wanted it. That chance assignment changed everything. I fell in love with the clarity, the intent, and the enduring relevance of modernism. What I didn’t realize at the time was how deeply connected I already was to it. As a child, I lived in several architect-designed modernist homes, unaware of their significance until years later.

My professional path took an unexpected but formative turn when I worked in Venice. After the economic downturn in the late 1980s cost me a high-profile hotel design job, I chose to pursue work in a city that had touched my soul. In Venice, I immersed myself in restoration, working on buildings with profound historical value. It shifted my perspective. I realized that while commercial interiors might last five to seven years, conserving architecture was a legacy that could endure generations.

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