Building Little Drift, One Brushstroke at a Time
If you’ve been around here for a while, you know that everything I create, whether it ends up hanging on a wall or printed on a tiny pair of pajamas,' starts in the same place: my sketchbook. Usually with a cup of coffee nearby, a dog at my feet, and a little bit of Florida sunshine sneaking in through the window.
Lately, as I’ve been growing Little Drift Co., I’ve found myself returning to that sketchbook more than ever. Not because I have to, but because it’s the one part of the process that grounds me. When life feels loud (and trust me… life has been loud), I can sit down, draw a seahorse or a strand of seagrass, and suddenly everything feels quiet again.
People often ask when Little Drift “started,” and honestly, it wasn’t the day I filed paperwork or ordered samples. It started long before that, with the art. With all the tiny sketches I made over the years without knowing where they were leading. With the stingrays, the shells, the starfish, the gentle movement of water I’ve been painting since forever.
So right now, Little Drift is growing, yes, but it’s growing brushstroke by brushstroke. Pattern by pattern. Moment by moment. And that feels really good. It feels natural.
Some days I’m working on a repeat pattern, nudging motifs around until they behave. Other days I’m just painting for the sake of painting… and later I realize oh, this might be something. And slowly, those little somethings become the beginnings of a collection.
I think that’s the part I love most, watching how art can turn into something tangible, something a tiny baby might wear during their very first days. It makes the whole process feel meaningful in a different way. Like I’m still creating art, but now it also gets to live a second life out in the world.
So yes, I’m building a brand. Yes, I’m learning about manufacturing and websites and all the unglamorous pieces in the middle. But at the heart of it, I’m still just doing what I’ve always done: following the art.
And honestly? That’s the only way I’d want to do it.
Thanks for being here, truly.
It means more than you know.
