The shape of an echo.

Hi-fi has always chased invisibility — the ideal speaker is the one you forget, a box engineered to leave nothing behind but the sound. Then I found Holt Hill Audio, a small company handcrafting speakers in Andover, and lived with a pair. They didn't disappear. Powered down, they held the room like furniture; playing, I caught myself watching them as much as listening. When Artist Evolution Camp gave me room to develop a new concept, I brought the observation back to Holt Hill as a question: what if a speaker refused to disappear — what if it showed you what it was doing?

That question became the brief: traditional speaker craftsmanship carrying the sound, an infinity mirror carrying its echo — an object built to be watched.

The process ran closer to instrument-making than product design. Research, sketches, and prototypes — but every decision was auditioned twice: once with the object silent, once with music playing. The wood had to hold the room powered down; the light had to feel like the song, not a visualizer bolted on. Nothing was final until both versions of the object agreed. Four crafts had to converge:

• —Custom speaker design — sound and form developed together, never traded against each other.
• —Woodworking & fabrication — a handcrafted enclosure meant to be furniture first, hardware second.
• —Infinity mirror & LED lighting — a core of receding reflections, tuned to move with the music.
• —Electronics & acoustics — voiced by ear until it performed as well as it presented.

The finished piece refused its category. Powered down, it read as furniture — wood, proportion, patience. Playing, it became the thing the room faced: a tunnel of light falling away with every note, each reflection a little dimmer, like an echo you could lean into. At the showcase, that's exactly what people did. They leaned in, trying to find where it ends. You can't — and watching people discover that was the whole concept, working.

Somewhere between furniture, technology, and installation, it settled on the only definition that mattered: an object people gathered around.

Infinity Speaker became an abstract idea argued into physical existence — wood that had to be cut, acoustics that had to be voiced, light that had to be tuned, alongside makers who care about all three. It sharpened a kind of judgment interface work can't: when the object is standing in the room, there is nowhere for a weak decision to hide.

The sound fades and the reflections recede — that was always the concept. What stayed is the principle that still runs through my work: the best experiences don't just solve problems — they create moments people feel, remember, and connect with.