A record of what shapes the work—before it’s finished.

Between Leaf and Shadow

Somewhere between the leaf and its shadow, between wind and stillness, the self begins to listen.. Design, for me, begins there, with what the world offers when we finally pause. A shaft of light through trees. The hush of a room before it speaks. The structure beneath thee noise.

Between Leaf and Shadow

Somewhere between the leaf and its shadow, between wind and stillness, the self begins to listen.. Design, for me, begins there, with what the world offers when we finally pause. A shaft of light through trees. The hush of a room before it speaks. The structure beneath thee noise.

Between Leaf and Shadow

Somewhere between the leaf and its shadow, between wind and stillness, the self begins to listen.. Design, for me, begins there, with what the world offers when we finally pause. A shaft of light through trees. The hush of a room before it speaks. The structure beneath thee noise.

Dry Docked

The Western Flyer in dry dock, Port Townsend, WA, 2015. Photo by Kellyc1221, via Wikimedia Commons. CC BY-SA 4.0 What I remember most is the smell. Sharp, acidic—pulp in the wind. Not rot. Not sea. Something breaking down to be re-formed. Port Townsend, Washington

Dry Docked

The Western Flyer in dry dock, Port Townsend, WA, 2015. Photo by Kellyc1221, via Wikimedia Commons. CC BY-SA 4.0 What I remember most is the smell. Sharp, acidic—pulp in the wind. Not rot. Not sea. Something breaking down to be re-formed. Port Townsend, Washington

Dry Docked

The Western Flyer in dry dock, Port Townsend, WA, 2015. Photo by Kellyc1221, via Wikimedia Commons. CC BY-SA 4.0 What I remember most is the smell. Sharp, acidic—pulp in the wind. Not rot. Not sea. Something breaking down to be re-formed. Port Townsend, Washington

May | the space that holds

Hi— I’m Liz Dunigan. Welcome to the first of my monthly letters—a space for what often goes unseen in design. The liminal space. The part before form. There’s a line from Lao Tzu I keep coming back to: “We shape the clay into a pot, but it is the emptiness inside that makes it useful.”

May | the space that holds

Hi— I’m Liz Dunigan. Welcome to the first of my monthly letters—a space for what often goes unseen in design. The liminal space. The part before form. There’s a line from Lao Tzu I keep coming back to: “We shape the clay into a pot, but it is the emptiness inside that makes it useful.”

May | the space that holds

Hi— I’m Liz Dunigan. Welcome to the first of my monthly letters—a space for what often goes unseen in design. The liminal space. The part before form. There’s a line from Lao Tzu I keep coming back to: “We shape the clay into a pot, but it is the emptiness inside that makes it useful.”

June | Held Between

I’ve been returning to Walden— and more urgently, to On Civil Disobedience. Not just as texts, but as tools. As field guides. There’s a reason Henry David Thoreau walked away from the machinery of the town and built himself a simple cabin in the woods. He didn’t go there to escape. He went to get clear

June | Held Between

I’ve been returning to Walden— and more urgently, to On Civil Disobedience. Not just as texts, but as tools. As field guides. There’s a reason Henry David Thoreau walked away from the machinery of the town and built himself a simple cabin in the woods. He didn’t go there to escape. He went to get clear

June | Held Between

I’ve been returning to Walden— and more urgently, to On Civil Disobedience. Not just as texts, but as tools. As field guides. There’s a reason Henry David Thoreau walked away from the machinery of the town and built himself a simple cabin in the woods. He didn’t go there to escape. He went to get clear

Field notes from the design studio — thoughts on light, rhythm, and how space holds meaning. Sent once a month.

© 2025 Liz Dunigan Design LLC. All content and language by Liz Dunigan.

© 2025 Liz Dunigan Design LLC.

All content and language by Liz Dunigan.

© 2025 Liz Dunigan Design LLC. All content and language by Liz Dunigan.