A momentum engine for life sciences founders.
An AI-native operating system that learns a venture once, then uses that context in every decision.

Early-stage founders — especially in regulated fields like life sciences — make compounding, high-stakes decisions with fragmented context and tools that forget them between sessions. And the institutions meant to help — accelerators, VCs, universities, labs — can't personalize that support across dozens of founders at once.
the.garage attacks both ends: an operating system that learns a venture once, grounds its answers in real regulatory and funding knowledge, and remembers every decision and why it was made — and, underneath, a layer that lets institutions support founders at scale. The whole system is built around one line:
Context before intelligence before execution.
It's a momentum engine for life sciences founders — built for the path they actually walk.
I co-founded the.garage and designed it end to end — IA, UX, interface, motion, and brand — then wrote most of the production front-end (TypeScript, React, Next.js on Vercel), with an intern contributing and senior engineers advising on architecture.
What's rare is the seam that isn't there: the same person shaped the product, designed the system, and shipped the code. No handoff, no translation loss between a design file and a build — which is part of why it moved as fast as it did.
A chat can give a founder a smart answer and still leave the real work undone — turning that answer into a decision, a plan, a task. So the core interaction is built the other way around: the AI produces things you can act on and commit, not paragraphs to read. That's the card system.
And once decisions are objects, keeping them is the obvious next step. Each one holds its context and its provenance, so the company's reasoning compounds instead of scrolling away. That's the memory layer. Problem to product, the logic is one straight line: remember, then help.
The product opens with onboarding — but onboarding here is an agent, not a form. You describe what you're working on, typed or spoken, and the AI interviews you: it asks, listens, and pulls structured context out of plain conversation. A company profile assembles itself as you talk — description, stage, sector, funding, team — with a meter tracking how well it knows you. No fields, no setup wizard; the agent does that work.
And it pushes like an operator. Give it a vague goal — “grow Ops and Sales” — and it asks a sharper one: if we check in 90 days from now and it went well, what specifically happened? Hand it a pitch deck and it reads that too, parsed and folded into the same picture.
By the time you reach the workspace, it already understands the venture. That's the foundation the rest stands on — context before intelligence works only because the agent builds the context first, without making the founder do it.


the.workshop is the command center: an AI command bar over your ventures, a roadmap from IP protection to Series A, work grouped by lane (Legal, Regulatory, GTM), a readiness meter for the next milestone, plus a knowledge library and a people/CRM view. One founder can run several ventures from one place.
Open any goal and you enter a workbench.
Around the edges is what real work needs: the goal, the decisions already made, the source material the AI is using, the plan, and what's still missing. It auto-saves, branches, and keeps a history.
The key idea is in the middle: the AI doesn't answer in paragraphs. It answers in cards you can act on. I designed a set of card types the model composes instead of prose, each one a small, finishable interface:







Some cards structure the thinking — a decision, a trade-off, a plan. Others connect the founder to the real world — a person to call, a document to file, a tool to adopt, even a video or podcast to learn from — so an answer ends in something done, not just read.
Building this meant designing a system, not a screen — one consistent way for the AI to hand work to a person, across 14 card types, calm enough to use all day.
Most AI memory is a black box. the.garage takes the opposite approach: context you can see, question, and revise.
Every choice lands in a decision log, stamped with where it came from — founder, AI, or system — and you can commit, revert, or supersede it. The company's thinking has a paper trail.
It matters most when past and present conflict. Make a pricing call in March; when two pilot sites push back in May, the.garage resurfaces that decision next to the new evidence and asks: reaffirm, revise, or revert? Context isn't just stored. It comes back when it matters.


the.garage is a real production app, front to back: a Next.js 16 / React 19 front-end on Vercel (strict TypeScript) over a Neon Postgres database, with Google and email auth, voice input, six deployment environments, and a release-notes system feeding a live changelog. I wrote the front-end; the backend is shared work.
Under the interface is a real component library — command bars, context rails, task modals, milestone timelines, and the full set of result cards (14 types) — in one visual language, on a CSS design-token system.
Behind the cards is the.engine, the product's context layer. Before the model answers, it reads intent and assembles the right context — company, profile, text parsed from uploaded documents, and authoritative regulatory and funding knowledge (FDA, CMS, SBIR and more) pulled from a dedicated vector service. Then it routes to a provider chain (Claude primary, an OpenAI fallback behind it) and streams back. Answers come as before/after proposals you accept and commit, and every commit writes to an immutable event log that links decisions into a graph — which is what makes “context, then intelligence, then execution” real instead of a slogan.
I built the front-end with an AI-native workflow (Claude Code, Cursor). That's the point: it let one designer ship a surface this large without the craft slipping.
About four months, from blank repo to a product you can log into and run a company inside.
the.garage is pre-launch, structuring its first pilots — so the measure here isn't users or revenue. It's how much production-grade product one person designed and shipped, and how fast: an AI that learns the venture, a multi-venture command center, a workbench with 14 card types, an auditable memory system, auth, voice, and a release pipeline.
That's the bet, shipped — designed and built end to end.
You can log in.
Launch Live Product →A destination for modern kids' entertainment — concept to launch in 100 days.
A new streaming platform for kids and families, designed and shipped from blank page to #1 in about three months.
Build a streaming platform for kids and families — new shows, new movies, a safe and delightful place to watch — and launch it in roughly 100 days, timed to a statement release date.
That's not a normal product timeline. It's a normal product timeline cut to the bone, for a consumer product that had to feel finished, polished, and loved on day one — across every screen a family owns.
A hundred days from concept to a launched, #1 app. The constraint wasn't the idea — it was shipping something this finished, this fast.

I led the product and design — and stayed in the work. A player-coach: directing the vision and the UI/UX system while building alongside a team of three product designers and a motion designer, shoulder to shoulder with the engineering team. Concept, design system, launch — I owned the direction and helped deliver the pixels.
Player-coach: I set the direction and shipped the work. On a 100-day clock, the lead can't just point — they have to build too.
The way to move that fast without the product feeling rushed was a system, not a pile of screens: one UI/UX language, built for speed, that let a small team produce a large, consistent surface and hand it cleanly to engineering. Decide once, apply everywhere — the only way concept-to-launch in 100 days is survivable.
The hard part of a kids' product is the audience. We were designing for children 5 to 11 — a range where a five-year-old and an eleven-year-old want almost opposite things. Too childish and the older kids bounce; too grown-up and the younger ones get lost.
The resolution was to put the content and its artwork at the center and let it carry the personality — with dynamic control over the rows so each child gets an experience tuned to them, rather than one frozen layout trying to please everyone.
Design that a five-year-old and an eleven-year-old both love is not a compromise. It's the whole craft.
And because it's a children's platform, child safety was a design material, not an afterthought — COPPA-compliant age gates placed at the right moments in the parent's journey, protecting kids without breaking the experience.



A family watches together and apart — so Bentkey had to launch on every major platform at once, each with its own requirements and quirks, to fit how households actually watch (solo on a tablet, together on the big screen). Same product, many surfaces, one launch.

A heartfelt, nationwide response — much-loved by parents across the US — and the numbers to match. A real consumer product, shipped at speed, that landed at the top and kept growing.
“Format-3 have been instrumental to the growth of our Product and Technology teams. They embedded themselves into our organization and completely transformed not only our Product team but also our Culture.”
Concept to #1 in 100 days. Proof that fast and finished aren't opposites — if the system and the craft are right.
I take concept → UX/UI → front-end → deployed code, by myself — directed with a cinematic eye. 19 years of craft, building since 2007. Currently building the.garage.
Nineteen years taking ambiguous tech from concept to commercialized, award-winning product — now designing end to end and shipping the code myself as a design engineer / product builder, AI-native. Currently building the.garage to production.