2001
The Beginning:
They say you never truly know the light until you have lived in the dark.
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THE SCRIPTORIUM WELCOME
UNMASKING THE LEGACY
With a devotion spanning five decades, the ink has never run dry.
Welcome to the heart of the Maison—the Scriptorium.
This space is a tribute to a lifetime of artistry that began at the age of seven and found its professional voice in the historic mist of Cannery Row. In those early years, as I served my community in uniform, I walked the Monterey coast as "The Masked Pen." It was a persona of necessity and art—a way to pour my soul into Victoria’s Fine Writings while maintaining the discretion my profession demanded.
Today, the mask remains a symbol of the mystery and exclusivity that defines our House. From the 24-year legacy of "Elegance in Words" to the hundreds of letters hand-sealed for our military and police, every stroke of the pen is an investment in human connection.
I invite you to explore the tools of my trade—the vintage cast iron, the library of over 225 hand-selected stamps, and the ritual of the flame.
This is my inheritance to you: the reminder that in a digital world, a handwritten word is a permanent light.
THE STORY
For me, 2001 was the defining moment. Following a severe injury in the line of duty—detached retinas that left me temporarily blind—my world went black.
I was a San Jose Police Detective accustomed to solving crimes with my eyes wide open. Suddenly, I had to learn to see the world with them closed.
THE CANNERY ROW CYRANO
While my body learned to move in new ways, my voice found a new medium. During my recovery, I opened a small, candlelit sanctuary on Monterey's historic Cannery Row. It was called "The Masked Pen."
By day, I was still "Badge #3079," investigating the hardest realities of life. But by night, surrounded by feather quills, magnifying glasses, and parchment, I became a ghostwriter for the heart.
My toughest clients were my own colleagues—hardened police officers who could command a crime scene but couldn't find the words to tell their wives they loved them. They would come to me, and I would become their voice.
The Monterey Herald dubbed me "A Cannery Row Cyrano," a detective offering answers in love.
THE LEGACY
That period of darkness was the spark for everything that followed. It taught me that "Your penned correspondence will linger long after the last word has been read."
Today, as I celebrate 25 years in media, I am no longer the "Masked" pen. But the detective's magnifying glass and the dancer's rhythm remain. They are the tools I use to direct, to write, and to tell stories that look beyond the surface—because I know what it means to truly see.
THE DANCER IN THE DARK
An avid runner, I was devastated when the injury took away the pavement. I couldn't run, but I refused to sit still. In the safety of my home, I stepped onto a treadmill.
Unable to see the belt moving beneath my feet, I relied on touch, rhythm, and trust.
I didn't just walk; I learned to dance. I spun and moved in the dark, developing a "sixth sense" of proprioception that I use to this day when choreographing films like "The Lounge: After Dark."