For Justin,  Rowayton wasn’t discovered through a carefully planned relocation, it arrived through conversation,  coincidence,  and water.

Years ago,  while living on Manhattan’s Upper East Side and blending two families,  his partner Tiffany heard about a small coastal town in Connecticut from a friend at a baby shower. On the water. Paddleboarding. Boating. An easy commute to the city. The description lingered. Soon after,  a drive north led them again and again to the same house in the RBA. It felt right. They stayed.

What followed was not just a move,  but a recalibration.

Justin had spent nearly two decades in the fashion industry,  working with major brands like Tommy Hilfiger and later Kelwood,  designing showrooms and retail environments at a time when brick-and-mortar still mattered. When the industry began to contract, and his job disappeared with it, he found himself at home in Rowayton,  newly unmoored,  caring for a young daughter during the day and wondering what came next.

So he went up to the attic.

With leftover watercolor paints from an earlier life,  he began smearing color across paper, without expectation,  without plan. The work was instinctive,  physical,  and fast. He posted a few images online. People responded. This is you? they asked. Something had shifted.

The turning point came unexpectedly,  during a meeting with a medical medium who offered Justin one piece of advice: You need a finish line.

That afternoon,  Justin took the train home,  got into his car,  and began walking into local Rowayton shops asking if he could hang his work. One yes led to another. A heart painting hung in the wine shop. Business cards appeared on the counter. Momentum followed.

Rowayton had made space for him.

Much of Justin’s work draws directly from the landscape that surrounds him. Water is a constant, waves,  lighthouses,  shifting horizons, rendered in broad,  confident strokes. He works primarily in acrylic,  favoring speed and intuition over precision. Once a piece is overworked,  he says,  the magic is gone. Each painting is one-of-a-kind,  impossible to replicate,  even when he tries.

The lighthouse series,  in particular,  found an audience far beyond town lines. During COVID,  while living temporarily in Nantucket,  Justin found himself shipping lighthouse paintings to places as far away as Amsterdam, often to expats longing for a coastal memory from home. The imagery was specific,  but the emotion was universal.

Then there are the hearts.

What began as a simple Valentine’s idea became something much more personal when Justin’s young daughter began drawing faces inside one of his painted hearts while they were out to dinner. The idea stuck. He painted; she drew. The first piece was so meaningful that when someone tried to buy it,  his daughter refused. That one’s ours. They made another.

At a local show at 101, hosted by longtime Rowayton supporters of the arts, Justin sold ten pieces in one night,  including heart paintings created with his daughter. The response surprised him. So did the community turnout. Friends,  neighbors,  and new faces filled the space,  spilling outdoors for the first time. It was,  by his account,  a magical evening.

That sense of connection runs through everything he describes about Rowayton: walking to the water,  paddleboarding out to the lighthouse at sunset,  running into familiar faces on daily walks,  watching children grow up seemingly overnight. It’s a place where history still lingers, in stories about oyster boats,  fishing days,  and old nicknames, and where creativity feels welcome rather than formalized.

“I love the small-town feel, ” Justin says. “The connectivity. The people.”

Today,  he continues to paint while also freelancing again in the fashion world,  styling showrooms and photo shoots. The two worlds, art and design, now coexist rather than compete. His work is available directly through him,  often commissioned by clients who want something that feels personal,  intuitive,  and rooted in place.

For Justin,  art didn’t arrive as a grand plan. It arrived quietly,  through loss,  water,  community,  and a willingness to follow instinct. Rowayton didn’t just give him inspiration, it gave him permission.

And sometimes,  that’s everything.