about

I have a soft spot for making things that probably don't need to exist.

It usually starts with a what if?

A sketch becomes a project. A strange idea becomes a prototype. A weekend experiment grows legs and, before I know it, has moved into my life rent free.

I like making things simply because I can. I think that's probably why I've always loved art. There is something lovely about starting with nothing and seeing what happens. So, somewhere in the middle of building my startup, I decided to take a little detour. Back to art. Back to making things with my hands. Back to making something just because I wanted to.

And then there was food.

I've always thought food has a funny way of sneaking into our memories. We don't remember a Tuesday because it was a Tuesday. We remember the noodles we ate that night, the tiny café we found by accident, the chai we shared while talking about something that felt very important at the time, or even the terrible sandwich at the airport. Somehow, food becomes a bookmark for life.

Years later, you see a photograph of a meal and suddenly you're back there. You remember the people, the place, the conversation, maybe even what you were wearing. Sometimes you don't remember taking the photograph at all. But the photograph remembers for you. That thought stayed with me.

I started wondering what would happen if a food photograph could hold onto a little bit of the moment around it. I didn't want another place to post food or another rating system, and I definitely didn't want an app asking me to sit down and write three paragraphs about how I felt that day. I wanted something lighter. Something playful. Something you'd actually enjoy coming back to.

So I followed that thought and started building. What began as an art project slowly became a little visual journal for food and memory, where the things you eat could become tiny keepsakes of the moments around them. And because apparently I can't leave a simple idea alone, I gave it a tiny AI sidekick too. It figures out what's on your plate and turns it into its little Crumb shape. But it doesn't know why you were there, who was sitting across from you, what happened five minutes before the photo, or why that particular meal still makes you smile. That part is yours.

I think that's what makes these little moments worth keeping. Not food exactly, but everything that gathers around it. The people we share it with, the places we find ourselves in, and the ordinary days that somehow become the ones we remember most. They don't need a grand story or a perfect caption. Sometimes a photograph is enough. Sometimes a meal is enough. Sometimes it's just a little crumb you left behind.

I made this with a lot of love and a slightly unreasonable amount of attention to tiny things. I wanted it to feel like me, not just in how it looks, but in the way it was made. Curious, a little silly, a little obsessive, and always trying to make something out of nothing. I think that is what building things has always been for me. You take something that exists only in your head and slowly give it a life of its own.

And maybe that's why I like the idea of it living in someone else's memories. Because eventually, everything we make leaves our hands. The things we build, the places we live, even the moments we thought would last forever. They all become part of someone else's story in ways we will never know. If something I made can sit quietly in your life and bring you back to a moment you loved, then a little piece of me has travelled further than I ever could.

I hope you give Crumb a little of the love I gave it while making it. I hope you enjoy using it as much as I enjoyed making it. And maybe, somewhere along the way, it becomes something you keep. Something you find years from now and realise that, for a moment, a little piece of your life was still waiting for you there.