Why Cards Were My First Product

“Why start with cards when you want people to have your art on their walls?”

Because cards are more than paper. They’re an approachable bridge to art — a first connection that’s personal, tangible, and the ability to be deeply human. Yes, my shop now includes fine art prints (like the new Marine Layer Series) and the start of a merch line (with more coming soon!), but I intentionally chose to start with cards as a foundation — and there’s a story behind that decision.

In the summer prior to my final year of college (1996), I found myself in Salt Lake City, living with my recently relocated parents, exploring the outdoors, and doing data entry for a national grocery chain to get some corporate experience under my belt — something I thought was important at the time. 

One weekend, I drove 4.5 hours to Jackson, Wyoming, a rendezvous point for me and a college friend who was working for the Park Service in Gardiner, Montana. We had an unforgettable weekend in Jackson, and on our last day, we took the dirt road from Teton Village to Moose and visited the Teton National Park visitor center. 

Near the entrance was a large photo on the wall that stopped me cold: a grizzly bear, mid-chase, tearing across a snowy landscape, its head turned and eyes locked onto a tiny ground squirrel. The look in the bear’s eyes hit me like a lightning bolt — I was prepping to play in my final college football season, and something about that bear’s intensity and athleticism spoke to me. I wanted to channel that energy and I was resolute to have that image be a part of my life. 

I asked the docent about the photo, and she told me it was by Thomas Mangelsen, called In Pursuit, and it was NOT for sale. However, Mangelsen had a gallery in town. Upon my visit, the gallery clerk told me the print was no longer available, but I might be able to find it in a greeting card format on the rack over in the corner. Bingo! They had it! I bought two. 

One I tucked away in a keepsake box at my parents’ house, and the other I took to school where it was attached to my bedroom wall with masking tape. 

Moments before seeing In Pursuit for the first time. Jackson, 1996

The following summer, I moved to Jackson with some of my college friends. I would visit the Mangelsen gallery on a regular basis, getting to know the staff and hoping the print might someday become available on the secondary market. 

And then it happened. In Pursuit, No. 908 out of 950 was available and for sale on the secondary market. And whoa…I certainly could not afford to take it home. My job in Jackson was working the front desk at Snow King Resort, earning at or near minimum wage. The gallery clerk, who knew me by now, could sense that the price was out of my ballpark and proposed a plan for lay-away. She’d reserve the print for me and as soon as I paid it off, I could take it home. Until then, I’d have the card on my wall to keep me inspired. 

Paycheck-by-paycheck, I chipped away at the cost until I finally paid it off later that year. My first piece of fine art that has lived with me ever since — from Haight-Ashbury to Moss Beach, the Inner Sunset, and now the Outer Richmond. While my taste in art has evolved since 1996, this piece remains close to me as a reminder of a youthful time when big feelings led to big decisions — and the determination to act upon those feelings. 

Chris + The Grizzly In Pursuit, 2025

Cool story, but so what about the cards?

Because I’ll never forget what it felt like to be 22, deeply moved by an image but initially unable to find, then later being unable afford the fine art version. The card was my bridge. It let me live with the work, connect to it, and stay inspired until the day I could make the leap to find and bring home a larger print.

Cards were my entry point into owning art. And my true motivation is to make sure that if someone feels a connection to one of my images, they’ll be able to find a way to make it part of their life, no matter the size or format. 

Secondarily, I personally want to get back into a routine of sending hand-written messages to friends — whether it is a thank you, to celebrate or a birthday or anniversary, or just to let them know that I’m thinking about them.

In a world of pings, likes, and emojis, the experience of receiving a handwritten note in the mail hits differently. Someone took the time to choose a card, sit down, put pen to paper, and say something real. You can feel that. And on the flip side, there’s something powerful about writing that note. Slowing down. Thinking of someone. Putting your thoughts into words and sending them out into the world, knowing it might make their day — or their week.

Who knows — maybe they’ll even tape it to the wall of their dorm room, like I did, as a daily reminder of something bigger. A spark of inspiration. A burst of feeling that stays with them.

If you’re feeling inspired to send a few of your own, check out the A-Frame Line or Cruiser Cards in the shop. Individual cards or box sets — either way, you’ll be sharing something thoughtful, original, and handmade. A little piece of art that might just make someone’s day.