Two creators, one shared standard, fewer projects than we’d like to admit. Here’s how we got here, what we believe, and who actually makes the work.
Prismedge is the studio we always wished existed when we were on the client side — one that read briefs carefully, replied thoughtfully, and made work the way good architects make houses.
We met working on someone else’s project. Half the team didn’t care, the other half cared too much, and we ended up working late together for a month. By the end we knew we’d be doing this for ourselves.
That was 2023. Since then it’s been 47 projects, 2.4 million rendered frames, twelve countries, and exactly two founders. We’ve grown the standard, not the headcount.
The shortest line between a brief and great work is almost never a straight one. We stay with a problem until it surprises us, then we stay a little longer.
Before any software opens, before any timer starts, before any client sees anything — we draw. The pencil knows things the cursor never will.
If a piece could’ve been made by ten other studios, we’ve already failed. The whole reason to commission us is to get something that doesn’t exist yet.
We turn down more work than we take. The math only makes sense if every project gets the kind of attention you can’t buy at scale.
Everything else — tools, taste, technique — flows from there. Work made by people who really cared looks unmistakably different than work made by people who didn’t.
Trained as a film editor, drawn to the cut as the place where the meaning gets made. Eight years on staff at two production studios before starting Prismedge. Believes the best edit is the one you don’t notice until afterward, and then you can’t notice anything else.
Started in industrial design, ended up in 3D, never quite stopped sketching. Spends an unreasonable amount of time on materials and lights. Will redo a render at 2am to fix a fresnel that no one but them would ever see.
Two founders, one shared Notion doc, one client. We agreed on a name in a coffee shop and wrote a half-page manifesto on a napkin we still have.
A small piece for a friend’s startup. It got reposted by a designer we admired, and that did more for us than any pitch deck would have.
The point where we decided to stop calling it a side project. Quit other things. Built the website. Wrote down our pricing tiers.
The Foldhaus brand film — the project that taught us what slow looks like, and convinced us to commit to fewer engagements at higher depth.
The version of Prismedge you’re reading right now — new identity, new site, new index. The studio is the same. Everything else got sharper.
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