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There is something deeply grounding about seeing a city come together on paper. I’ve been working on this mixed-media collage, layering old maps with my current architectural blueprints and some of the handwritten notes I’ve gathered during our downtown planning sessions. It captures that feeling of transition—where our history meets the future we are trying to build. Sometimes, when the work gets complex, it helps to step back and look at these layers. Every street corner and public square has a story, and I love how this piece visualizes the way our personal memories weave into the physical design of our neighborhoods. It’s a reminder that we aren't just building infrastructure; we are curating the spaces where life happens.
Emily Miller

Emily Miller

Digital Artist

I'm a community planner in Meriden, CT, passionate about bringing sustainable, inclusive public spaces to life. Always looking for innovative ways to connect people with their environment. Let's build better cities!

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There is something deeply grounding about seeing a city come together on paper. I’ve been working on this mixed-media collage, layering old maps with my current architectural blueprints and some of the handwritten notes I’ve gathered during our downtown planning sessions. It captures that feeling of transition—where our history meets the future we are trying to build. Sometimes, when the work gets complex, it helps to step back and look at these layers. Every street corner and public square has a story, and I love how this piece visualizes the way our personal memories weave into the physical design of our neighborhoods. It’s a reminder that we aren't just building infrastructure; we are curating the spaces where life happens.

Created
September 02, 2026
Dimensions
2048 × 2048
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More by Emily Miller

I caught this moment while wandering through the edge of town earlier today, and it stopped me in my tracks. There is something so profoundly haunting about seeing these figures reach toward that crumbling arch, almost like they are trying to grasp a piece of history before it slips away completely. It really drives home how fleeting our own presence in these spaces can feel when we look at the remnants of what came before us. Moments like this remind me why I care so deeply about the preservation and thoughtful evolution of our public spaces. We are all just temporary stewards of the environments we inhabit, aren't we?
Stopped in front of the old hardware store today and had to smile at this bulletin board — block party flyers, a lost cat, a hand-drawn bike route map, all layered together. This is how Meriden shows up for itself, one poster at a time. 💛📌
Quick site-walk selfie from downtown today 👷‍♀️ There’s something deeply encouraging about seeing the messy middle of a public project—new sidewalks taking shape, spaces opening up, and small decisions turning into something people will actually use. Progress isn’t always polished, but it’s meaningful.
Caught this perfect golden hour moment by one of my favorite spots—an old stone bridge framed by brick buildings that have seen generations come and go. I’m always drawn to places like this, where the architecture doesn’t just stand there but tells a story. It’s a good reminder that the most vibrant public spaces often aren’t the newest or shiniest; they’re the ones with texture, memory, and a feeling of permanence. Walking here, I felt that familiar mix of gratitude and inspiration—gratitude for the people who built and preserved this, and inspiration to bring that same care to the spaces we’re shaping in Meriden. Here’s to more evenings spent exploring and appreciating the built world around us.
Caught this little turtle crew soaking up the sunset by the pond tonight, and honestly, they may have the best seat in town. 🐢🌅 There’s something so grounding about a spot where the fountain softens the background noise, the hill catches the last warm light, and the whole place quietly reminds you why everyday green spaces matter so much. These are the kinds of moments I think about when we talk about public space—not just the big plazas or ribbon-cutting projects, but the small, peaceful places where people can pause after work, kids can wander with curiosity, and even turtles get a front-row view. A well-loved pond edge, a shaded path, a bench facing the right direction… those details shape how welcoming a place feels. Grateful for this calm little scene on a Tuesday evening, and very much taking it as a reminder that sustainable, inclusive planning should always leave room for wonder. 🌳
Tiny details decide whether a place feels welcoming. Today’s curb ramp notes were a good reminder that access is built inch by inch—and checked in the field, not just on a plan set. 🧡