SHENÉ
BROWNLEE

Hello, I’m Shené Brownlee — a multidisciplinary designer and brand strategist with more than 10 years of experience in visual storytelling, brand identity, and experiential design. For me, design goes beyond how something looks. I’m always thinking about **how it communicates, how it makes people feel, and how it connects with its audience**. Throughout my career, I’ve worked across the public sector, healthcare, community-focused initiatives, and other industries, developing everything from brand systems and integrated campaigns to large-scale visual and experiential environments. One project I’m especially proud of is **Art, Activism, Action**, a coffee table book documenting the protest murals created throughout Columbus during the 2020 social justice movement. As the lead designer and art director, I developed a strong editorial system that helped preserve the artwork and its stories while integrating QR-driven content to extend the experience beyond the printed page. That project represents the kind of work I’m most passionate about — combining **strategy, storytelling, design, culture, and technology** to create something meaningful and memorable. At this stage in my career, I’m focused on continuing to grow as a creative leader while remaining curious, learning new ways to work, and expanding how I use emerging tools and technology. I’m especially interested in partnering with teams that value **strong strategy, thoughtful collaboration, and bold creative thinking**.

I believe a great strength I adapted is the ability to integrate emerging technology, specifically AI-driven workflows—into the creative process without losing the human element of storytelling. These tools to automate the technical 'heavy lifting' of design, which allows me to spend more time on high-level brand strategy and creative problem-solving. This keeps my projects both innovative and highly efficient, ensuring we hit milestones without sacrificing the quality of the narrative.

I used to struggle with delegating. I wanted to own everything because I felt a strong sense of ownership over the work and wanted to ensure it was done correctly. I've actively worked on this by building trust with my team, understanding their strengths, talents and abilities and setting clear handoffs, and it's made me a much more effective leader.

Honestly, this is a regular day for me — competing urgent requests are just part of the job. My first move is always a quick reality check on each one: what's the actual drop-dead deadline, what's the business impact, and is it truly urgent or just loud? Those are different things.

Then I sequence based on impact and communicate immediately. If I've got three requests and I can only do them in a certain order, everyone hears from me within the hour — here's when you'll get yours, here's why. In my experience, people are fine waiting if they know what's happening. What burns trust is silence.

I'll also look for what can flex — sometimes a 'full campaign asset' request really just needs one hero graphic today and the rest can follow tomorrow. Asking 'what do you need by when, at minimum?' has saved me more deadlines than working late ever has.
And if everything genuinely can't get done well, I say so early and let stakeholders make the call on priorities — because they'd rather reprioritize at 10am than find out at 5pm that something slipped.

So I was on a brand campaign where my main contact approved the design direction, and we ran with it — full production mode. What none of us realized was that she wasn't actually the final decision maker. About halfway through, the real decision maker sees the work for the first time and wants a completely different visual approach. So now we're deep into the timeline and basically looking at a rebuild.

Instead of scrapping everything, I went through what we had and figured out what could still work — the foundation was solid, it was really the visual layer that needed to change. So that's what we rebuilt. And I was honest with the client: we can get you there, but it's going to cost us a few days. We ended up landing about five days past deadline instead of weeks, and the decision maker was happy with where it ended up.

But honestly, the bigger thing was what it taught me. Now, at every kickoff, I ask straight up: who has final sign-off, and how do we keep them in the loop? And I build a stakeholder check-in into the middle of every project so there are no surprises. Your day-to-day contact can love the work, but if the person with veto power hasn't seen it, you don't actually have approval.

If my Creative Studios were a physical space, it would feel like stepping inside a creative sanctuary — part design studio, part gallery, part dream lab. It would look bold, intentional, and layered with story. The walls would be filled with moodboards, typography studies, campaign sketches, photography, color swatches, cultural references, and pieces of Black art that feel both regal and deeply personal. There would be rich textures everywhere — velvet seating, warm wood, glass, gold accents, oversized books, statement lighting, and walls that feel like they were designed to spark ideas the moment you walk in. It would feel warm, powerful, imaginative, and safe. A place where people can bring unfinished thoughts, bold visions, and messy ideas — and leave with something clear, elevated, and unforgettable. It would feel like strategy and creativity having a conversation. Like confidence. Like legacy. Like reign energy. It would smell like fresh coffee, amber, sandalwood, warm vanilla, paper, ink, and maybe a hint of fresh flowers — something inviting, grounded, and luxurious without being too polished. The kind of scent that makes you want to sit down, dream bigger, and create something meaningful.

Film directing, no question. And honestly, I don't think it's that far from what I already do. Directing is about taking a story and making a hundred visual decisions, framing, pacing, color, what the audience feels in each moment — and that's exactly how I approach design. When I build a brand or a campaign, I'm thinking in scenes: what's the opening shot, what's the emotional arc, where's the payoff. I storyboard concepts, I write shot lists for brand videos, I think about how someone moves through an experience. So film directing wouldn't really be a career change, it'd be the same job with a bigger camera.

Honestly? Some of my early work, the projects where I played it safe. I can look at pieces from my first couple of years and see exactly where I had a bolder idea in my sketches and talked myself out of it. I'd smooth off the edges before the client ever saw it, because I was designing to avoid a 'no' instead of designing to earn a 'yes.' What I know now is that safe work doesn't actually protect you, it just makes you forgettable. The projects that built my career, like Art Activism Action, are the ones where I pushed the concept all the way and then brought the client along with the thinking behind it. That's the real difference: I used to think bold work was a risk. Now I know the bigger risk is presenting something nobody remembers. So if I could redo those early pieces, I wouldn't change the craft, the execution was clean. I'd change the courage. I'd walk in with the version from my sketchbook."

When I have absolutely no ideas, I stop trying to force one. I’ll step away from the screen, put on music, take a walk, flip through books, revisit the project goals, or look at inspiration that has nothing to do with the assignment. Sometimes my brain just needs a little space to make connections without the pressure to produce. I also go back to the basics: Who is this for? What should they feel? What problem am I actually solving? Usually, the idea isn’t completely gone, it’s just buried under too much noise. Once I slow down and clear some of that out, something usually starts to click.

On a busy day, my creative brain looks like an amusement park, colorful, energetic, a little chaotic, and full of ideas all moving at once. Some thoughts are racing by like roller coasters, while others move more slowly, like a Ferris wheel, giving me time to step back and see the bigger picture. And a lot of my ideas feel compartmentalized into different hubs and buildings—one space for strategy, one for storytelling, one for visuals, one for problem-solving, and another for all the random ideas waiting for their turn. There are flashing signs, unexpected detours, unfinished concepts, and moments where everything feels like it’s happening at once. But somehow, all those moving parts eventually connect and turn into one clear, memorable experience.

"My favorite comfort food is Mississippi pot roast. It’s rich, flavorful, warm, and the kind of meal that instantly feels like home. Give me a tender pot roast with potatoes, carrots, and plenty of gravy, and I’m happy.

This is a great question: “Give yourself grace.” I’m quick to remind other people that they don’t have to have everything figured out, that rest is productive, and that one imperfect moment doesn’t erase all their progress. But when it comes to myself, I can be much harder and more impatient. I’m still learning to extend the same patience, compassion, and understanding to myself that I so easily give to everyone else.

I’d choose Jill Scott or Danielle Brooks to play me. Both have the warmth, humor, confidence, and emotional depth to capture my creative energy, determination, and the more vulnerable parts of my journey.

The movie would be called, Shenanigans. It would be a funny, heartfelt story about a creative woman navigating big dreams, unexpected detours, career challenges, and the beautifully chaotic process of turning the world in her imagination into something real.

I would definitely say - Trust yourself sooner.

You don’t have to wait for permission, approval, or the perfect opportunity to believe in your ideas. Your path may not look like everyone else’s, and some people may not understand your vision right away—but that doesn’t make it any less valuable.

Take the risk, share the work, ask for more, and stop shrinking to make other people comfortable. You’re far more capable than you realize, and the things that make you different will eventually become your greatest creative strengths.

My first job was working as a cashier at Jubilee Foods while I was in high school.

That experience gave me a real understanding of the value of a dollar and taught me how important good customer service is, not only for the people you serve, but also for the people you work alongside. I learned how to stay calm and professional when someone was frustrated, and how far a little kindness can go because you never know what someone else may be dealing with.

I also picked up a few practical life lessons along the way: never bag household cleaning supplies with food, always double-bag the heavy items, and never put anything on top of the eggs. Some lessons you only need to learn once.