Basically Related: A Creative Family Story

by Jonene Lee

I asked Tony Howard (TYWHO) a series of questions about the collective—simple ones on the surface, the kind that feel light until you realize they aren’t. Questions about roles, conflict, time, and what it actually means to build something with other people over and over again. What I got back wasn’t a list of answers. It was a portrait of a chosen family.

Every family has roles. The responsible one. The chaos agent. The peacemaker. When I asked Tony who’s who in this collective, the answer came easily. Dave, without question, is the peacemaker. Grounded, steady, the calm presence in the room. Nina and I, on the other hand, live on the opposite end of the spectrum—extreme personalities, big energy, strong opinions. Not subtle. Somehow, it works. Probably because it has to.

There’s always a moment when collaboration quietly turns into something deeper—when you realize you’re no longer just working together, you’re connected. For Tony, that moment came when Dave’s kids started coming to the studio to hang out without Dave. No formal invite. No explanation. Just showing up. That’s when it became clear: this wasn’t just a workspace. It was a place people felt at home.

Neodelphia

I asked what the collective’s family motto would be, knowing full well it probably wouldn’t be something printable. Tony didn’t hesitate. Everybody is fucked up. Give them the grace you would want. Honest. Uncomfortable. True. Definitely not merch-ready—but maybe that’s the point.

Of course, closeness comes with friction. Every family argues, and creative families do it in their own language. For this group, the biggest point of contention? What vinyl gets played on the record player. This is not a casual debate. It’s serious. Taste, timing, mood—all of it matters. But they work through it. No dramatic fallouts. No unfollowing. Just moving forward.

When I asked Tony to imagine the collective ten years from now, the answer felt surprisingly peaceful. All of them living on a compound together, selling art and organic apples, sitting in rocking chairs. Slower. Intentional. Still together.

That’s what stayed with me most. This idea that chosen family isn’t loud or performative. It’s built quietly—through shared space, disagreement, grace, and time. Through showing up long enough that one day, you realize you’re basically related.

And honestly? That feels like the real work.

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