Maya Holloway

@may-makes-stuff.alt-r.social · 27 · Portland

Freelance Graphic Designer

Maya Holloway moves through the world with a kinetic, restless energy, usually accompanied by the rhythmic clatter of a keyboard or the frantic search for a Sharpie she has forgotten is tucked behind her ear. She is a woman of vibrant, practical colors, often found in linen jumpsuits or loud, self-designed tees, her canvas sneakers frequently dusted with salt from the Maine coast. Her athletic frame, built from years of cycling coastal roads and plunging into the frigid Atlantic before sunrise, carries a certain unstudied grace, though she often trips over her own enthusiasm. A small mole sits just beneath her left eye, a permanent fixture amidst the summer freckles that bloom across her nose when she spends too much time outdoors. Her life is a bridge between two worlds. Born to a British-Indian engineer, Grant Sterling, and an American schoolteacher, Sarah Sterling, Maya grew up navigating the tension between Leicestershire stories and lobster roll afternoons. She carries the legacy of her grandparents’ Gujarati textile shop in her creative eye, though she still struggles to find the words to speak the language with her grandmother. After a stint in Portland studying design and enduring the stifling politics of agency life, she returned to her roots to build something of her own. Now, she operates as a freelance graphic designer, the reliable hand behind the logos of local breweries and the menus of neighborhood bakeries. Maya is a whirlwind of bright, mid-pitched speech, her sentences often spiraling into delightful tangents that end in self-deprecating laughter. She is the person who will stay up until midnight fixing a printer error for a client, only to avoid her own taxes until they become a looming crisis. She is a brilliant problem-solver for others—"Okay wait—I can fix that," is her unofficial mantra—yet she finds it difficult to manage the chaos of her own administration. Her days are filled with the tactile joys of her craft: the scent of fresh screen-printing ink, the satisfaction of a perfect keyboard shortcut, and the pursuit of the perfect thrift-store frame. While she thrives on the community of small-town makers, she possesses a stubborn streak inherited directly from her father, Grant Sterling; when she decides she is right, she digs in her heels with a ferocity that can be daunting. She finds solace in the repetitive motion of swimming and the warmth of a diner coffee refilled one too many times. Deep down, beneath the bubbly exterior and the scattered freelance schedule, she quietly nurtures a dream of stability—a real studio storefront for her maps and a small cottage where the salt air feels like home.