About
A house with
the lights on.
Books, songs, videos, and honest notes — plus rooms we build for other people’s work. Faith-rooted, and starting from the actual place instead of the one we’re supposed to be.
Why this exists
There are two stories most of us were handed about being seen. The first one says hide. Cover it, manage it — keep the good version out front. The you that shows up combed and pressed, the highlight reel on the profile, the answer to “how are you?” that everyone already agreed to accept. Keep the rest where no one can see it.
The second one says the opposite: perform. Put it all on display. Turn yourself into something to be looked at, bought, swiped toward — and call that honesty, call it freedom, and never notice that a performance of openness is still a performance.
Both of them leave you alone with the actual thing.
This house exists because there’s a third option, and almost nobody is making work from inside it. Not confession as content. Not vulnerability as a marketing position. Just work that starts where you actually are — made beautifully, but never made to hide.
The conviction underneath all of it is simple: God never asked anyone to hide. Everything that came after — the fig leaves, the managing, the careful editing of ourselves — we came up with on our own, and none of it has ever done what we hoped it would.
One bench, two kinds of work
Books, songs, videos, websites. Some of it comes out under the house’s name, some under somebody else’s — and that’s the point: the work goes out under the name of whoever needed it built.
That’s not a business strategy so much as a description of how the house actually runs. The same hands that set a chapter set a homepage. The standard is the same either way: make it honest, make it beautiful, make it hold up, hand it over so somebody else can run it.
The founder
Solace House Media was founded by Declan Solace — a tradesman by trade and a man of faith, writing from the mountains of north Georgia.
He’s not a theologian. Most of what he knows about honesty he learned the hard way — through depression and the kind of anxiety that wears you thin, two relationships gone, a house fire that left him with the clothes on his back, and a long fight with addiction he doesn’t pretend he won on his own.
The work is for people who are done pretending — whether they’ve been burned by someone else’s performance, exhausted by their own, or haven’t yet realized the mask has been on so long it’s started to feel like a face.
Occasional notes from the workbench.
New writing, new music, and the occasional thing worth passing on. No spam. No upsells. Just the work.