I work in silence. Most days, it’s the only way I can hear the hum of the void—or the voices in my head. Subtle, somber classical music plays when I’m feeling particularly insufferable. No distractions—just whatever creeps its way out of the abyss.

I’m an artist who specializes in portraiture (realism, if we’re being precise), but I have no love for staying between the lines. Surrealism, pop art, body horror, trauma, and the dark arts all bleed into my work. Lines are for other people. My process? Equal parts intuition, ritual, and controlled chaos. Inspiration sneaks in from the dark: quiet rooms, city noise, old horror flicks, restless dreams (and nightmares), and memories that refuse to stay buried.

I’ve chased art for as long as I can remember, but I used to believe survival meant choosing between my creative self and my career. Turns out, I couldn’t have been more wrong. I’ve died a few times—some literal, most not—and every resurrection added to the bones of my studio. Eventually, it became this website too.