Story

This isn’t some neat origin tale. I didn’t go to art school. I didn’t follow a plan.

I painted because I was fucked. Not metaphorically. Painting was the only thing that made any sense.

These days, the brush still grounds me. It’s how I wrestle with what words can’t hold: shame, desire, wounds, silence. I don’t come back to art for perfection, but for presence.

Every subject is real. Every moment is shared. Sometimes quiet, sometimes raw, always human.

The work doesn’t ask for permission. It’s not here to decorate or behave. It’s here to speak truth.

Some of it’s beautiful. Some of it’s brutal. All of it’s honest.

I believe beauty isn’t always soft. Sometimes it shocks you awake. Sometimes it heals you slowly.

I’m not here to convince you. You’ll feel it if it’s for you.

Unfiltered Art. Make it feel.