I began this journey as an ill-advised illustrator, a self-taught sculptor, a cultural commentator, and an unfit philosopher interpreting the events of this ever-changing social experiment to an audience of no one at all. In short: I take a small amount of my work seriously and if you're laughing, that's the point.

Throughout my life I've had one foot in the cultural background of the punk scene and the other in the corporate culture of a marketing stooge. I went to sweaty basement shows at the same time I was in college working to become one of the best graphic designers of my class. I feel like I've always been the embodiment of contradiction, and art was something I mostly kept to myself. A self-expression of the inner turmoil behind living what felt like a double life – loving and hating everything I was doing, depending on what lens I was looking at it through. I mostly kept my work to myself, so I could never really know the value of what I was creating.

It wasn't until the pandemic that I turned this art into a lifestyle.

I had been pushing myself hard at my desk job, working 12+ hour days managing ad campaigns and digital storefronts across the vast expanses of the internet. I handled everything from competitive research, pricing, copywriting, to working with a group of designers, web developers, product developers, and our supply chain manager to make sure we had the best product we could produce. All of this with just a background in graphic design. Like many others of my age group, I burnt out. But that wasn't what got to me. I had lost a lot of friends to suicide and overdoses and family to old age.

For years I had struggled to find my own meaning of existence. Was it just to make a boat load of money and spend all of it on supporting the music I loved, or was it to just party as hard as my schedule allowed? Between the burnout and loss of life I decided that; if I'm going to toil to survive, I should at least try to do something that people once believed I could do. If not for me, then out of respect for them and their opinions of my work that I took too lightly.

While I continue to hone this bizarrely restrictive yet humorously immature style, an underlying theme remains constant:

It is neither our connection to, nor our distance from, ideologies that make us unique. Only our hypocrisies make us human – even if those hypocrisies are ugly, weirdly maneuverable, and not inherently good. Like the characters I create.