No AI. Just My Hands.

People watch my reels and ask how I made something — was it a filter, an app, AI? I understand the question. Half of my work lives in imagined futures: chrome fashion, cyberpunk posters, worlds that don't exist yet. But every single piece starts the same way: my hands, in paint, making a mess.

I paint in impasto. Thick. I want you to see the ridges where the palette knife lifted off, the places where one colour drags through another because I didn't wait for it to dry. A flat painting never interested me. I want texture you could get lost in — the kind that catches the light differently every time you walk past it.

Building a star, layer by layer

Take Galactic Flower Star, the newest piece in my gallery. That flower is metallic gold, built up petal by petal until it stands off the canvas. The center is granulated silver — tiny raised beads that sparkle like something celestial. Behind it, the background swirls in deep blue and red, like a nebula deciding what it wants to be. None of that was planned on a screen. It was planned by my hands, in the moment, responding to what the last layer did.

Why my hands are in the frame

That's why I film my hands in my reels. Not because it's a trend — because it's the proof. Proof that a real person stood there and made this. In a feed full of generated images, I want you to see the human trace: the smudge on my thumb, the way I tilt the canvas to catch the light and check the texture. My about page says my work moves "without losing the trace of the artist's hand." That's not marketing copy. That's the whole point.

Two worlds, one artist

People sometimes think you have to choose: physical artist or digital artist. I never chose. My concept fashion posters live in the future — electric latex, silver deco, sequins that don't exist in any fabric store. But they're designed by someone who knows how materials actually behave, because I spend my days pushing real paint around. The digital work is wilder because the physical work taught me what texture feels like.

If you're an artist reading this: keep your hands in it. The tools will keep changing — mine already have, from brushes to palette knives to pixels — but the hand is the signature no software can forge.

Come see the work up close in the gallery. Every piece there is real, it's textured, and a pair of paint-covered hands made it.