Occasionally – on those lucky days – one of the brain cells crosses over the red velvet rope that separates it from Da Vinci’s inventions or from Picasso’s abstractions or Fellini’s compositions. On other days, that same brain cell is tied to a chair with rope and beaten with a hose until a confession finally squeaks out. My mind, housing all these voices, conflicts between logical thought and creative pursuit, but in its finest moment, the two coordinate to produce magical realism: a final product formulated while I buzz around my room at three in the morning or as I take that first step out the door for a soon-to-be-late doctor’s appointment.

At essence, that is I. Reinventing the world around me at spontaneous intervals, seeking for a path that only leads outwards, and with over two decades of acquiring visual and auditory stimuli, my work illustrates intricate needlework missing essential stitches. That elusive brain cell, a convergence of uncontaminated consciousness and sleepless reverie, sporadically reappears on the clean surface of my thoughts. But when it does appear, I cast my rod and wrangle that creative brain cell.

I observe it for a bit before releasing it back into the wild folds of my brain, just so I can catch it again to see how much it has grown. My artwork continues to develop constantly every day, driving the artistic direction of feature films, commercials, music videos, illustrations, and photos.

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