Down the twisted alleys of Venice Beach, Los Angeles, where shadows dance with spray-paint, I cut my teeth as an artist in the late '90s. The streets whispered stories, and I began to tell them, letting the eerie beauty of the dark corners lead my hand.Art, for me, is a wild ride through the unknown, something that thrives on chaos. It's a bit like being caught in a storm—glitch, abstract, cryptic, surreal—all swirled into a tempestuous dance. You never know what's coming next, but you're hungry to find out.Insomnia's a relentless beast, stalking me through the blackest hours. But it's in those silent, haunted moments that my creativity springs to life. Some might call my style audacious or even dystopian. I like to think of it as a door ajar in a dark room, inviting and terrifying at the same time.I don't like rules; I don't like boundaries. My art's a journey through fog-shrouded landscapes, where shapes shift, and familiar becomes foreign. It's a road that winds through the imagination, never settling, always evolving. And on that road, I'm not just an artist; I'm an explorer, unafraid of the monsters that might lurk around the next bend.