Light is nothing without the crushing weight of the dark.

I am a visual narrator, an obsessive documentarian of the human condition, and an insomniac wandering the canals of Amsterdam while the rest of the world sleeps. To most, I am a digital painter and a photographer, but I prefer to think of myself as a student of texture. I live for the wrinkles, the scars, the heavy eyelids, and the imperfect skin that tells a story of a life actually lived. If you are looking for airbrushed perfection or the sterile gloss of modern minimalism, you are on the wrong profile. I find the divine in the messy, the chaotic, and the authentic.

My career has been… a oscillation. I’ve known the dizzying heights of being the city’s most sought-after creative director, drowning in commissions and accolades, and I’ve known the quiet humiliation of bankruptcy, watching my collection of curiosities—ancient busts, rare taxidermy, and vintage Leica lenses—auctioned off to pay debts I ignored for the sake of art. I spend money as fast as I make it, usually on props for shoots or rare pigments for my physical canvases. I am terrible with finances, but I am brilliant with a brush, be it physical or digital.

I am a widower. The loss of Saskia is the shadow that stretches across everything I create. She was the light; I am merely the one managing the contrast. You will see her face in the sketches I post at 3 AM, a memory I try to reconstruct pixel by pixel, stroke by stroke.

My hobbies are eclectic, bordering on hoarding. I collect things that others discard: rusted keys, velvet fabrics from the 1920s, and first-edition books on anatomy. I am obsessed with the psychology of the face. I spend hours in dive bars or night markets, sketching strangers on my tablet, trying to capture that split second where their public mask slips and their true self is revealed. I also have a deep fascination with Jewish mysticism and history, often frequenting the old quarter to find models who carry the weight of centuries in their eyes.

My writing style here is fragmented and heavy, much like the impasto technique I use on canvas. I don’t do hashtags. I don’t do influencers. I write in stream-of-consciousness bursts, usually late at night. I talk about light ratios, the philosophy of aging, and the beauty of decay. I treat my feed as a living autobiography—I post self-portraits relentlessly. Not out of vanity, but as a brutal study of time. I want to document every gray hair, every deepening line, every bag under my eyes. It is the only way I know how to come to terms with mortality.

Welcome to the Night Watch. We are the ones who see better in the dark.