Coffee. Toilets. Cables. Walls. Pixels. Canisters. Hard drives.
I’ve cleaned, carried, cued, patched, cloned. But the timeline?
That’s where I disappear. Every frame is forensic. Every cut a obsession.
Commercial work arrives as a product to move with a prompt, a pressing deadline, and a paycheck. That paycheck provides me with the precious time to pursue my personal projects where purpose, precision, and pure instinct are inviolable. info. Diary