Hello. Bonjour. Merhaba. Hello.
It's April 4th, here in Montréal.
Clouds are drifting and we're 26% through the year.
I write about the overlooked, the contradictory, and the quietly absurd.
When something empties gradually, nobody marks the occasion. The last genuine argument in a public forum, the last comment thread where strangers actually changed their minds, those didn't announce themselves as endings. Someone just stopped showing up, and then someone else did, and eventually the room had different furniture.
There's something odd about watching someone stand in front of a human being, staring at a screen to order coffee. The person behind the counter is right there. They could probably make the drink faster if you just asked. But we've been sold the idea that this is better, that the screen removes friction, and friction is apparently the enemy of a good Tuesday afternoon.
There's a popular image that arranges existential dread by depth, like layers of ocean water. The surface stuff is gentle: realizing strangers have inner lives too, worrying about taxes. The bottom layer promises quantum immortality and spontaneous consciousness.
I build minimal tools and run small experiments.
I capture imperfect artistry, and people caught being themselves.
I create visual concepts and explorations that speak through spoof and satire.
I mix colours until something feels right, then I keep them, sometimes for decades.