Every artist has a style, a way of expressing themselves through their artwork. Of course I do too. For me, I follow the emotional narrative that lives within the art. This calm state of feeling is attuned to what we are seeing. I’ll give credit where it’s due: the decorative artwork is exceptional. The technical precision, the layering, the composition – all this shows a great deal of creative intelligence. In the NFT space, such art thrives. It is multi-layered, complex and open to interpretation, allowing each viewer to find their own meaning within it. But this is not my way. I don’t have that particular skill set. My work resides elsewhere in the subtle spaces between feeling and form.
I create artworks that are like hidden stories, fragments of thoughts and emotions that are conveyed through color, physical tension and light. A tilt of the head, a gesture of the hand, or the warmth of a shadow – these are my brush strokes of emotion. I want viewers to not only see my work, but to feel it. On a personal level, art is therapeutic. Growing up, I had a hard time understanding people – especially the way they acted. Bullies, apathy, contradictions – the world felt like a puzzle with missing pieces. To cope, I learned to observe analytically. Understanding how things worked made me feel less lost. Maybe I have Asperger’s, who knows? But through art, I learned to look at emotions objectively and try to decode them without words.
Art recently became my language. It allowed me to study gestures and glances that I once missed – gestures that show pity, love or quiet resistance. My goal is to create an emotional resonance and let the viewer feel the tension, pull and release, tenderness and need that define human connection. There is much debate about AI in art. I understand that, but I see AI as a companion, not a replacement. It does not create emotions. This reinforces what I have instructed. When I outline the emotional intent and carefully refine every subtle detail, I can bring my vision to life through it all. Ironically, AI’s constraints have helped me express unspoken tensions. Because AI models have limitations, they often leave room for suggestion rather than exposition. That’s where emotional storytelling thrives.
Take sensitivity, for example. I often discover this through implication rather than exposition. Weakness may be in the lower eyes, a half-lit shoulder, or a hand resting on the wrist. The balance between surrender and control—the invisible line between desire and restraint—is where I find truth. Ai helps me create that subtlety without overtly crossing over. It becomes about emotion, not erotica. Not all my art has tension, though. Some pieces are just there to share joy – to make the viewer smile. My secret muse for those moments is rococo. The vibrant color, beauty and decoration of this movement radiates happiness. I wanted to capture that energy – scenes where models laugh, hug and glow with warmth. Like hearing someone laugh and smiling in return, that happiness is contagious.
My work may not be as technically complex as some people’s, but I deeply believe that emotional art has eternal value. When something moves us—a sunset, a mother’s gaze, even grief in the rain—we are reminded that we are alive and connected. Art, in this way, becomes a vessel of compassion. It allows us to capture fleeting moments and experience them over and over again. And that, to me, is what makes art timeless.