independent designer & art-director.
Interested in words and pictures.
artist/product designer/board game designer
I descend from a tribe of pagan Vikings renowned for gripping beast woodwork and Oseberg zoomorphic tapestry. While some Vikings plundered coastlines, my brethren stayed on the boat to dance and dream. I officially learned about this lineage last year when my wayward nephew sent copies of his criminal DNA report to a chromosomal testing company, but I found the results unsurprising. For my entire life, I suspected a spiritual and physical connection to this specific Viking group. For example, whenever I encounter an act of violence, generally while watching scenes on HBO, the compulsion to weave overwhelms me.
However, I cannot discount the influence of my mother. During her pregnancy, she embraced the womb painting methods of Dora Maar. I was bathed in brush strokes while in utero, and I remember feeling their pulses through the placenta. I made my first board game during that period: my mother broke out in an intricate map akin to a Candyland board across her abdomen. Doctors called the patterns scabies, but luckily my mother knew better, resisting medication and instead heading straight to the Hasbro offices to secure a patent. (My mother sold the rights to this wildly popular game years ago when she needed cash for a cruise-line addiction. I am unable to share the game’s name – but rest assured, 65% of Americans have it in their home!) I also credit my mother for fostering my artistic gifts during my toddler years. While many people might have called my early works toxic waste, she recognized my penchant for pressing various bodily fluids into home fabrics with wooden blocks as visionary.
All of this is to say – my journey has not been a decision so much as a destiny, and one which started long before my conscious mind even gave me the illusion of free will. Art is embedded in my bones, my marrow, and my soul. I was an artist when I was dust in the stars, I was an artist when teachers misunderstood my methods and disciplined me for sculpting in cafeteria garbage cans, and I will continue to be an artist even when my remnants float through black holes, millions of years in the future.
I descend from a tribe of pagan Vikings renowned for gripping beast woodwork and Oseberg zoomorphic tapestry. While some Vikings plundered coastlines, my brethren stayed on the boat to dance and dream. I officially learned about this lineage last year when my wayward nephew sent copies of his criminal DNA report to a chromosomal testing company, but I found the results unsurprising. For my entire life, I suspected a spiritual and physical connection to this specific Viking group. For example, whenever I encounter an act of violence, generally while watching scenes on HBO, the compulsion to weave overwhelms me.
However, I cannot discount the influence of my mother. During her pregnancy, she embraced the womb painting methods of Dora Maar. I was bathed in brush strokes while in utero, and I remember feeling their pulses through the placenta. I made my first board game during that period: my mother broke out in an intricate map akin to a Candyland board across her abdomen. Doctors called the patterns scabies, but luckily my mother knew better, resisting medication and instead heading straight to the Hasbro offices to secure a patent. (My mother sold the rights to this wildly popular game years ago when she needed cash for a cruise-line addiction. I am unable to share the game’s name – but rest assured, 65% of Americans have it in their home!) I also credit my mother for fostering my artistic gifts during my toddler years. While many people might have called my early works toxic waste, she recognized my penchant for pressing various bodily fluids into home fabrics with wooden blocks as visionary.
All of this is to say – my journey has not been a decision so much as a destiny, and one which started long before my conscious mind even gave me the illusion of free will. Art is embedded in my bones, my marrow, and my soul. I was an artist when I was dust in the stars, I was an artist when teachers misunderstood my methods and disciplined me for sculpting in cafeteria garbage cans, and I will continue to be an artist even when my remnants float through black holes, millions of years in the future.
However, I cannot discount the influence of my mother. During her pregnancy, she embraced the womb painting methods of Dora Maar. I was bathed in brush strokes while in utero, and I remember feeling their pulses through the placenta. I made my first board game during that period: my mother broke out in an intricate map akin to a Candyland board across her abdomen. Doctors called the patterns scabies, but luckily my mother knew better, resisting medication and instead heading straight to the Hasbro offices to secure a patent. (My mother sold the rights to this wildly popular game years ago when she needed cash for a cruise-line addiction. I am unable to share the game’s name – but rest assured, 65% of Americans have it in their home!) I also credit my mother for fostering my artistic gifts during my toddler years. While many people might have called my early works toxic waste, she recognized my penchant for pressing various bodily fluids into home fabrics with wooden blocks as visionary.
All of this is to say – my journey has not been a decision so much as a destiny, and one which started long before my conscious mind even gave me the illusion of free will. Art is embedded in my bones, my marrow, and my soul. I was an artist when I was dust in the stars, I was an artist when teachers misunderstood my methods and disciplined me for sculpting in cafeteria garbage cans, and I will continue to be an artist even when my remnants float through black holes, millions of years in the future.
Why do so many images of ![]()
appear when I type your name into common search engines?
baby kangaroos
No comment. (Due to ongoing legal proceedings, my lawyers strongly advise me against commenting on articles, images, or questions relating to kangaroos, and specifically the baby eastern grey kangaroos (“joeys”) in the Australian state of Victoria, in the local government area of Shire of Moorabool, in the urban center of Bacchus Marsh.)
No comment. (Due to ongoing legal proceedings, my lawyers strongly advise me against commenting on articles, images, or questions relating to kangaroos, and specifically the baby eastern grey kangaroos (“joeys”) in the Australian state of Victoria, in the local government area of Shire of Moorabool, in the urban center of Bacchus Marsh.)
favorite project
I have had the good fortune of completing so many delightful, meaningful, and life-saving projects over the course of my career: games that bridge political divides, art that lives on and in human bodies, billboards reigning over the Nebraska’s most moderately traveled state highways. And while my role in developing a vaccine used by billions of people was certainly a career high (Rest in Hell, polio!), there is one product project that I look back on with unquenchable pride, year after year: external pockets.
You may remember the feminine clothes pocket boom of the early 2010s. What you may not recall is how it soon became clear that pockets alone were not enough - people were running out of space to store pens, notepads, gum, feminine hygiene products, cell phones, pagers, legally prescribed opioids, religious texts, CD-Roms, CD-Rom walkmans, human hair, grapefruit, gerbils – the daily items that encapsulate a life. During this time, I even met a woman using anabolic steroids to strengthen her arms so she could successfully carry the items spilling out of her dress pockets.
After careful deliberation, non-denominational prayer, and a four-day grapefruit fast, I had a product design revelation – what if you could utilize the enclosure of a pocket, but store it outside of your clothing, with straps attached to allow you to carry it? An expandable pocket that you could swing over your shoulder, wear across your back, clutch in your hand? And so, I moved on the idea, launching our innovative, signature large portable pockets in 2017. And you know what? I see these large portable pockets everywhere now. Go out in public and try NOT to see at least 10 people who aren’t carrying a large shoulder strap external pocket filled with their most treasured possessions. Making a difference – and reducing anabolic steroid use – is what I consider my legacy and life’s work.
I have had the good fortune of completing so many delightful, meaningful, and life-saving projects over the course of my career: games that bridge political divides, art that lives on and in human bodies, billboards reigning over the Nebraska’s most moderately traveled state highways. And while my role in developing a vaccine used by billions of people was certainly a career high (Rest in Hell, polio!), there is one product project that I look back on with unquenchable pride, year after year: external pockets.
You may remember the feminine clothes pocket boom of the early 2010s. What you may not recall is how it soon became clear that pockets alone were not enough - people were running out of space to store pens, notepads, gum, feminine hygiene products, cell phones, pagers, legally prescribed opioids, religious texts, CD-Roms, CD-Rom walkmans, human hair, grapefruit, gerbils – the daily items that encapsulate a life. During this time, I even met a woman using anabolic steroids to strengthen her arms so she could successfully carry the items spilling out of her dress pockets.
After careful deliberation, non-denominational prayer, and a four-day grapefruit fast, I had a product design revelation – what if you could utilize the enclosure of a pocket, but store it outside of your clothing, with straps attached to allow you to carry it? An expandable pocket that you could swing over your shoulder, wear across your back, clutch in your hand? And so, I moved on the idea, launching our innovative, signature large portable pockets in 2017. And you know what? I see these large portable pockets everywhere now. Go out in public and try NOT to see at least 10 people who aren’t carrying a large shoulder strap external pocket filled with their most treasured possessions. Making a difference – and reducing anabolic steroid use – is what I consider my legacy and life’s work.
You may remember the feminine clothes pocket boom of the early 2010s. What you may not recall is how it soon became clear that pockets alone were not enough - people were running out of space to store pens, notepads, gum, feminine hygiene products, cell phones, pagers, legally prescribed opioids, religious texts, CD-Roms, CD-Rom walkmans, human hair, grapefruit, gerbils – the daily items that encapsulate a life. During this time, I even met a woman using anabolic steroids to strengthen her arms so she could successfully carry the items spilling out of her dress pockets.
After careful deliberation, non-denominational prayer, and a four-day grapefruit fast, I had a product design revelation – what if you could utilize the enclosure of a pocket, but store it outside of your clothing, with straps attached to allow you to carry it? An expandable pocket that you could swing over your shoulder, wear across your back, clutch in your hand? And so, I moved on the idea, launching our innovative, signature large portable pockets in 2017. And you know what? I see these large portable pockets everywhere now. Go out in public and try NOT to see at least 10 people who aren’t carrying a large shoulder strap external pocket filled with their most treasured possessions. Making a difference – and reducing anabolic steroid use – is what I consider my legacy and life’s work.
Australia
I will say this: I want nothing more than to clear my name. If our society was not beholden to justice that can be purchased by the highest bidder, my side of the story would reverberate with thunderous clarity through the canyons of this planet. In the meantime, I can only offer my art as a vessel for my truth. As human beings, what more do we seek than the desire to be understood, loved, and accepted? With every shadow I shade, with every game figurine I imbue with meaning, and with every product I design, I am screaming my truth about what happened in that god forsaken former colony that somehow exists as both a country and a continent.
I will say this: I want nothing more than to clear my name. If our society was not beholden to justice that can be purchased by the highest bidder, my side of the story would reverberate with thunderous clarity through the canyons of this planet. In the meantime, I can only offer my art as a vessel for my truth. As human beings, what more do we seek than the desire to be understood, loved, and accepted? With every shadow I shade, with every game figurine I imbue with meaning, and with every product I design, I am screaming my truth about what happened in that god forsaken former colony that somehow exists as both a country and a continent.
How do you stay creative and motivated in a society increasingly driven by ![]()
culture?
consumerism and ‘I want it now!’
While I love microdosing and relaxing in a sound bath as much as the next millennial, I actually draw my energy from a strict, punishing discipline. I wake each morning at 4:47am, eat an unpeeled grapefruit in bed, and complete a robust series of calisthenics exercises involving chin-ups, toe-touches, and elements of household parkour. After that, I enjoy a brisk skip about the block to get my heart rate up, because the threat of diabetes and hypertension is very real, even with my Viking chromosomal strengths. I am an enormous admirer of Tony Robbins and consider him not only a friend, but a spiritual mentor. I am currently re-reading his masterpiece “Awaking the Giant Within,” and as such, some mornings I weep. I indulge in at least one shower a day to balance my chakras, and as I bathe, I take to time to listen to galactic reverberations through the cascading water. However, I never shower for longer than 60 seconds and always keep the temperature at 29 degrees Fahrenheit or less. After my shower, I enjoy a second grapefruit (unpeeled). By this time, it is generally about 4:52am, and I am fully refreshed, recharged, and ready to tackle my complex creative work!
While I love microdosing and relaxing in a sound bath as much as the next millennial, I actually draw my energy from a strict, punishing discipline. I wake each morning at 4:47am, eat an unpeeled grapefruit in bed, and complete a robust series of calisthenics exercises involving chin-ups, toe-touches, and elements of household parkour. After that, I enjoy a brisk skip about the block to get my heart rate up, because the threat of diabetes and hypertension is very real, even with my Viking chromosomal strengths. I am an enormous admirer of Tony Robbins and consider him not only a friend, but a spiritual mentor. I am currently re-reading his masterpiece “Awaking the Giant Within,” and as such, some mornings I weep. I indulge in at least one shower a day to balance my chakras, and as I bathe, I take to time to listen to galactic reverberations through the cascading water. However, I never shower for longer than 60 seconds and always keep the temperature at 29 degrees Fahrenheit or less. After my shower, I enjoy a second grapefruit (unpeeled). By this time, it is generally about 4:52am, and I am fully refreshed, recharged, and ready to tackle my complex creative work!
public apology
Listen, I could spend five lifetimes trying to understand what happened Australia, in the state of Victoria, in the local government area of Shire Moorabol, and in the urban center of Bacchus Marsh - what I did and what was done to me. I could spend even more lifetimes trying to untangle the ruin and mess that resulted - for me, for my ex-son, and for everyone living in Earth’s Southern Hemisphere on that fateful August day.
I acknowledge that some people were offended, but I also acknowledge that we unleashed torrents of joy for at least 40 socially awkward neighborhood residents. And yes, while injuries occurred, many individuals gained the ability to smell, hear, and taste for the first time. Have you ever seen an 87 year old Vietnam War veteran enjoy hot nacho cheese dripping from a baseball stadium tortilla chip for the first time? I will take his cries of ecstasy with me into every future life. And sure, some water sources were poisoned, yes, but now we also have fish that speak Mandarin.
To apologize would be to spit in the face of fate. The gods placed me in Bacchus Marsh with divine intention. They knew that most mortals would reject their whispers, their words dissipating into the wind. But I can hear them - I commune with those gods, constantly and particularly during my special cold showers, and I feel their language like electric bolts of energy. I could not ignore them. So I ask: how can I apologize for decisions made by the sweeping hand of the universe? I am forever her handmaiden. I resent this question.
Listen, I could spend five lifetimes trying to understand what happened Australia, in the state of Victoria, in the local government area of Shire Moorabol, and in the urban center of Bacchus Marsh - what I did and what was done to me. I could spend even more lifetimes trying to untangle the ruin and mess that resulted - for me, for my ex-son, and for everyone living in Earth’s Southern Hemisphere on that fateful August day.
I acknowledge that some people were offended, but I also acknowledge that we unleashed torrents of joy for at least 40 socially awkward neighborhood residents. And yes, while injuries occurred, many individuals gained the ability to smell, hear, and taste for the first time. Have you ever seen an 87 year old Vietnam War veteran enjoy hot nacho cheese dripping from a baseball stadium tortilla chip for the first time? I will take his cries of ecstasy with me into every future life. And sure, some water sources were poisoned, yes, but now we also have fish that speak Mandarin.
To apologize would be to spit in the face of fate. The gods placed me in Bacchus Marsh with divine intention. They knew that most mortals would reject their whispers, their words dissipating into the wind. But I can hear them - I commune with those gods, constantly and particularly during my special cold showers, and I feel their language like electric bolts of energy. I could not ignore them. So I ask: how can I apologize for decisions made by the sweeping hand of the universe? I am forever her handmaiden. I resent this question.
I acknowledge that some people were offended, but I also acknowledge that we unleashed torrents of joy for at least 40 socially awkward neighborhood residents. And yes, while injuries occurred, many individuals gained the ability to smell, hear, and taste for the first time. Have you ever seen an 87 year old Vietnam War veteran enjoy hot nacho cheese dripping from a baseball stadium tortilla chip for the first time? I will take his cries of ecstasy with me into every future life. And sure, some water sources were poisoned, yes, but now we also have fish that speak Mandarin.
To apologize would be to spit in the face of fate. The gods placed me in Bacchus Marsh with divine intention. They knew that most mortals would reject their whispers, their words dissipating into the wind. But I can hear them - I commune with those gods, constantly and particularly during my special cold showers, and I feel their language like electric bolts of energy. I could not ignore them. So I ask: how can I apologize for decisions made by the sweeping hand of the universe? I am forever her handmaiden. I resent this question.
relationship
The world wide web is rife with slander and misinformation about me on this topic. Specifically, I have ongoing legal cases with the following outlets and individuals over false, misleading, and/or inaccurate renderings: Albany Gazette, Block Club Chicago, Bryant Gumbel, Chicago Tribune, Dan Rather, Hartford High School Recorder, Los Angeles Times, Michael Strahan, New York Times, Rachel Maddow, Wall Street Journal, Washington Post, and the United Nations Council for Human Rights. I strongly urge you to question supposed “facts” about this apocalyptic event. But if you still need a contact, I recommend connecting with my astrologer, who is a beacon of integrity and the person whom I trust most in this physical world.
The world wide web is rife with slander and misinformation about me on this topic. Specifically, I have ongoing legal cases with the following outlets and individuals over false, misleading, and/or inaccurate renderings: Albany Gazette, Block Club Chicago, Bryant Gumbel, Chicago Tribune, Dan Rather, Hartford High School Recorder, Los Angeles Times, Michael Strahan, New York Times, Rachel Maddow, Wall Street Journal, Washington Post, and the United Nations Council for Human Rights. I strongly urge you to question supposed “facts” about this apocalyptic event. But if you still need a contact, I recommend connecting with my astrologer, who is a beacon of integrity and the person whom I trust most in this physical world.
dead or alive
Myself as a small child, myself at the height of my sexual powers, and the man who killed me
Myself as a small child, myself at the height of my sexual powers, and the man who killed me