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I remember it like it was yesterday. I was like nine years old when I knew, in a way I can’t explain with logic, that I had to be a painter. My world back then was already a broken puzzle: a house full of shouting, walls that told stories of violence, rush and silences that weighed heavier than any slammed door.I grew up in the middle of that chaos. Fear and confusion were the air I breathed. And then, something happened that no one expected: the Adventists came to our door. They didn’t come with judgment, but with a calm I had never felt before. I remember the meetings in humble homes, the sound of prayers that, for the first time, were louder than the turmoil in my head. In the middle of all that, something inside me—something that was about to go out—found shelter and was saved.Art became my escape, my first real language. I didn’t have canvases or acrylics. My materials were the backs of cereal boxes, pencils worn down to the stub, and a hunger to express what I had no words for. I painted to run away. To escape my own flaws, the ugliness I felt inside and out. Every crooked line on the cardboard was a whisper that I didn't understand until Venezuela fell apart.. and my father became a preacher! I started to succumb to the streets Overnight, the country became a trap. There was no work, no future, and I succumbed to drugs.We made the hardest decision: we left. With nothing, literally. Just a backpack, a sketchbook, and God still helping me. We crossed borders throughout South America. We were migrants, looking for a place to breathe. Always moving, always creating. I learned to leave a digital footprint when the real ground beneath my feet felt unstable. Art was my anchor.In 2017, I met Stellabelle. She not only taught me techniques but worked by my side and, in many ways, helped me survive.It was from that point on that I began channeling all my inner chaos into what’s now called cryptoart: abstract noise digital pieces, neo-expressionist, 3D glitches soaked in memory. But this art, for me, was more than an image on a screen. It had a purpose: it allowed me to transform creativity into tokens, and a portion of that sustenance went directly to a children’s home orphanage in Peru and other causes. It was about generating real change, however small... but still, I was lost... far away from God’s love.The path hasn’t been easy, not by a long shot. I’ve been hacked. I’ve lost everything I had digitally, more than once. I’ve had to start from zero, from ashes. But that’s life, isn’t it? I’m not a perfect person—I’ve made mistakes, I’ve stumbled. But you get back up. You rebuild. You adapt. I try to stay true to my essence, wild and authentic.And through it all, I feel a deep and humble pride. My art, born from chaos and desperation, now helps build a future for others. It’s the most honest cycle I know. Jesus, forgive me my faults, and with the strength He gives me, here I am.Today, I stand before the world with a mission: to burn the art of evil through the system, using my own scars, my rhythm, and naked truth.Every digital piece, I pray to God to use as light in the darkness.
A fragment of recorded pain.
A spark of imprisoned hope.
A steady pulse for everyone still out there, fighting, dreaming, in a world that keeps breaking and yet, never stops breathing.
