Before the slacklines, the chef knives, or the crypto charts, I was deep in blueprints, models, and late night coffee fueled design marathons. Yep, I studied Architecture and actually earned the degree.

Now, architecture is supposed to be a five year journey. Mine turned into seven. Why? Because halfway through, I dipped out for a two-year adventure as a professional athlete, but we will get to that era later. After flying around the world and living the adrenaline life, I came back, dusted off my drafting table, and finished the degree in 2015.

Let’s just say my professors had mixed feelings about me. On one hand, I had good grades, great ideas, and the kind of creativity you can’t really bottle up. On the other hand, I also had a lot of philosophical complaints about the system, which meant I was often the student raising eyebrows and sighs in the faculty room. Too creative, not structured enough, guilty as charged.

Still, I walked away with my diploma in hand, a head full of ideas, and probably a few professors secretly relieved they would not have to grade my existential blueprints anymore.

I did work as an architect for a couple of years, but eventually I decided to follow my other passions, design, graphics, and art. You know, the things that let me break the rules without worrying about gravity and building codes. But we will get to that later.

I have always been a sports junkie. Too much energy, too hyper to handle, so I tried everything, from casual kicks to more “what was I thinking” stuff, and honestly, I have broken more bones than I can remember. But let’s zoom into the one sport that really stuck.

Around 2010, I stumbled upon this curious new invention that was just popping up: slacklining. Now, if you are wondering what that is, here is the simplest definition: imagine tightrope walking, but instead of a thin metal wire, it is a flat piece of webbing tensioned between two points, usually trees. The line wobbles, bounces, and fights back, so it demands balance, focus, and a good dose of insanity.

Naturally, I loved it.

I started researching, and quickly found a small online community of equally crazy humans who were into slacklining. Back then, none of us knew we were basically the founders of what slackline is today. It was just a bunch of kids in parks, inventing tricks, sharing videos, and competing for likes on early social media. But the activity spread fast.

All of a sudden, the biggest slackline brand at the time, Gibbon Slacklines, started hitting people up around the world. They were sponsoring athletes, sending gear, and inviting them to competitions. Yep, I was one of them. By 2012, I was already locked in for about five events in the U.S. That year was wild: competitions, travel, and a sport growing in real time under our feet.

The next year, Gibbon invited me again, not just to compete, but to be part of a core promotional team. We toured university campuses, outdoor expos, and city fairs, hyping up slackline in partnership with big brands like Dodge, Fiat, 5.10 (later absorbed by Adidas), and Jack Link’s Beef Jerky. Imagine rolling up to a college campus, setting up lines, and watching people’s jaws drop, that was my thing.

Eventually, I pressed pause and went back to finish my architecture degree (2015 graduate, thank you very much). But destiny wasn’t done with me yet. Not long after graduating, the new top dog brand, Slackline Industries, reached out offering sponsorship and a fresh tour. My reaction? “Well, here we go again.”‍

So I jumped back in: judging small competitions, helping develop and test new products, promoting the sport, and of course competing. This second run included more U.S. tours, plus stops in Mexico and Spain. Honestly, I lost count of how many competitions and activations I did across the U.S., but I do know I left footprints in about 25 states.

During those years, I became a top-tier, globally recognized slackliner. I invented tricks that athletes still perform today, designed a worldwide scoring system (inspired by the X Games) that is still used, and tested products that are now standard gear in the sport. Not bad for a guy who once thought, “Hey, let’s walk on this sketchy strap between two trees.”

But eventually, things escalated. Athletes were pushing slackline to insane levels, flips, spins, combos that felt like midair wizardry. It was beautiful, but also brutal on the body. My collection of broken bones and aching joints had enough. So I made the call: retire while still standing (mostly) straight, and move on to paths where gravity and ligaments are not constantly trying to sabotage me.

Technically, I’m not a chef. That’s a role, not a title. But it does sound nice. I’m really just a cook. This was not an era of world recognition, but it is still a huge one for me personally.

So why does it matter? Because food has always been in my blood. I grew up surrounded by incredible seasoning, learning the recipes of my culture and family, and cooking meals that could comfort a soul faster than you can say dessert.

But here is the thing: I wasn’t satisfied with just classic home cooked meals (as tasty as they were). My curiosity pushed me further, so I enrolled in culinary school, specifically French and International Cuisine.

And let me tell you, I learned way more than how to plate a fancy dish. I dove into the deep end:

• Food safety and sanitation (aka how not to poison people, very useful).
• Menu planning and cost control (yes, chefs are secret accountants).
• Kitchen management (wrangling chaos with knives flying around).
• Wine and beverage pairing (the fun homework).
• Food science and nutrition. (turns out a balanced diet isn’t just pizza in both hands).
• Advanced kitchen technology (yes, gadgets are as cool as they sound).

I am incredibly proud of all that, but here is the twist: I never chased big professional accomplishments with it. For me, this was never about building a restaurant empire or chasing Michelin stars. I just wanted to learn more, to feed my curiosity (pun intended), and to deepen a passion I already had.

Cooking became, and still is, a kind of escape hatch for my mind and body. I do not whip up five course menus every day, but even when I am making something simple, I am applying the techniques, twisting recipes, and sprinkling in creativity. The kitchen is my playground. Sometimes it is meditative, sometimes it is experimental, but it is always personal.

So yeah, maybe I did not win “Chef of the Year” anywhere, but in my own life, the Cuisine Era was deliciously worth it.

Alright… Let’s rewind a bit. I was one of those kids who drew on walls, pretty standard. The only difference is that while most kids left random doodles, I was busy copying cartoons off the TV as they were playing. Draw, glance, draw, glance. My family noticed, and instead of scolding me for ruining walls, they actually supported it.

I never set out thinking, “I want to be an artist.” I just liked to draw. Around age 14, curiosity got the best of me and I started exploring illustration more seriously, while also tinkering with early graphic design software.

When it came time for university, I chose Architecture. Why not graphic design? Simple: because it is a shorter career, I would have graduated too young, and let’s be honest, design is one of those careers everyone warns you will starve in. But the truth is, I never stopped learning design on my own. In fact, I even landed my first decent design gigs while still studying architecture.

That’s when I went full sponge mode: teaching myself not just graphic design basics, but also went deep into branding, photography, videography, production, manufacturing, and even a bit of psychology to understand how visuals interact with the human brain.

After graduating, I gave architecture a fair shot. But for reasons beyond my control, opportunities in that field just weren’t lining up. Meanwhile, design gigs, photoshoots, and creative projects kept rolling in. So I made the obvious choice: I ported myself fully into what was working, the creative path.

Fast forward to today, and I have built myself into what I would call a multimedia creator. On the professional side, my strongest weapons are branding and illustration. On the passion side, photography and videography steal the show. I would not claim I have mastered any one thing, but I have acquired enough experience across all of them to juggle projects of every flavor, and I have got a pretty wide belt of creations to prove it.

At the end of the day, I’m still better with doodles than with words. Maybe I should have drawn this instead of writing it.

I got onboarded into crypto back when Bitcoin was $5,000, Ethereum was $300, and Solana didn’t even exist, Q3 of 2017. It felt like stumbling into an alien planet, way too new, wildly unexplored, and mind bendingly complex (still kinda is, let’s be honest). At that point, I did not have much conviction to throw money into it, but it did make me aware, so I kept an eye on it.

My very first “bags” did not even come from buying, but from producing crypto on blogging platforms like SteemIt and Hive. Imagine earning crypto just by posting blogs, yeah, it felt futuristic.

Fast forward to 2021, the NFT boom. Of course I was paying attention, I am an artist, I am seeing headlines about creatives becoming millionaires overnight, and I thought, “Okay, 2 + 2 = I am next, right?” (Wrong!) Turns out that fantasy was… well, a fantasy. It was not about dropping some doodles and cashing out. I quickly realized I would need to grind, connect, and actually put in work.

So I dove into the NFT world from absolute ground zero. I did not have the funds to ape into projects, but I participated, learned, and interacted. I barely caught a couple profitable flips near the end of the madness, but making money stopped being the main focus. Instead, I started showing what I could do, the value I could provide, and I never stopped learning.

That led to early gigs: discord moderation, banner designs, social posts for projects, even concepts for NFT collections (some of which never launched). Along the way, I built connections that still last to this day.

By 2023, despite a brutal market slump, I was plugged in. And as they say, the best time to build is when it’s quiet. So I went harder, showing skills, providing value, and connecting with not just anyone, but some pretty relevant players in the crypto space. That translated into real opportunities:

• Q1 2023 I worked with Solana Spaces and Drip Haus.
• Q4 2023 I landed a massive role with Doginal Dogs.

For Doginal Dogs, I didn’t just design a 10,000 piece pixel dog collection, I stuck around to help develop the brand and the project itself. What started as people rocking pixel dog profile pics turned into one of the loudest and most prominent communities in the space. We are talking about real world activations and events in New York, Las Vegas, and Miami, high quality custom merch, unique collectibles, and a network of people from all around the world with knowledge about basically everything.

Today, I do not really call myself a crypto artist. I see myself more as a creative service provider, a highly motivated mind out here in the wild, constantly learning, doing cool things, and bringing value to both the digital and the real world.