I started as a 3D artist — modeling, texturing, lighting, the craft of making
something look like it belongs. Then I spent seventeen years at a simulation
company, where I went from building the art to leading production on more than
fifty large, technical projects, wrangling teams of artists, developers, and
specialists through the whole messy lifecycle.
The catalyst was a bug. For a long stretch I had to live with a severe defect in
the software every single day — and every time I raised it, the answer was the
same: impossible. A feature I wanted? Impossible. An idea I had? Impossible, for
one invented reason or another. After a while it was clear "impossible" didn't
mean can't — it meant won't: nobody wanted to do the work, or
sit down and reason through it. Being expected to just accept that was the part I
couldn't stomach.
So I taught myself to program — Python, then C++, then whatever the problem demanded — and fixed it myself.
The thing I'm chasing is the same now as it was at the start: the moment a
half-formed idea suddenly runs on a screen. Now I build entire products on my own,
using modern AI tooling to move at a pace that used to take a whole team. The art
training never left, either — I can make a thing work and make it
feel like something, which turns out to be a rarer combination than it
should be. And I still hear "that can't be done" as a starting line, not a stop
sign.