I’m 19. I grew up in Montpellier, moved to Toulouse three years ago.

My father painted when I was a kid. He took me to my first walls, handed me my first spray cans. The street raised me before any school did.

Drawing came back to me seriously in 2023, during a trip to Bahia, in northeast Brazil. I was helping my father build Ferme Curupira↗, his agroforestry project — no internet, no distractions, nothing to do at night. So I started drawing. Page after page. By the time I came back to France, it had become something else.

Toulouse caught the rest. The city walls, the late nights, the Instagram account, the mess of figuring it out alone.

No plan. No moodboard. No sketch.

I open the app, I pick up the pen, and I let it go where it wants to. What comes out usually has something to do with what I’m feeling that day — anger, doubt, fatigue, whatever’s in there. The drawing is the way out.

I don’t try to make it pretty. Sometimes it’s ugly, sometimes it’s funny, sometimes it lands somewhere unexpected. I keep what feels honest, I throw away the rest.

The code came later. Not because I love programming for itself, but because I needed control.

If you make art today, the internet decides how it gets seen. The platform, the format, the frame — they all shape what people think of your work before they even look at it. I didn’t want someone else’s template to filter mine.

So I built my own way of building. I work with AI tools — I direct, I review, I push back, I rebuild until it matches what I see in my head. I’m not the one writing every line of code, but I’m the one calling every shot. This site is the result. Every section, every animation, every detail — I made the calls.

It’s not about being a developer. It’s about not depending on anyone to put my work in front of the world.