A dimly lit room.
The ceiling fan makes a soft sound every five seconds.
Posters peeling off the wall, halfway down like they’re thinking about falling.
The old, boxy TV hums — that electric buzz you don’t hear anymore on modern screens.
And playing in the background… some 80s movie. Could’ve been Monster Squad, Critters, or that perfect Back to the Future opening — the toaster launching toast while Doc is nowhere to be found.
Doesn’t matter which one.
What matters is: I was there.
At my desk.
Remote in hand, like it was a weapon.
Eyes wide open like the world was about to reveal itself.
I didn’t know anything about storytelling.
Or art direction, or visual rhythm.
I just knew one thing:
I wanted to be inside that world.
That was the first time I felt what I now recognize as a calling.
It wasn’t a decision.
I didn’t choose those kinds of stories.
It felt more like they chose me.
And that hasn’t changed.
Years can pass.
I can learn tools, work with brands, publish books, design for other people.
But the origin point stays the same:
A flash of dark wonder.
A creature in the corner of the frame.
That sense there’s something more — if you dare to look.
I read a line recently that made me stop:
“You can’t want what you want.”
And yeah.
You can plan, have discipline, build a whole life.
But you can’t choose what breaks you open.
You can’t force yourself to love something that doesn’t vibrate in you.
You can’t manufacture obsession.
I didn’t choose to be more moved by video store covers than museums.
I didn’t choose to feel more from a badly drawn monster than a contemporary art installation.
I didn’t choose to have a compass that’s broken for the perfect, but laser-tuned to the weird.
That’s the thing I protect the most.
Because sure — we change.
We adapt, make compromises, negotiate with the real world.
But there’s one thing that can’t be negotiated:
That initial moment.
The frame where everything begins.
The strange music.
The feeling that something’s about to happen.
That’s still my center.
And the day I stop looking for it —
the day I settle for what’s safe, for what “works” —
that’s the day I leave the room.
And stop being myself.
Some things choose you forever.
And no matter how far you try to run, if you’re honest, you know there’s no real escape.
If this hit something in you, take a look at Saturno: Lights & Shadows.
300+ pages of process, creatures, and all the stuff I never post online. It’s on my site.