Between brushstrokes, symbols drift toward me from places I cannot name, revealing themselves only when I am still enough to listen.

Before I ever held a paintbrush, I held books — heavy, symbolic, moral books that shaped the way I think and feel. From Rizal to Homer, from Poe to Milton, I was taught to read deeply, to interpret, to search for meaning. I didn’t know it then, but those lessons would become the quiet architecture of my art.

A black‑and‑white photo became the quiet starting point for Wired Dayz — a moment of noticing before the making, where immersion, contemplation, and silence shape what comes next.