Illustrator, Photoshop
(Farewell, losers – 2025)
Jealousy, longing and self-pity: the last emotions left on Earth.
Two digital works set at the end of the world. In the first, a scarab pushes a one-eyed sphere across an endless desert. The sphere is human — stripped by evolution of limbs, voice and agency, left only to witness and pity itself. As a meteor (or an escape vessel) crosses the horizon, it sheds a tear of abandonment. The second is an interior: a firefly-scarab presses against dark water, lit only by its own glow. What looks back is small and burning — horned, furious with possibility, about to leave. He knows the horn will never grow. He keeps looking.
Both are made entirely in vector, borrowing the language of engraving, collage and book illustration — nostalgic in tone, though the world they depict hasn't happened yet.
Maya, Illustrator, Photoshop
(Monsterhood – 2026)
No final act reveal. It doesn't hide.
A series of promotional posters for a fictional horror film — a swamp creature, guardian of enchanted forest poppies, rendered in full and set against a flat, disorienting red with nowhere to hide. The project refuses the classic convention of withholding the monster: here it's unhurried and present, closer to the recent wave of cerebral horror — less jump scare, more dread that lingers.
Each poster was built from scratch: sculpted in ZBrush, rigged in Maya, textured in Substance Painter, rendered in Unreal Engine. The minimalism on the surface is earned.
Procreate, Premiere pro
(Bee’s Knees )
Bee’s Knees is an experimental music animation about our fractured connection with nature in a digital world. Through the figure of a dancer in a bee costume it represents the absurd, hopeful ways we search for meaning and joy inside artificial spaces. The piece explores the tension between rhythm and disconnection, between life and hollownessBeneath the colorful imagery lies a subtle meditation: we may be estranged from the natural world, yet its inner rhythm still shapes us, whether we realize it or not. It’s about finding traces of natural self within synthetic beauty
See full artwork
Illustrator, Photoshop
(
Digital Entropy – 2025)
The concept explores the theme of digital entropy — the gradual breakdown of the internet as a once-living, friendly space. It symbolizes how what was once warm and full of dreams has become corrupted and fragmented.
Familiar forms have mutated into something barely recognizable — distorted echoes of their former selves. A reflection of digital decay.
Maya, Illustrator, Photoshop
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Cut The Crap – 2025)
Cut the Crap” exposes hostile architecture, a design that disguises exclusion as order. The broken extra bench handle, once meant to stop homeless people from resting, becomes a symbol of defiance. It is a call to rethink what is accepted as normal. The poster exists as a reminder that design reflects values.
Every object in public space carries intent, and when that intent denies dignity and basic human rights, it’s worth confronting. Sometimes progress begins with the courage to cut the crap.
Maya, Illustrator
(Laughing Knight – 2024)
The aftermath of a massacre.
One fighter remains on the arena — a knight-spearman, moving toward the last survivor with the unhurried, joyful ease of someone who never doubted the outcome. The composition mimics a first-person viewpoint without committing to one, stranding the viewer between witness and participant.
Colossal statues line the empty stands: religion without god, spectacle without audience, contest without hope.
On his bloodied breastplate, drawn in the blood of the fallen, is a unicorn — a child's doodle in the worst possible ink. The smile on his helmet was always there.
Procreate
(
Danger, Keep Out! – 2025)
A serene sky filled with drifting clouds and flying birds evokes a sense of peace — yet in the corner, a shadow creeps in. Smoke rises, barely visible, a whisper of distant fire.
This poster reflects the quiet denial many live in during times of conflict — how war, though pushed to the margins, inevitably seeps into the frame of everyday life. For anyone trying hard to look elsewhere.
Procreate
(Stomach Butterfly Eater – 2025)
Something in there eats the butterflies.
An open ribcage, drawn like an anatomical plate. Where the organs should be, a small dark creature crouches in a nest of roots, watching with two green eyes. Pink butterflies drift around it — one settled on the bone, one on the ground below.
"Butterflies in the stomach" is the flutter of love, nerves, anticipation. Here they're prey. The work is about the thing that lives where the excitement should be, and eats it before it can rise.
Procreate
(Imago99 – 2024)
Naked in a field, still buried in notifications.
A nude figure stands in a misty field, rendered like an engraving. Behind her, translucent system alerts fan out like wings — low battery, no connection, disk full, 999 unread. Her hands are full of them.
The work is about the noise we carry into every quiet place. Even here, unreachable should be possible — but the alerts follow, and disconnection is sold back as one more thing to dismiss.
(I Wanna Be Your Dog – 2024)
This poster reimagines the shelter dog as a rebellious and expressive punk icon, dressed in a leather jacket and Converse. “I just wanna be your dog.” The phrase flips from a rock lyric into a direct, heartfelt message: beneath the attitude and style is a wish for connection.
The work changes the usual tone of pity often found in adoption campaigns. Instead of guilt-tripping, it uses personality, humor and cultural references to inspire empathy. The dog isn’t a victim, not just a charity case, but a future companion with story and soul
Procreate
(I say drown – 2024)
U say swim, and I say drown.
A figure floats on the surface, arms and legs spread wide, eyes closed. From the outside it looks like rest; the text around them says otherwise. This is the gap between how depression looks and how it feels. The figure isn't drowning — yet. They're doing the one thing they have energy for: staying horizontal, letting the water hold them. No fighting, but no sinking either. Just enough.
The glowing water and luminous type keep it from tipping into despair, because it isn't only that. It's also the small, exhausting work of keeping yourself afloat when swimming is too much to ask.
Illustrator, Photoshop
(The forecast – 2023)
A TV weather segment. Sunny icons across the week — except Saturday, where the presenter points at a mushroom cloud as calmly as he'd point at rain. The ticker files two airstrikes under "mild," rounds the dead down to a number, and cuts to what's up next.
The work is about war seen from a safe distance — reduced to a segment, a figure, a forecast. Not the war itself but the version that reaches the living room: scheduled, sponsored, and easy to sit through, until it's the weather you stop noticing.
Procreate
(? – 2023)A dark corridor. In one wall, an arch opens onto a bright, naive landscape — yellow brick road, castle, sun — the kind a child would draw. The road is painted onto the real floor, leading out. A paint can lies spilled nearby. Blood runs down the wall, across the scene.
The work is about escape as something made by hand rather than found — a way out that was only ever an image, flat against the wall. What the blood implies, it implies.