Growing up in a Shepherd’s Bush flat in the 80s, I learned early on that life isn't lived in the quiet spaces; it’s lived in the noise. My parents were rebels who refused to follow any blueprint but their own, and our home was a constant, shifting soundscape. It was everything from the aggressive defiance of The Clash and The Sex Pistols to the complex energy of Prince. All of it was rebellious in its own way, with rhythms that moved through the walls from day, right through the night. It didn't matter the genre; it was loud, chaotic, and built on layers of raw rebellion.

That spirit became my foundation. London in those years was a visual paradox. My street was a vibrant, chaotic mix of cultures where everything felt drenched in colour, yet it was set against a backdrop of bleak, urban grey. It’s a contrast that still defines my artwork today, reflecting that tension between the vivid and the gritty. I was shaped by the raw energy of graffiti blooming on concrete and the fashion of the 80s and 90s, surrounded by creative souls and unforgettable characters who lived as loud as they looked. In that environment, you didn't just observe culture, you were pressed right up against it.

I had to find my footing early, navigating a reality of extreme highs and lows that forced me to grow up at a pace most people never have to touch. It was a real-world education in volatility, and it was here that I first learned how to channel my surroundings and escape through creativity. Looking back, it was my first true experience with alchemy. Throughout my life, I’ve had to learn how to alchemise struggles and disappointments, some of them major and life-changing, and find the strength to walk through them.

These moments didn't just come and go; I lived through life in a state of chaos and constant unpredictability. As I got older, I learned how to channel that energy into major projects or anything I could pour my focus into. I no longer see those road bumps as negatives; I see them as the very opportunities that allow me to grow and come back stronger. I’ve realised that the scale of the struggle usually dictates the scale of the transformation. Those challenges were pivotal to my life and essential for my growth, allowing me to get to exactly where I am today.

In the past, I worked on commissions for some major clients. On paper, it was the definition of success, but in reality, it was soul-destroying; I was exhausted from building everyone else’s vision while mine sat on a shelf. When my mum died, it felt like the final catalyst. I had to tear that old life down again and make room for a new life without her, because that layer of my world had fundamentally changed. I knew then that I had to take the tools I had gathered over a lifetime and use them to alchemise that grief, both for myself and for her. This is when The House of Mad Alchemy was born.

I’ve explored nearly every medium there is, refusing any restrictions on how I express myself, but after my mum passed, I knew collage was it. This is exactly why I found my home here; it’s a raw, beautiful mash-up of mediums that refuses to be pinned down or categorised. There are no boundaries and no right way to execute a piece; it is just pure, unadulterated freedom. I move through textures and layers based entirely on the energy of the moment, giving a two-finger salute to the rigid, proper rules of the art world.

I began integrating pieces that belonged to my mum, her old music magazines and fragments of her world that I knew I could work with. It was another way to alchemise; I wanted to bring everything she left behind back to life again. To me, collage is a gift because it demands that you create without expectation. It’s unexpected, it’s gritty, and it’s honest. It mirrors life itself because it is built in layers; it carries the same concepts of tearing things down, rearranging the pieces, and finding beauty in the friction.

I’ve lost interest in art that looks perfect; I’m only interested in art that feels true. I have little time for the pretentiousness and the gatekeeping of the traditional art scene; I’d much rather be in the trenches where things are messy and real. When we finally stop fearing perfection and drop the weight of what everyone else thinks, we actually stand a chance at becoming our truest selves.

I’ve lived many lives in the space of this one, and I feel a genuine calling to help others navigate their own challenges and friction. I’m not a teacher in the academic sense, nor a trained therapist. No course or degree can prepare you for the game of life or show you how to play it. I am an alchemist, and I believe alchemy is the key to rising; it is a tool that is essential for survival.

My mission is to help you stop overthinking and start channeling your own history into your work, turning the weight of daily life into your own version of gold. If I can inspire you to stop, reframe, and edit your life through the lens of Mad Alchemy, then that alone is enough. I want to show you a way to do exactly that. One day, I’ll write the book on how I got here, but for right now, this is the chapter that matters most.