I'm a massive nerd at heart. The kind who lies awake thinking about why people chase flow state in video games, why a dark cinema makes us forget we're watching actors on a screen, how a Stormtrooper helmet connects with people when everything about it was designed to intimidate (I own more than 700. Toys, t-shirts, even shampoo bottles. Long story), or why should anyone give a damn about what I'm creating.

I studied Computer Science, switched to Fine Arts, discovered Flash and ActionScript (and never looked back), then left everything behind and moved to London to study an MA in Digital Media at Central Saint Martins. I co-founded a small creative playground called Watergun, directed music videos, wrote short films, and fell in love with the feeling of not knowing where a project would take me.

Nothing I made felt like mine, and I walked away from filmmaking in 2014. I spent years trying to connect dots I couldn't quite see yet.

Two years later, emerging technology was what finally made it all click. I joined Future Lighthouse in a Madrid garage, discovered immersive storytelling, and suddenly everything fell into place. By 2017, I was walking the Venice Film Festival red carpet as part of the first generation of immersive media directors to make that walk. A Madrid garage to Venice. I still get goosebumps when I think about it.

Then came AtlasV, one of the bravest teams I've ever worked with. Leading projects from Paris to Seoul, the sheer variety pushed me creatively to places I never thought possible: immersive theatre, Magic Leap experiments, big IP I'd loved for years, and even developing my first game. That chapter changed what I thought I was capable of.

And then the world stopped. During the pandemic, I joined a small team called AdventureLab that refused to let distance win. Together, we built a game where live actors performed from their living rooms, bringing strangers together in virtual worlds when the real one had shut its doors. Proof that technology, at its best, connects people when everything else is pulling them apart.

And then, New York. I moved to The Mill, a studio I'd been obsessed with ever since their music video for Wide Open by The Chemical Brothers melted my brain. I couldn't figure out how they did it. I hunted for behind-the-scenes clues, even sent them emails asking about their secret. Ten years later, I was walking through their door as their Creative Director.

London pulled me back. I joined incredible teams at Nexus Studios and Unit9, growing alongside the technologies as they matured, and discovering new ones as they emerged. Then came Secret Level, and with it, AI. Something that genuinely changed the way I think about making things. How stories take shape, how ideas become real, how fast you can move from "what if" to "wait, that actually works." New canvases, new questions, same feeling.

The truth is, that feeling has never gone away. That vertigo when a new technology opens a door you didn't know was there. It happened with Flash, it happened with immersive storytelling, it happened with spatial computing, and it's happening right now with AI. And somewhere along the way, the doors started opening to rooms I never imagined I'd be in, working alongside Geraldine Chaplin, Robert Englund, Oscar Isaac, Alexandre Aja, learning something about character and story that no technology can teach you. Every time I think I've found the edges of what's possible, the canvas gets bigger.

I'm still chasing that feeling, and I don't think I'll ever stop.

So that's me. Madrid, London, New York, and a whole lot of dots that finally connected. Still building. Still chasing that feeling.

If you've made it this far, curiosity is clearly something we share and you deserve an awkward virtual hug.