The Four Pillars
Intuition The origin of all knowing. A whisper before form.
Emergence Where inner truths take shape in matter and symbol.
Resonance Ancestral memory echoing through image and instinct.
Transformation Unfolding through dissolution, re-formed in becoming.
What is MIS?
Multidimensional Intuitive Surrealism is a mode of creation born from instinct, memory, and mystery. It resists genre. It moves like water—through time, through form, through you. Rather than representing reality, MIS reveals what pulses beneath it. It is process over product, presence over perfection. It is the invisible made visible.
This Space Follows No Straight Lines
What you see here unfolds in spirals, pauses, and returns. I create the way thoughts move—nonlinear, layered, instinctive. There are loops before clarity, silence before form, and echoes that shape meaning long before language does. This is not disorder. It’s deep order—mapped through intuition rather than logic. My process resists the tidy arc of beginning, middle, end. Instead, it lives in thresholds, in moments of almost, in the now-before-knowing. Welcome to the current.
Nonlinear Thinking
My work doesn’t follow a straight or orderly path. It comes in layers, fragments, flashes of insight, and deep streams of thoughtforms. This space reflects that. It’s not about arrival—it’s about staying in motion.
I paint from within a theta wave—present, tuned in to what’s moving beneath the surface. Ideas arrive unannounced, sometimes dense, sometimes sparse. I ride bareback on that wild horse of thought—no reins, just a brush in hand— creating from the rhythm of the ride itself.
We don’t steer this kind of knowing. We just don’t fall off. We stay with it. We keep painting.
This is how I live, think, and make: instinctively, reflexively, without the need to explain every step. It’s complex, yes—but through synthesis and transformation, it becomes something new. A visual language that didn’t exist before.
Living the Language
MIS does not end at the canvas. It lives in the shape of my days—the way I read the sky, arrange objects, listen to silence, or stir a pot with intention. It’s how I restore meaning to forgotten gestures. How I hold grief with one hand and paint with the other. It lives in how I choose presence over performance, spiral over straight lines.
This space is not meant to display a finished thing. It’s a way of being, witnessed.
