I was about six years old when I met my first art teacher.

An optimist, no doubt — Thinking a room full of sugar-charged kids would sit still for a master class in two- and three-point perspective or a lecture on impressionism. Meanwhile, most of us probably just wanted to pour glue on our hands and throw paint around.

 

For some, he was speaking an entirely different language — for others, it came through loud and clear.

 

For me, doodling and sketching in school was likely how I coped with my adolescence. There wasn't a time that I can remember where I wasn't attempting to draw. At that time, it was simple, fun, Imagining the scenarios, the world within the confines of my A4, thinking about each character, where they come from and there interaction with others.

​

As time passed, I came across my middle school art teacher, Mrs. Lee — a multidisciplinary artist herself. Incredibly wise, her approach to layering illustrations, building up tones and values, and understanding negative space was crucial for someone like me, who was mostly into quick outlines and loose sketching at the time.

​

In 2003, Mrs. Lee helped me earn the Ford Hispanic Heritage Award — the first major recognition I’d ever received. To this day, I still have the plaque on my wall as a reminder of that moment and what it meant.

​

A few years later, I met yet another pivotal figure: my high school art teacher. A total wild card. Starkly contrasted from the art teachers I had before. Disciplined, loud, energetic, a bit of tough love you might say. The man could’ve taught a masterclass in profanity and how art is merely a metaphor for the perfect breakfast? or maybe it was the other way around.

​

That class is where things really started to take off for me. I stopped playing small. Stopped making what came easy. I started moving with intention. I traded pencil for pastel, sketchbooks for walls. That classroom was high octane jet fuel for my creativity. In 2006, I received the Scholastic Art & Writing Award, a nationwide competition. That moment changed things for me again. It validated a lot — but more than that, it reminded me that my work could influence, inspire, and maybe even motivate others. I owe you a debt of gratitude Mr. Pett, not only am I making some pretty decent pancakes, I have my own pancake house now.  Couldn't have done it without you.

​

Years later, the summer before Highschool graduation, I took a job painting houses. On our third gig, we showed up early, knocked on the door — and out walks my old elementary art teacher.

He looked at me for a moment, then smiled like something clicked.

​

“You’re Michael, right? Do you remember me?  How's your artwork coming along?”

​

Caught off guard — not from recognition, but that he remembered that aspect of me as a student, after 12 years. Right then, it hit me. This art thing mattered more than I ever realized. It mattered — to me, to so many others, and perhaps, this is my torch to carry. This path is mine to follow.

​

I don’t think he ever realized it, but his presence was a defining aspect of my life. Thank you Mr. Shea for providing the catalyst to what inevitably became my future career.

​

Toward the end of Highschool, I started producing music — something that’s remained with me to this day. The process of creating rhythm and layering — through genres like hip-hop, R&B, alternative/experimental, and film scores — felt like unlocking a color I’d never seen before. It opened up a new creative outlet. Music became a second language to me — maybe not fluent, but powerful in its expression.

​

throughout my twenties, I carved out space in the design world online. Landing mostly small scale projects at first with some major opportunities throughout. I formed incredibly diverse business relationships —  some extending halfway around the world. I learned the process of running my own business the hard way. Facing numerous hazards and challenges  — to deliver consistently, to listen harder than I speak, and to bring ideas to life with clarity and impact was a lesson all its own.  Nothing like on-the-job training.

​

Of course I couldn't end this without thanking my mother for putting up with me for so long, for believing, for reinforcing. For placing me exactly where I needed to be in order to receive these incredible opportunities. Without the stability, I would not have been able to attain any of this. Thank you Mom!

 

It’s been 20 years now. Art trends have shifted, the very face of design — and what the world considers creative — has evolved. And with it, the standards of quality have changed, too. For true artists, change means nothing. We stay focused and adaptive — unbothered. Refining. Reworking. Reimagining.
Always searching for a deeper truth in the work…or simply letting the work stand on its own two feet.

​

If you’ve made it this far, I’ll leave you with this — a quote that’s lived rent-free in my head for years:

 

He who works with his hands is a laborer.
He who works with his hands and his head is a craftsman.
He who works with his hands, his head, and his heart — is an artist.

​

​

— Mike