Growing up in a small Dutch village felt like living in two worlds. At home, creativity was everywhere, my family was full of imagination and resourcefulness, always making something out of nothing. Outside, in the village, I often felt resistance to that way of thinking, which made me doubt myself at times. But our home, surrounded by nature and religious symbols, felt like an open, peaceful space where ideas could grow freely.

My parents, coming from a background of hard work and little money, taught us how to be inventive with what we had. Even my grandparents used creative solutions in their garden, it was all about finding possibilities within limitations. That shaped how I think and create.

Christianity added another layer, people searching for truth, using symbols to connect with something greater. That really stuck with me. I started imagining my own symbols and my own version of truth, which still drives my visual storytelling today.

Absolutely. I was always very sensitive as a child, and I think that helped me feel and understand the intentions behind my parents’ work, my dad as an architect and my mom as a painter. It often feels like my own work is a direct fusion of the two. I grew up surrounded by my dad’s architectural drawings, full of precision and structure, and my mom’s paintings, which were so emotional and expressive. I saw how powerful both could be, and somehow I wanted to connect them, almost like finding a balance between masculine and feminine energy.

In my current digital practice, that influence is still very present. I often start with line drawings, using pencil or fineliner to create architectural shapes and straight lines. That sense of structure, ratio, and graphical composition clearly comes from my dad. Then I scan the drawing and begin working digitally, layering in color, texture, and emotion using techniques I learned from watching my mom paint. The rendering part becomes more fluid, more intuitive, and that's where her influence really shows up.

So yes, I still see both "languages" in my work today, the structural, technical base, and the emotional, painterly layer, always in conversation with each other.

Whenever I listen to music, I immediately start to see visuals, it’s just how my brain is wired. Even though I had a lot of creative freedom growing up, I still felt limited in what I could express. Music, especially electronic and experimental, broke that open for me. In the Netherlands, electronic dance music was exploding, and these producers were really pushing the boundaries of sound. My dad also listened to a lot of experimental music, so for me it felt natural to dive even deeper, nothing was ever “too crazy.”

Fast, high-energy genres like drum and bass would trigger these dynamic, adrenaline-fueled visuals in my mind, like racing scenes or moments of intense action. I try to capture that same energy and movement in my work.

On the flip side, I’ve always connected with musicians who channel raw emotion and inner struggles, because that’s something I’ve felt deeply myself. Growing up, I was very sensitive and often felt misunderstood or unheard. These artists could put into words what I struggled to say, they became like translators for feelings I couldn’t express verbally. I try to translate that same emotional weight visually, since that’s the language I know best. For some people, words are how they understand reality.

I’ve always struggled with expressing myself through words, but I noticed that when I created visuals, people actually started to understand me. Since that came more naturally to me, I leaned into it. Over time, especially during a period when I felt completely lost and depressed, I realized that creating art was the only thing that helped me process my emotions. When I felt stuck inside myself, I turned to making.

Around 2019, something really shifted, I began to see how compositions, shapes, and visual elements directly reflected my emotional states. It was like I was unknowingly building a visual guide to my inner world. Every time I created something emotional, and later looked back at it with a clearer, more stable mind, I could actually see parts of myself I couldn’t access in the moment. That’s when I realized how powerful it was, art became a mirror, a tool for reflection and growth.

Now, it feels similar to keeping a diary or using affirmations, but in a visual language. I understood that everything I was creating was deeply connected to who I am, and it all carried more meaning than I initially thought. That realization helped me grow, not just as an artist, but as a person.

As I mentioned before, I’ve always felt this contrast between masculine and feminine energy, not just through my parents' work, but in relationships and life in general. My dad’s architectural drawings had a very masculine energy: structured, graphical, controlled. My mom’s paintings carried a more feminine energy: emotional, organic, flowing. Growing up between the two, I started to notice the friction and also the potential for connection.

That tension made me curious, I wanted to explore it visually and see if there was a middle ground. So in my work, I began combining those elements: sharp, linear forms that represent the masculine, and emotional, rendered, more fluid shapes that represent the feminine. Together, they create a kind of balance.

Even in the symbolism I use, this duality shows up. Stars with straight lines represent the masculine, a sense of direction, presence, claiming space in the world. Eyes, on the other hand, represent the feminine, emotional depth, connection, sensitivity. My work is always trying to find harmony between those two energies, both visually and conceptually.

For as long as I can remember, eyes have been at the center of everything I create. They appear in my dreams, in the visuals in my head, and in every sketch I’ve made since I was a child. Even when drawing cars, I’d start with the headlights, they looked like eyes to me. For me, eyes represent connection, emotion, and energy. I’ve always struggled to express myself through words, but I could feel and read people through their eyes. It was like an unspoken exchange.

Over time, the eye became a personal symbol, a protective presence. Especially during moments of anxiety or fear, it would appear in my mind, almost like a guide. As I grew older and started chasing what the world defines as success, that eye stopped smiling. It reflected a part of me I had neglected, the quiet, sensitive part that needed care, not achievement.

Eventually, I slowed down, looked inward, and started nurturing myself instead of performing. And when I did, the eye smiled again. It reminded me that true connection and emotion don’t need anything more than honesty, and sometimes, just one symbol can hold all of that.

This is very personal and confronting for me. The project originally started with the name Resentment. I wanted to use it as a way to close off that feeling and move on. But as I was creating, I began to realize that I no longer felt the need to focus on resentment, I had actually let go of that emotion. It was as if the whole feeling suddenly disappeared, and that made me so happy. I no longer felt any internal conflict, and I started to see that this project was about something much bigger than just that one word.

This project is about balance, reflection, and seeking truth. Resentment was just a personal state, not the full reality. As I mentioned before, when you create from a single emotional place, you can become blind to everything else. And during this process, I finally saw how narrow my perspective was at the beginning.

I hope that Netra naturally draws in people who are searching for their own inner truth. Let it support you on your personal path. I see this project as a mirror, one that reflects back not only who we are, but also what we may need to see more clearly.

I hope Netra helps people realize how vast this world truly is, and how everything and everyone around us is a reflection of ourselves. Even the things we perceive as “bad” often mirror parts of ourselves we haven’t fully faced.

Ultimately, my wish is for people to find more balance within. More clarity. And a deeper understanding of what life really is.

Yes. Whenever the eyes are minted, they become a symbol, something you can use to spread this message of truth. Or, you can simply use it as a beautiful profile picture. But I truly believe that visual emotion and honesty like this are deeply needed in our digital Web3 space. This project stands as a symbol for truth seekers, and I believe it will naturally attract people who are looking for the same thing.

What’s also fascinating is the way people choose which eye to collect. There’s always a reason, even if it's subconscious, behind why someone prefers one over another. When you see the full project and notice what your friends or others have chosen, you gain an extra layer of insight into who they are and what they resonate with. There’s a lot to learn from that.

I began this project with the goal of closing a chapter on resentment, as the eye symbolized that feeling for me. I felt ready to move past it. Through the process, I realized that I’m already on my path and prepared to let go of this specific emotion. I can now understand the world more clearly and accept the reflections I encounter. Every day feels like a new journey, where I continue to observe these reflections.

After overcoming my inner struggles, I feel at peace and am now ready to engage more fully with the physical world. I’m eager to see what new experiences will shape my next project. I feel freer in my creative process, with inspiration from video work, and I’ve developed a deeper connection to other people’s worldviews, something I hadn’t felt before. Moving forward, I expect my ideas to grow larger and come from perspectives I don’t fully understand yet, rather than just the emotions I’m familiar with.