The name is literal.
I direct end to end: concept, casting the look, shot design, lighting, camera, the cut. Everything here is my own release. My track, my concept, my frame.
Six years in 3D before this. A frame is assembled deliberately and every value in it is a decision you can defend.
A gold world built to be looked at rather than decoded. Metallic make-up, mirrored lenses and skin at macro distance, where any softness in the render would show immediately.
The track never lets up, so no frame was allowed to be a rest.
A convertible standing on a cloud bank with the moon behind it, and someone on the bonnet treating that as ordinary.
The reaction is the whole trick. An impossible image with nobody responding to it stays a picture; with a witness it becomes an event.
A man in burgundy velvet, filmed close, in a dark apartment he shares with an invented creature.
One face had to hold across dozens of separate generations that share no memory of each other. That constraint is what forced the systems further down this page.
Two people by an open fire at the end of an autumn night.
Built around texture at close range: flame, wool, breath. Wide shots set a world, but detail is what makes a viewer believe it was photographed.
A drained grey world assembled from torn paper, viewfinder overlays and pencil versions of the same face.
Cut fast on purpose. The song is about copies, so the edit copies itself: the same man returns as a photograph, a drawing, a frame counter.
For one track the first concept was built on its strongest line: a man clamping his mouth shut while something forces its way out of him. It led for an hour and a half.
I cut it. It was the lyric in a better suit, a picture that paraphrases a sentence instead of adding to it. Since then every candidate meets one question. Remove the words of the song. Does the idea still stand?
What replaced it carries the same truth through scale: a mass of objects far too large for one person to have been given. The line is gone. The meaning is not.
Six concepts were on the table. One needed forty per cent of every frame drained of colour, the most repeated move in AI video, and it states nothing. One was the most spectacular of the six and lost anyway, because it gave the viewer the right to survive when the film had to give them the right to speak.
I keep the rejected ones. They are the record of how the decision was made.
A different craft from the films: one irreversible change, a kinetic open inside two seconds, a single location held for the whole runtime.
ПовезлоLucky
Будь попрощеLighten Up
Дай мне тот годGive Me That Year
Та версия меняThat Version of Me
Ты меня береглаYou Kept Me Safe
Two engines, designed and written by me, one for each half of the work.
The production engine for the films. It will not spend money on a concept that has not been thought through, and it records every mistake I make so the same one cannot happen twice.
Deterministic checks, a full test suite, direct integration with the model APIs, and automatic harvesting of what each published post did.
The same discipline applied to the songs. Five roles review each other before a single note is generated, each against its own hundred-point card.
Its founding line, and the reason the videos are never illustrations: craft serves the song, the song serves the human.
Roles where taste and systems have to sit in the same head: AI creative direction, generative content production, applied AI inside a creative pipeline, or building the tooling a content team runs on.