Beer from Cans & Imported Gin – On Why I Left the Corporate World and Turned to an Artistic Life

An early moment that still matters to me today: a night out in São Paulo with friends, colleagues and my wife. When I first moved to Brazil in 2014 I wasn’t earning much. I was glad my Portuguese was sufficient to actually work there, so I took the role even though it meant downgrading the position and salaries I had already held. I had moved to Brazil for love. After almost a year of long distance between London and São Paulo, we had our first flat together. We went out and sat on plastic chairs in botecos, drinking beer from cans. We were happy. Life was simple, it was good. Flash forward two years: I was one of the creative directors at one of the best branding agencies in Brazil, working with big clients like Google and Nike. I was earning okay-ish money, I had become a partner, but I had started compensating—compensating the stress it takes to work on such clients, compensating for wearing masks to fit the corporate world, compensating for not feeling worthy enough to speak up for myself. Beer from cans didn’t taste as good anymore (it never really did). The boteco was still nice, but I had “earned” myself into nice restaurants, so it became gin and tonics. Not just any old G&T—imported gin, please. Nice life. Bigger bills. That night I realised I wasn’t happier than before and that something was off.

During my career I always thought once I get there—once I have the next higher position—life will be better. So I chased it, worked my way up. When I finally was creative director and (small) partner of the agency, I still wasn’t happy and there were still things to chase after. Now I was stressed most of the time and often exhausted. Good work, lots of success, but not really well. That night, with my G&T in hand, I thought back to those early days; I felt freer, lighter. That set something straight in me. Not long after, I quit the agency world the first time.

São Paulo, Brazil (2019) – Security booth on the streets of São Paulo for guards to have shelter. Many of them feature personalised interior and religious ephemera.

When I was younger I was on my way to becoming a photographer. I was assisting and almost started full-time in a studio. People kept telling me to keep my hands off it because there’s no money in photography. Young and ambitious, I got scared away and I turned to communication design and studied in Hamburg. Then the career happened.

I never fully left photography, only my own practice. I sold my cameras, bought new cameras, sold them again. My self-esteem around actually photographing was low at the beginning. I stayed close though: art direction in studios and on location, working with photographers, strategizing photography narratives for campaigns, concepting imagery for brands. I kept close, always. That changed once during my role as a creative director in Brazil. One client wanted a certain style with a quick turnaround. I offered to do it the next day and got the shoot. From there I went quite quickly into large campaign shootings for our clients for a while. Big brands, big budgets. The good thing about having worked on the commissioning side: I knew real prices, learned about image rights (and their costs), and started understanding the production side of things. When I started taking on clients in photography I didn’t charge low like many do at first. I went straight for large budgets. It worked for a while, but the question of what I wanted to bring to this world kept coming up. I hadn’t developed a voice of my own. I was still working like I used to at the agencies, taking on the branding and the style of the clients. Like a chameleon I could do what they needed, but I did not know what I wanted.

I started experimenting. Random stuff. I started losing clients and I had underestimated the power of the network. I put out stuff that was half-baked, and then I ran out of money.

São Paulo, Brazil (2015) – Portraits of my assistant at the time, good friend and fellow artist, Vitor Bossa. As I started experimenting with shooting analogue film again, I came across these textures (image on the left) that happened to be accidentally on the negative, and I always loved them. Serendipity—the things that are out of our control—often brings out details that start influencing us or inspiring new ideas. I started introducing layered interferences to my images because of this image.

I moved from Brazil to Germany and, for security, I went back into the corporate world. I felt like I had failed myself and was a bit disappointed but wanted the safe money. Secure income.The artist in me had awakened though, slowly but steadily. The voice got louder and the different masks I was wearing for the corporate world started to feel uneasy.

There was never a true turning point. I was pushed and pulled by something greater than me, the universe had different plans, and I started to follow that inner voice again. My patience for the corporate world and its behaviour was gone, and the world started running towards digital and AI—I felt I needed to go the opposite direction. The box was too small and I had expanded. Doors had to be closed, and so I quit the agency world for a second time to continue on my journey.

While working freelance design gigs to keep the cash flow up, I started to experiment again at home. The living room turned into a studio. Dri, my wife and also an artist, and I decided to go all in. We rented a space close to Bahnhof Zoo in Berlin, a studio for us to work in together, and we founded Space Of Hearts. Our studio, and also a place for cultural and creative exchange.

The way this all unfolded taught me to listen to the inner voice even though it is tough at times. To listen honestly to yourself. That once you start seeing it, you can’t unsee it, and once you are out of it all it’s almost impossible to go back. I’ve unlearned the guilt that comes when you first set out into a life of free time management – and the consequences of what happens if you indulge in it too much. I also had to unlearn my own limiting beliefs. The cost I am willing to pay is that this is sometimes a lonely endeavour. One you’re on with yourself. You check in with yourself a lot. I have come to understand that spiritual practice – strengthening self-worth, calming anxiety – all of it is as important as the artistic practice itself; in fact, it is the artistic practice.

Bahia, Brazil (2019) – Outdoor experimentations with mirrors.