During my entire “artist career” (quotation marks very intentional), I’ve been stuck on two stupidly simple questions:
What is art?
Who is an artist?
They sound easy. They are not.
At some point I read a definition that stuck with me:
“An artist is someone who sees something others cannot see, and then creates something that makes it visible.”
I like that. Not because it solves anything, but because it at least points somewhere.
For me, art is much simpler — and messier.
It’s self-expression.
That’s it.
I have a pretty stressful, highly technical day job. I have two small kids. Life is full. Busy. Loud. Structured.
And yet, my head is constantly filling up with weird ideas.
It’s like a bucket slowly filling with water. And if I don’t empty it, it overflows.
I wake up at night and write things down. Random concepts, visuals, titles, fragments. But writing them down is not enough. The idea doesn’t leave. It just sits there.
The only way to get rid of it is to actually make it real.
So I do. Fast.
I don’t care about technical perfection. I don’t polish. I don’t optimize. I don’t iterate endlessly. I just get it out — quick and dirty — and then I’m done. Mentally done. Space cleared. Next idea can come in.
That’s the whole system.
And there have been many outputs over the years. Paintings (some made by me, some produced through others), films, music, books, installations, random public pieces, even jewelry. My only real “method” is: try everything.
I’m not particularly skilled with my hands. That has never stopped me.
Like Jeff Koons or Andy Warhol, I’ve sometimes outsourced execution. I’ve photoshopped something and asked someone else to paint it. I’ve used voiceovers heavily in my films — partly as a stylistic choice, but also because I can bring in a “voice” that is not me (and yes, often from Fiverr).
I do everything alone. Not because I’m against collaboration — I just don’t have a team. And honestly, I like the autonomy.
Some of my work has even found its way into places that feel… slightly unreal.
Sleep was shown at the International Film Festival Rotterdam in 2015.
Now it’s part of the Anozero 26 – Biennal de Coimbra.
And Christopher Costabile wrote a thesis about it.
So by some definitions, this must be art.
But does that make me an artist?
I’m not sure.
I want to be outside the system — but not labeled as an “outsider artist.” I don’t feel like I belong inside, but I’m not building my identity around being outside either.
I just… exist somewhere.
My work doesn’t always carry a deeper message. Sometimes it’s exactly what it looks like. No hidden layers, no grand narrative. Just an idea that needed to get out.
And I don’t apply for grants. Not because I’m against them — quite the opposite. I fully understand why they exist. Back when kings funded artists, life was simpler. Now people need grants, stipends, residencies, sales — because rent exists.
Nothing wrong with that.
But for me, it wouldn’t work.
The moment I would need to think: “Will this get funding?” or “Will this sell?” — I would probably stop making anything. That kind of pressure would kill the whole mechanism.
I don’t make art to survive.
I make art because otherwise my brain gets too full.
Ironically, the biggest challenge these days is time. Between work and family, I often don’t have enough of it. And when I don’t create, the pressure builds up again.
I’ve also been thinking about how this compares to other fields. In Finland, it’s completely normal that musicians or athletes have day jobs. Even successful ones.
But in visual art, it somehow feels like a taboo.
I once showed my business card to Anton Ginzburg, and he told me: “Never show that to anyone in art circles.”
That stuck with me.
There seems to be this expectation that to be a “real artist,” you must dedicate your entire life to it. You should have the right education, know the right people, be fully inside the system.
I think that’s bollocks.
I’m an artist.
But I’m also a dad.
An engineer.
A tech enthusiast.
An IT security director.
All of it at the same time.
No hierarchy.
No permission needed.
And honestly, I don’t think I could do it any other way.
And yes, I used AI to polish my grammar. No regrets there. It makes it easier to read. You can tell from the “— ” characters.
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