My Story

My interest in performing began in a bathroom.

Not on stage. Not in front of an audience. Alone, in front of a mirror above a sink.

I spent hours there, running through the secret moves. Dropping a coin. Picking it up. Dropping it again. Over and over, until the sound became unbearable. 

Three weeks later, something impossible happened.

The coin vanished.

I watched it disappear in the mirror, and for a moment, I wasn’t looking at a trick. I was looking at a miracle.

That was the first time I understood that performance isn’t about deception. It’s about transformation.

Not of objects—but of people.

At the time, I was a kid who struggled socially. I live with ADHD and autism, and connection didn’t always come easily. 

Conversations felt unpredictable. Rooms felt loud. I never quite knew where to stand or what to do with my hands.

But mentalism gave me structure.

It gave me a reason to approach strangers. 

I began performing in local restaurants, shops, and small gatherings. What started as simple tricks became something else entirely.

And after hundreds of performences something unexpected happened.

People leaned in, and chose to invest their attention and trust with me. 

I studied relentlessly. Books. Performances. Conversations with other artists.

On stage, something else happens.

When I walk into a room, I am not the awkward kid in the mirror anymore.

I am composed. Present. Certain.

Fast forward to today, and I perform for corporate events, private audiences, and theaters. The techniques are bulletproof. The audiences are larger. But the ethos is exactly the same.

It’s the connection that makes any of this worthwhile.