When I was six years old, I built my first guitar out of a construction toy. At eight, I got my first real one. But by sixth grade, I stopped playing. In ninth grade, I fell into depression. I felt lost, unneeded, and empty—tried to find something to hold onto. I got back to playing and in the search for a new electric guitar I stumbled upon a factory tour video of PRS. Noticing most of the tools and machines looked familiar from my dad’s carpentry shop, I started to search for people building guitars at home. After watching a few videos, I turned to my father, and said, “Let’s build a guitar.”

That moment became a turning point. We built it together, and I haven’t stopped since. In all these dark years, guitar building gave me something to hold on to—something to believe in. It wasn’t just a hobby. It became my lifeline. A way to survive. A way to create meaning when everything felt meaningless. Guitars gave me life—and now it’s my turn to give something back.
To me, luthiery isn’t just about wood, wires, and strings. It’s about curiosity, dedication, and the courage to keep going even when things fall apart. I’ve learned that failure isn’t the opposite of success—it’s the path to mastery. Every mistake is a doorway to creativity. Every challenge is a chance to grow. Even when I’m not in the workshop, I’m thinking, imagining and finding inspiration—forever building, evolving.

I see guitar building as a balance of intuition and precision. I’m always looking to create instruments that feel just right—visually, physically, and sonically. I want my guitars to feel like a pair of well-worn jeans with the look of a tailored suit and the freedom of joggers. Familiar yet surprising. Classic, but with a twist. I put obsessive care into every detail, and I want that to shine through the moment someone picks one up—before they even plug it in.