The builder.

I've been doing things my own way for about as long as anyone can remember. Ask the people who know me.

I'm a father and a husband. On a free Saturday I'm gaming, shooting hoops, making TikToks, making music, or on the floor with my dogs.

I've built an audience of over eight thousand people online, mostly by being myself and building things that feel like someone thought about them.

I didn't plan a career in tech. My education moved through electrical systems, biology and artificial intelligence. How do complex systems organize? How does information move through them? What breaks when it doesn't work?

I spent about ten years inside a major bank, entry level to manager. I got good at spotting the distance between how a system was supposed to work and how it actually worked. Then I started closing it.

Nobody asked me to. I just kept seeing what needed to exist. In the same stretch I ran associate-focused business resource groups: organizing people and making real space for voices that were getting talked over.

Then I gave myself the chance I'd been circling for years. Web development, automation and AI tooling, learned by building. I kept what held up and scrapped what didn't.

I built my own AI lab on my own hardware: several machines running local models, the whole stack under my control.

I spent the better part of two years building a multi-agent AI system from first principles. Not for a client. For myself, to know how it works when every layer is your responsibility.

OtrovertLabs is the studio I founded to do this work for other people. Websites, AI-powered tools, automations, MVPs. For founders and operators who need someone who understands the problem before touching the build.

The name has two layers. Psychiatrist Rami Kaminski coined "otrovert" for someone who thinks independently, connects deeply one-on-one, and never quite fits the group mold, even when they're welcome in it.

The word comes from the Spanish otro, meaning other, and the Latin vertere, meaning to turn. The other perspective. The angle you don't see until someone bothers to look for it.