Snoop around my condo by typing commands:
examine couch · open fridge · read notebook · pour a drink — you get it.
You’ll also see options you can tap; that isn’t all of them.
Just here for the work? portfolio →
Paul Martin Curry was born on Bastille Day, 1991. A rank-and-file army brat, he grew up moving from place to place, but mostly Germany and Texas. The same Lone Star State where he attended Southern Methodist University before writing his way into a decade of advertising in New York, New York—all with his art partner in career Mack(enzie).
So he has a portfolio/book full of stuff he made. Now he mostly eats breakfast tacos back in Austin. He thinks all this makes him—at least, interesting.
He openly endorses monk-brewed beer, Irish whiskey, and certain gin. He still writes bad poetry, and a lifetime ago publicly performed it, including at the opening of a presidential library.
He’s one of those guys who just likes/needs to make stuff — including a mildly morbid kid’s book about fish funerals, a meditative and a little bit blasphemous book about love, and a kind of moving art gallery generated with A.I. He has no idea what’s next. He hopes it’s something good.