Magnetisk (Me).

I landed in 1978 in a dull-as-hell Catalan village where the main local pastime was watching hours go by. At age 9, when I was practically already shaving, I was gifted my first set of Lego. I got into it late, sure, but I still play with them today; probably because it was the first time someone gave me permission to build a world that wasn't as mind-numbing as the real one.

During my teens, while half the country was getting lobotomized by mainstream radio, we were swapping dubbed cassettes like they were black-market contraband. We lived in a country that, culturally speaking, has always been lagging a good ten years behind, so out of pure mental hygiene, I started designing covers. Someone had to bring some aesthetic order to all those blank tapes. Then Nirvana’s Incesticide CD arrived and, instead of looking for a proper job, I got the itch to play the bass.

Since I’m a world-class expert at volunteering for extra work, it went like this: you play bass, you join a band, and since nobody else knows how to draw a circle with a compass, you end up doing the posters and the demo art. I also started writing songs because, why the hell not? When By-pass imploded, it was reborn as Atomic Toy. And there I was: composing, rehearsing, and playing graphic designer, all for the grand salary of zero dollars.

While making noise with bass and distortion, I had the bright idea of discovering the Moog synthesizer. And since I still had some spare time left for sleeping, I started messing around with the guitar and wrestling with computers to record home demos. You already know how the movie ends. The time for "creative differences" arrived—the polite way of saying we told each other to go screw ourselves—and I was out of the band. All that urge to do weird stuff ended up in SquashLab, Catalonia's first multimedia project that, predictably, absolutely nobody noticed. For a while, I played a double game: playing live with Ammoníac to keep up appearances while sneaking off with SquashLab, which was like the mistress you actually have fun with.

And what happens with mistresses? Since they don't have the pressure of a routine, they end up becoming the protagonists. SquashLab matured, or something like that, and became El Sistema Suec (The Swedish System). That’s where I completely lost control: playing, composing, writing lyrics, directing music videos, taking photos, producing, and setting up the shows. A "one-man circus" in every sense of the word.

In the middle of all this chaos, Magnetisk appears. As if I didn't have enough on my plate, I invented a record label that released albums in fridge-magnet format. It was a biblical success; not in sales, obviously, but in meeting the local fauna of the "sotabosc" (the underground of the alternative underground). It was a beautiful era where, besides running my own invention, I got roped into playing bass for local underground icons like The Missing Leech or Ran Ran Ran, and even helping to manage the label El Mamut Traçut.

All this hyper-activity ended, predictably, in a head-on collision with my midlife crisis. The diagnosis was easy: I was burnt to a crisp. "I'm out," I said. But my ability to sit still has the lifespan of a matchstick. The music stayed in the fridge, but Magnetisk mutated into a music video director, and I fell head over heels for the world of instant photography—the annoyingly expensive kind—introducing myself as Magnetisk Photo.

After some time acting like a fool on social media with the Polaroiders community and customizing old junk with basic drawings—my visual trademark as an expert in "messing around"—I had another fit. I decided to tell the digital storefront to go to hell and became a digital antisocial. It’s much better without all those empty "likes."

Now, in early 2025, after a period of creative silence, I—that boy who is now a man with a few scars and a few crises under his belt—have accepted myself for what I am: a restless addict of the multidisciplinary arts. Magnetisk, which had always been the name of the benchwarmer, is now the starter for everything I do. Everything has changed, yeah, but the urge to tinker and the pride of Do It Yourself remain my DNA. At the end of the day, I’m just that kid who got a Lego set at age nine and is still trying to fit together pieces that, in theory, shouldn't go together.