He sits like a sovereign of the attention economy — calm, composed, immovable.
Collectors like him don’t chase trends. They create them.
His suit bleeds into the background like wet paint, because collectors and markets are indistinguishable — one colours the other.
The red haze above him is not smoke — it’s market pressure, the slow burn of silent decisions, the tension of watching the chain move around his choices.
His left eye is a vortex of circles, the analytical spiral of a man who sees deeper than price:
provenance
cultural weight
artistic soul
long-term resonance
This is not speculation. This is vision.
The scribbled text “Gas Fee” behind him is perfect: he moves so much weight that even gas fees feel like mere atmospheric noise.
Behind him: ghost outlines of artworks he has collected, artworks he has rejected, and artworks haunting him from future eras.
He is the quiet engine of the digital renaissance. Without him — none of this exists.
