In 2020, I designed my first faux–movie poster almost by accident. I had come across a minimalist visual style that framed familiar stories as cinematic events, and I wanted to see what would happen if I applied that same language to the games and moments I grew up with. That single experiment quietly set everything else in motion—and, in a very real way, changed my life.

What started as one poster became an ongoing practice. Since then, I’ve designed over 100 faux-movie posters, each one reimagining a formative gaming moment as if it were a blockbuster film. The goal was never parody. It was preservation. As kids, the worlds we played in felt enormous—epic, dangerous, awe-inspiring. Time has a way of flattening those memories, turning once-grand moments into something smaller and more ordinary when we look back at them as adults.

These posters are my way of refusing that shrinkage.

Each piece is designed to “upgrade” the memory—not by adding noise or excess detail, but by restoring the scale, weight, and grandeur those moments had when they first imprinted on us. They capture how it felt to play, not how it literally looked. When nostalgia risks becoming stale, I use these posters to lock in the version of the memory that mattered most—the one where everything was bigger, louder, and more important than real life.

Building this collection has been deeply satisfying, not just as a body of work, but as a personal archive. It taught me how restraint can be more powerful than excess, how emotion can guide design, and how reinterpretation can be more honest than replication. This series didn’t just document my past—it reshaped my creative instincts and continues to influence how I approach everything I make.