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 Germanyand Texas. The same Lone Star Statewhere 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/bookfull 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 gallerygenerated with A.I. He has no idea what’s next. He hopes it’s something good.