It started with a dungeon master problem.

Around 2016 I got pulled into Dungeons & Dragons, first as a player, but before long I was the one running the campaign. I’m a visual person, so I started collecting miniatures to bring my storytelling to life: maps, props, models on the table. The collection grew faster than I expected.

In 2018 my girlfriend suggested we take a painting workshop together to bring her character model to life. She moved on. I didn’t. Something about sitting down, brushing paint onto a tiny piece of plastic or resin, and watching it slowly become something, that stuck.

“In 2022 someone I didn’t know asked me to paint their Xanthar. When I finished it and looked at the result, I knew this had to become something real.”

The real turning point came during the lockdowns. With nowhere to go and time to fill, I went deep into the craft, studying techniques, building up a style, and slowly getting better. Friends started asking me to paint their models. Then acquaintances. Then someone commissioned me to paint around fifty Eldar models. No deadline, no rush, just me and a modest army to figure out.

Two years later, a complete stranger asked me to paint their Xanthar. That commission changed something. When I looked at the finished model I realised I had reached a level I was genuinely proud of. In October 2022, Didiature Painting was officially born.

The workshop side followed naturally. That painting session back in 2018 had opened a door for me and I wanted to do the same for others. In 2023 I gave my first public workshop at Day of Dungeons, and since then I’ve taught at events and in hobby shops across Belgium. Too many people assume miniature painting is only for talented artists. It isn’t. Like any craft, it grows through repetition, guidance and curiosity.

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Outside the painting desk I train kickboxing and Muay Thai, a passion that started during a trip to Thailand where I followed my first class and immediately knew I had found something. It might seem like an odd pairing with miniature painting, but the two have more in common than you’d think.

Both demand patience through the ugly phase, that stretch where nothing looks right, everything feels clumsy, and progress is invisible. Both reward you for showing up anyway. And in both, the moment you look back at where you started is when you realise how far the work has actually taken you.

That’s the mindset I bring to every commission and every workshop.