After this experience, I returned to my own room, resting on the ordinary pillow I used as my meditation cushion. Despite the late hour, I picked up my phone and called my sister. Her mother answered the phone. At first, she didn’t want to talk and shouted in dismay at her mother. When her mother calmly repeated the word of my sister to me, I knew exactly what had happened: her dog had passed away—she had been holding the leash—something that had occurred only thirty minutes earlier. I explained it to her mother, astonished. Both she and Daisy-May were taken aback; as soon as Daisy-May heard the story, she rushed downstairs, grabbed the receiver, and asked in utter disbelief, “How did you know that?” I told her about my meditation experience, that I saw her crying by the bed, holding a dog’s leash and tossing tissues toward the trash bin, while I was unable to intervene and yet felt compelled to call her.
After a long and profound conversation, I realized that this was something very extraordinary—something I now understand as Astroprojection. Later, I read that both the Russians and the CIA have used this technique for years to gather information, for instance by tracking interestingly high ranking individuals or inspecting hostile military bases.
Years passed without me experiencing such an out-of-body encounter again, until it happened during a meditation session—this time I was in France. I found myself in a house on the outskirts of Paris, an unfamiliar place where I quietly observed my surroundings, firmly rooted in place. No one was in sight; a soft TV commercial in the background illuminated the living room wall. The screen revealed only fragments of the room: behind me, a small kitchen and a closed door. I was in a hall where several family portraits hung.
In the first photo, an adult man was pictured with a nearly newborn child taking its first steps. The second photo showed two dogs playfully leaping for a frisbee—an oddly placed image, since there didn’t seem to be any dog in this house (at least, I usually could smell one). The third photo depicted the same man, younger, with his face pressed against that of another person. Their eyes sparkled, radiating pure joy.
As I tried to make sense of the background, I recognized her: Elsa, a vacation friend I had met eight years ago during a family holiday with my parents. In that moment of realization, I was abruptly transported back to my parents’ house, where I had just moved back in. Three weeks later, the reason for my presence there became clear when I received a condolence letter from her friend Alexandra. Elsa had died in a car accident; the funeral had already taken place, and the letter arrived far too late—especially since it was sent via our old address in Veenendaal to Wemeldinge, where my parents had relocated due to work and my brother’s schooling.
It became clear to me: people dear to me could only reach out during deep meditation, when they were in the midst of an intense emotional experience. The following weeks filled my mind with questions. How could I continue meditating while keeping up with everyone at the same time? Was it really my responsibility to do so? Would people find it strange if I shared this gift? And more questions arose—ones I would rather not dwell on in such vulnerable moments.
While I was in an identity crisis, I studied at Albeda in Rotterdam. Attending school only one day a week sometimes felt like a long, lonely journey, with boredom and misunderstanding hanging around me like shadows. One day, after class had ended and we left the classroom together, I witnessed a captivating yet sorrowful scene. In the bustling corridor, where students passed by like soft whispers at the door, my gaze fell upon a female classmate. She stood before a mirror, her tears a silent ode, as she caressed her chest. It was a fleeting, vision-like encounter that deeply moved me.
Unconsciously, I tapped her on the shoulder as soon as we stepped outside, and with a tender impulse, I told her that it would be wise to see a doctor about the lump and not wait any longer. The following morning, my mother sat at the edge of the bed with the same fateful news; she had indeed gone to the doctor that day. A few weeks later, during a mentor session, it hit me like a blow: my former classmate had dropped out of her studies. The diagnosis of breast cancer had not only upended my mother’s life but hers as well, leaving her with no future in continuing her education. Both of them are now doing well and continue to lead happy lives to this day.
At that moment, it became crystal clear: I had to honor and utilize this extraordinary gift—the one that allowed me to feel moments of vulnerability and beauty. Despite all my attempts to recreate that experience, it remained a mystery that I could not fully reproduce.
When I arrived at the academy, I had begun a project experimenting with intuitive drawing. In this enchanting period of discovery, I worked on a composition of roots gracefully resting in water—a charcoal drawing measuring 150 by 200 cm that now shines on an office wall in Amsterdam. While drawing in the academy’s exhibition space, I suddenly found myself in a small boat—or perhaps more accurately, a canoe. As I drifted gently along a river, I was surrounded by immense trees that seemed many times larger than the mighty conifers from America, the tallest trees in the world. Their roots plunged deep and wide into the water, much like Mangroves do, as if they were ancient secrets guarding the river.
Then, without warning, the green forest edge was abruptly broken off, giving way to an expansive desert plain where sand and a scattered pile of rotten stone defined the landscape. In the distance, like a mirage, something appeared that resembled a village or a small town. As before, I had no control over my movements; now I drifted effortlessly with the river’s current, yearning for that mysterious place. The feeling was so intense that after this experience, I was determined to do everything possible to re-enter that world. Later, I would come to recognize this realization as the beginning of Metamelei—a magical journey in which my drawings of roots seemed to carry me into a wondrous dimension.
In the beginning, my steps were uncertain. Sometimes I made a drawing and nothing remarkable happened, while at other moments my lines transported me to a new, enchanting place. And then, sometimes, the experience brought me back to familiar territories—whether in the canoe or to places I had visited before. As my experiences in astroprojection grew and the details in my work became more refined, I gained greater control over these unique gifts. Step by step, I came closer to the essence of why Metamelei captivated me so—a world where the boundary between art and reality blurred, and every drawing was a declaration of love to my journey of discovery.
Previously, my experiences seemed to be fueled by meditation and concentration, just as I now experience them while drawing my roots. First, it was my sister; later, an old friend—who drew me into this realm? What is the link between my root drawings and the strong emotional drive toward Metamelei?
The first time I reached land during my experiences, fate seemed to guide me solely to the desert. What you might consider an adventure turned out to be an intense encounter, so raw and real that every sense came to life. I heard the soft crying of my sister in the distance, and the warm, homely scent of a farmhouse enveloped me like a tender memory. The sight of my female classmate, her silhouette in the soft light, filled me with rapture, as if I could feel her touch on her skin. It was at that moment I knew: this was no coincidence, but an invitation to explore.
The desert—a landscape where the harsh wind, like an enchanting dancer, sent little tornadoes of sand and dust racing along the forest edge—was far from an easy playground. Further on, away from the water, the temperature quickly soared and sweat broke out over me, as if each drop told a tale of exertion and longing. Sometimes I felt wet streams running down my back, not something you experience while drawing at a drafting table — a silent testament to the intensity of the moment.
After venturing into the forest edge, a scent emerged from the woods—a pale purple flower spread throughout the less wooded areas, where at certain moments of the day sunlight touches the ground. Its aroma was a delicate blend of light vanilla and a sweet honey fragrance, subtle yet unforgettable. As bees, like little travelers, collected nectar and pollen on their hind legs, it seemed as if the flowers themselves were slowly revealing their splendor, like small clusters of grapes that changed from translucent to purple in the sun.
I later attempted to look up these and other plant species in the library. However, without success; nothing came close. Some species share one or more shelves with the plants we know here. Through this search within our earthly biography, I realized that it must have been an isolated environment—a true island or even a continent, given the different biotopes and the river I had seen. Perhaps it is extreme to say that it might not even truly be on our world, but that it belongs to another planet or a parallel universe? No, that would be too far-fetched.
As I gained more control over my own presence and was able to discover more and more new places, I came to know the rich nature of this world even better. It took many frustrated attempts before I finally ended up in the right spot. Every first encounter left me with an uneasy feeling, as if invisible eyes were constantly watching me. Sometimes it became so intense that I felt nauseous—so nauseous that I was abruptly pulled out of the experience and had to vomit. After the second time—and even after cleaning the floor myself—I decided to place a bucket beside me, as a faithful companion on my quest. Despite the discomfort, one steadfast thought remained in my heart: I had to discover that city in order to fully understand where I truly stood in the world.
In one of my experiences in the forest, I came across a ruin. The refined hand of erosion had left its sculptural mark on this monument. Large, sprawling roots embraced the walls, as if tenderly softening the transience of the building. Slugs, in their rusty nudity, moved like dancing shadows among piles of concrete rubble, while the ground was scattered with shards of glass that made the sliver of sunlight filtering through the canopy sparkle.
As I stood there, it seemed as if the soul of this modern structure—once sleek and powerful with a frame of reinforced concrete—told a story of passion and remembrance. Nature, like a loving muse, had created its own artwork, with erosion and overgrowth staging a mysterious spectacle that seemed to speak of a time far beyond human limits.
Although one often encounters dilapidated buildings, this scene combined the intense weathering of stone and steel with an abundance of lush greenery, making it seem as if history itself had penned a romantic chapter—perhaps even two thousand years old. Even the pyramids in the Egyptian desert, softened by rare rains, could not compare to the tender takeover of this monument by nature. Was this a forgotten part of that ancient town I had seen on earlier journeys? Thus, I gained yet another experience, embraced by time and the romance of a bygone era.
Welcome to the world of the “Surreal Sentients,” an open and free community where art, technology, and consciousness come together in a unique and inspiring experience. As an artist, I strive not only to create images but also to tell stories that resonate with the deepest layers of our reality and imagination. In this blog, I want to take you on a journey through the philosophy and mission of the “Surreal Sentients” and invite you to become part of this extraordinary group.
As “Surreal Sentients,” we are all conscious beings drawn to the wonders of surrealism and the boundaries of realism. My work treads a fine line between surrealism and realism, leading to a form of altermodernism—a unique art form that transcends traditional boundaries and explores new realities.
Whether you enjoy conceptual art or appreciate the beauty of visual images, there is something in my work that resonates with everyone. One “Sentient” might lose themselves in the deeper meanings and ideas, while another finds joy in the aesthetic appeal and visual experience. This diversity of interpretation is precisely what makes the “Surreal Sentients” so special.
As an artist, I work with pencil on various media. In addition, I create installations where technology and nature merge. For more detailed insights, please visit my website at www.mvbaks.com.
Born on 11 July 1982 in the Netherlands, Earth-14519, I quickly realised that I was too free-spirited to spend my life pushing the buttons of baking machines. That realisation led me to move to Rotterdam to earn my bachelor’s degree in fine arts at the Willem de Kooning Academy. During my third year of study, I founded my own art gallery called Downw_arts, where I curated and managed over 40 exhibitions at various locations across Rotterdam.
Over the past eight years, I have specialised in software development and robotics, culminating in a range of aquaphonic, aerophonic, and hydroponic installations. Through these projects, I reflect on how humans attempt to control and manipulate nature using technology.
The mission of the “Surreal Sentients” is to offer a space where art and consciousness work in harmony. I want to provide an environment where people can engage with art in a way that speaks to them, inspires them, and challenges them to look beyond the surface.
My core values are based on:
Awareness: I encourage everyone to view art consciously and critically, reflecting on the deeper meanings of life.
Innovation: I embrace new technologies and techniques to create art that is both innovative and meaningful, ensuring that technology serves us as “Sentients,” not the other way around.
Community: The community of “Surreal Sentients” is an inclusive and supportive space where everyone is welcome and inspired.
If you share this mission and these values, I invite you to join this free and open community. As a “Surreal Sentient,” you receive:
Access to exclusive work
Priority for live streams “Live Lines”
Weekly updates to dive deeper
Participation in discussions within the community
The chance to bring the “Surreal Sentient” spirit home by exploring the webshop
Together, we can push the boundaries of art and consciousness and explore new, exciting paths. Let yourself be carried away by the magic of surrealism and the power of self-awareness. Become part of the “Surreal Sentients” and discover a world full of wonders and possibilities. Follow the journey and see just how deep the rabbit hole goes—this adventure is one you won’t want to miss.
With artistic regards,
M.V. Baks (Michael)