1990 was the year in which Sascha Düffels, who was born Kevelaer, for the first time came into contact with the subculture of "Hip Hop" and came to the conviction that the reception of the music was not sufficient for him, but that he found himself through the art of graffiti connected to music, wanted to express. The expression conveyed by each artist and the statement made to the world inspired him. The descriptions linked with music were his favorite books of the time and moved him to turn his own stories into pictures. So he created his first graffiti in 1993 and in 1998 painted so skillfully bypassing the law that his activities finally led him to a commissioned work for the state.
 
He continued to pursue his love of hip hop by trying to find like-minded people at various events and by spreading his art in various national and international locations.
 
Despite commercial success, he consistently remained true to the principle that graffiti is an underground culture and painted against the establishment. He understood the term “freelance artist” to be “freelance”, as he deliberately did not allow himself to be carried away by mainstream currents, renounced exhibitions and only aimed attention for his art with those people where he wanted them to be awakened.

He often combineas poems with his street-art, there is always a story behind the masterpiece! 

Images in the mind
Her eyes, immersed in the deepest darkness and the strongest emptiness, paint her fragile hands splendidly filigree summer birds on thin paper.

Each as delicate and delicate and light as if he were rising up into the sky at any moment to kiss the sun.

While her facial expressions remain blank and dull, her pen moves in thin strokes over the paper, which is thirsting for coloring.
It serves as the only interface between the outside and the deeply closed, blackened world of her little head.

Your ego is so withdrawn that it can only catch a thin line of connection to the outside through the path of paper.
The shimmering butterflies, guided through your hands, appear as gentle reflections of the images in your head.

Encoded in bright colors and soft shapes, they bear the name of the caring father, the mother. Who always kissed her eyes in the night before going to sleep, of the happy brother she loved so much because of his 100 little jokes, the warm sister who shared her dolls and clothes with her, the countless friends of her happy childhood and all those who who died in the smoldering rain of fire from a bomb striving for peace.

The girl's body escaped the end as a panting shell, while her spirit died with the beloved. The only thing that remains of her are the memories of the lost, who now find their way into eternity as radiant butterflies.