When taste turns to beautiful stock: the making of Studiomiklus

Instead, his path towards design started from a stubborn pull toward creativity, and a strong desire to avoid anything involving math.

“I studied advertising under Fine Arts back in university—mostly because I didn’t want to take math,” he says, laughing. But behind the joke was something real. He had a knack for drawing, a feel for aesthetics, and a curiosity about how ideas could live visually in the world.

So he dove into graphic design and took his talent where opportunity led him across the world to Qatar, where he spent over a decade shaping brand campaigns in the high-speed world of advertising.

It wasn’t glamorous, but it was a masterclass in visual problem-solving. He learned how to work fast, adapt to creative constraints, and build images that communicated clearly, even when the budget or timeline said otherwise. Still, something was missing. The tools he had access to—stock photo libraries, commercial image banks—were functional, but flat. “They were helpful,” he says. “But also expensive, limited, and honestly… kind of soulless.”

He started looking for ways to bring more personality into his work. More emotion. More him. That drive eventually led him to AI tools like MidJourney, and eventually, to Lummi.

This is the story of Studiomiklus.

Becoming Studiomiklus

The name started as a cover. Mike didn’t want to use his real name in his portfolio. He wanted to experiment without attaching every idea to his personal identity. “I was drawn to European names, especially ‘Nicholas,’ so I blended that with my own: ‘Mik’ from Mike, and ‘lus’ from illustrator.”

Studiomiklus was born. A little mysteriousness mixed in with a little playfulness. The kind of name you’d expect to see on the credits of a strange, beautiful short film. It stuck. And more importantly, it gave Mike a space to explore, iterate, and build a visual language that felt more like him.

From soulless stock to something real

Like many agency designers, Mike got used to working with commercial stock imagery. Not because it was inspiring but because it was available and a quick solution, “They were helpful,” he admits, “but also expensive, limited, and honestly… kind of soulless.”

The problem wasn’t just aesthetics. It was emotional. You start to feel boxed in by the same grinning faces, the same over-lit offices, the same pretend diversity that somehow still manages to feel hollow. When you want something custom or something with a specific point of view, it either costs more or takes more time. Often times it is both.

And when time and budget rule the day, good ideas get quietly trimmed into safer ones.

A startup, a shift, and the moment everything changed

Things moved forward when Mike relocated to Canada and joined Designstripe—a startup focused on modular illustration and adaptable branding. His first role was as a Scene Designer. From there, he grew into Visual Design, working on layout templates, creative systems, and eventually AI.

Mike stumbled across a tool called MidJourney. For most people, it was a novelty. For Mike, it was a breakthrough. “Suddenly, I could create visuals that used to take hours to compose in Photoshop,” he says. “Even a simple studio-style image became a kind of visual direction exercise. Using MidJourney feels like building a composition except instead of layers and masks, I’m using words.”

It wasn’t about offloading the work. It was about unlocking new creative possibilities. Faster exploration. Deeper storytelling. More variety in less time without sacrificing the emotional core of the idea.

AI didn’t make it easier—it made it deeper

There’s a common narrative that AI makes creative work faster, which is true. But that’s not the full story. For Mike, it didn’t just speed things up. It changed what was possible in the first place.

“I actually spend more time researching now,” he says. “Diving into visual styles, moods, subcultures. I explore more, fail more, and land on ideas I probably wouldn’t have reached otherwise.”

He doesn’t save time to do less. He saves time by doing more things like building references, studying lighting, and analyzing composition. Then, he uses that input to push visuals further than he ever could with traditional tools.

“AI didn’t simplify the creative process,” he says. “It gave me the freedom to complicate it in better ways.”

This new way of creating helped define what type of designer Mike was becoming. In many ways, it helped turn him from Mike into Studiomiklus

Emotion first, visuals second

There’s a clear hierarchy in how Mike thinks about his work. “For me, it’s emotional first. Then visual. Then the story.”

That may sound backwards in a world of moodboards and font pairings. But it’s actually what makes the visuals stand out. They feel directed, not just styled.

“I get inspired by the weirdest things: a half-finished campaign the client rejected years ago, a moody frame from a movie I just watched, a coat from Zara that won’t leave my brain.”

These references don’t live in a Google Doc, but more lurk in his subconscious. They form the texture of his work, which is why his images don’t just look good but also feel like something.

But what brings these ideas to life? Look no further than his prompts

Cooking with prompts

Mike compares prompting AI to cooking. “Words are ingredients. sometimes precise, sometimes improvised. You throw a few in, stir, and see what comes out.”

He’s not talking about randomness. He’s talking about process, meaning you don’t write a perfect recipe on the first try. You make a mess, taste it, fix the seasoning, and go again. That’s what visual prompting is like. It’s a collaboration between intuition and refinement. And when it works, it feels like magic. When it doesn’t, you try again.

That process is honest. An openness to failure. And a refusal to treat tools like shortcuts. Because for Mike, AI isn’t a shortcut. It’s an amplifier.

Facing the skeptics

Not everyone is on board with AI visuals. Some believe they’re sterile. Others argue they take the soul out of art. Mike hears it. He just doesn’t buy it.

“A lot of people think AI is just typing a few words and letting the machine spit something out. And yeah, you can do that, but you’ll get something generic.”

Intent is everything. If you want something with depth that feels like you, it still takes time, taste, and vision.

“Maybe AI feels distant because there’s no camera crew, no paint-stained hands, no physical brush. But what gives something its soul isn’t the method—it’s the intent behind it.”

He’s not trying to convince everyone. But he does encourage people to try to see what’s possible. “You don’t have to love it. But don’t reject it without knowing how far you can push it.”

The Lummi chapter

Studiomiklus became part of Lummi’s creator family with a visual style that feels editorial, cinematic, and emotionally sharp. The kind of imagery that works on a zine cover or a brand deck. The type of visual that create a story without needing text.

“I treat every image like it’s a still from an unwritten film—or something you’d see on a magazine cover or in a well-crafted ad,” Mike says.

That thinking runs through every piece. Clean compositions. Soft lighting. Strong emotion. His work intentionally reflects a world that stock photography often ignores.

“A lot of traditional stock imagery doesn’t reflect the world I see, so I make my own. I want people to feel seen, especially those rarely see themselves represented.”

His advice to anyone using his visuals? Don’t rush it. Be picky. Dig into the details. Make it yours.

“These images work well in brand decks, zines, fashion campaigns, or digital products that need a sharp visual identity. Whether it’s a moodboard, a lookbook, or a campaign pitch, they’re made to spark something new.”

The creative shift is here

Every big shift in creativity has met resistance. Photography. Desktop publishing. Photoshop. Now AI. It always starts with fear and then turns into fluency. That’s where we are right now—with people like Studiomiklus leading the transition quietly, image by image.

This isn’t about automating creativity. It’s about expanding the edges of it and letting the machine handle the muscle so the artist can focus on the intent.

And that’s the thread running through everything Mike makes. A quiet clarity. A belief that tools are neutral, but taste is not. That visuals can be both efficient and evocative. That soul is not a feature you toggle. It’s what happens when someone cares enough to get it right.

So, no, STUDIOMIKLUS would not call himself a master of AI. He’s not an algorithm whisperer. He’s a designer who learned to speak a new creative language—and now uses it to say something worth listening to.