A résumé is a list of things you've finished. A transmitter is a thing that's still on. Given the choice, I'd rather run the second one — and this whole site, the feed especially, is my attempt to build a transmitter instead of a CV.
The difference matters more than it sounds. A list invites you to evaluate me. A transmitter invites you to tune in. One is a verdict; the other is a conversation that hasn't finished yet.
The showroom and the workshop
Most portfolios are showrooms. Everything in them is finished, lit, and polished to a mirror shine. Nothing is allowed in that isn't done. And showrooms are, frankly, a little dead — beautiful, and impossible to connect with, because nobody actually works like that. Real work is mess before it's polish.
The interesting things are always in the workshop next door: the half-built instruments, the idea that took a year to find its name, the three approaches I tried before the one that worked. That's the stuff I actually want to talk about, and it's exactly the stuff a showroom is designed to hide.
Why broadcast the process
Here's the practical case, because there is one. You do not find the people you want to work with through your finished work. Finished work attracts applause, which is pleasant and useless. You find your people through the problems you're visibly chewing on — because the handful of humans wrestling with the same problem will recognise it instantly, and reach back.
So broadcasting the process is really a filter. Most people will scroll past a devlog about simulation engines or signal processing, and that's fine — they were never the audience. The few who lean in are precisely the ones worth knowing. Sharing the workshop is how you find them.
Not for the algorithm
I want to be precise about what this isn't. It isn't growth-hacking. I'm not optimising a posting cadence or chasing a curve. Building in public, done for the algorithm, turns into content — hollow, anxious, and obviously so.
Done for the right reasons, it's two things: an archive and a conversation. The archive is for me — a record of what I thought and why, which turns out to be priceless a year later when I've forgotten the reasoning behind my own decisions. The conversation is for whoever's out there on the same frequency. Every devlog is a small beacon: this is what I'm thinking about; if it resonates, transmit back. Done consistently, those beacons compound in a way a static résumé never can.
The whole site is the transmitter
This is why the framing runs through everything, not just the writing. The portfolio isn't a building you tour; it's a world that's broadcasting. The posts are transmissions. The signature waveform on each one is a literal carrier. Even the thesis I keep returning to — that everything is a signal — is itself the thing being broadcast. The medium and the message are deliberately the same object.
Don't present yourself. Broadcast yourself.
The cost of leaving the mic on
None of this is free either. A transmitter that's always on will, inevitably, broadcast things you later think were wrong. You commit to an idea in public, it doesn't survive contact with reality, and now there's a record of you being confidently off. That's the actual cost of building in public, and it's a real one.
I've decided it's worth paying. A trail of honest, sometimes-wrong thinking is far more useful — to me and to anyone reading — than a spotless wall of finished work that pretends the mess never happened. Being occasionally wrong in public is the price of being real in public.
The channel's open. The carrier signal's orange. If any of this is on your frequency, you already know what to do — tune in, and transmit back.
