Interview by Eleanor Weber | Photos Courtesy of Dito Andrés

Born in New York City and now based in Los Angeles, Dito Andrés (@orlandito) is a creative director and visual artist whose work blends spontaneity, collaboration, and a deep love for the natural world. From shooting last-minute videos in abandoned malls to building a garden-centered creative space, Andrés is redefining what it means to be a visual storyteller in a digital world. He spoke with NYOTA about directing with intuition, uplifting fellow artists, and why playfulness is the creative power we all need more of.

For people just meeting you, how do you introduce yourself? Do you say videographer, director, photographer, artist?

So, funny enough, I usually introduce myself as a gardener. And the reason is, I genuinely love gardening, and I’m trying to start manifesting — maybe “manifesting” isn’t the right word, but more like owning the world I’m in and the world I want to be in. Now, if I’m talking to a really business-minded person or someone I’m trying to connect with professionally, like a label owner, I might not lead with that. I’ll maybe say gardener, but usually I’ll follow up and say I’m a photographer, director, and producer. That’s the lineage: I started out as a photographer, did that for four or five years, then got into directing, and eventually producing. 

But part of why I introduce myself that way is because I think we live in this fallacy where people feel like they have to lead with their job, like what makes them money becomes their entire identity. I’m really trying to lean into the idea that we should introduce ourselves with what we love, what we want to do, and what brings us joy. And not in a delusional way — like, if I lived on the 10th floor of a building in New York with no garden, that would be a little wild. But I actually do have a garden, and I spend time in it. It’s also a way of approaching titles with more authenticity and playfulness, rather than just saying, ‘This is what I do for business.’ For me, it opens up space for real conversations. People are like, ‘Wait, what? And that makes it more human, more curious, less about networking and more about actually connecting. Like, who are you as a person? What do you love? We don’t ask those questions enough anymore. Everyone’s stuck on, ‘What do you do?’ instead of ‘Who are you?’

What first pulled you into visual arts; was it a person, a moment, a certain video or image that changed things for you?

Definitely a moment. My mom’s a graphic designer, so ever since I was a kid, she’d pull me into her workspace and ask, ‘Which logo do you like better — this one or this one?’ I’d give my opinion, and she told me later she used to call my sister and me her little creative directors. That really set a foundation early on, just being invited into those kinds of decisions and visual conversations. In high school, I was into graffiti and drawing, but it wasn’t until after I graduated from college that things really clicked. A good friend of mine, Tabby Wakes (@tabbywakes) — a legend in New York — was making music at the time, and I was always hanging out in the studio with her. One day, she looked at me and was like, ‘You’re always just sitting here — why don’t you do something?’ She handed me a camera and told me to try it. So I did. I shot my first roll of film and thought it was super fire — probably wasn’t actually that good, but in that moment, it felt like something sparked. That’s really when it started.

Who or what inspires you? Are there specific directors, eras, aesthetics, or even subcultures you draw from?

There are definitely cultures and subcultures I draw from. Going back to the garden and nature, natural lifestyles really inspire me. I always tell people to look at “mental anguish” by ericdoa and glaive. Almost that entire video was shot outside, and you can see how much I love that kind of environment. In terms of directors, I’d be lying if I said there weren’t any that inspire me. I’m constantly referencing my friends and mentors — like JMP (@jmp) — and others like Gibson (@gibsonhazard), or Onda (@onda), who’s insanely talented and has been crushing it lately. But for me, it’s less about their work and more about their process, who they are, and how they approach what they do. That’s something I always encourage people to focus on. Instead of just studying someone’s visuals, study how they think. Study their vibe, their energy. Like I mentioned earlier — my mentor who shook everyone’s hand on set — that’s a directing style. That’s an approach rooted in respect. That kind of presence means more to me than analyzing someone’s frame composition. 

Even directors like Onda are pulling inspiration from artists in the ’80s and ’90s, who were inspired by directors from the ’60s, who were inspired by the ’40s — and on and on. So yeah, I can say I’m inspired by someone, but that’s just one link in a long chain. To me, the more important thing is. How do they carry themselves? How do they treat their crew? What kind of philosophy guides their work? There are directors who are really technical who want to recreate a frame exactly. I think that’s cool. But for me, the best inspiration comes from what’s cool to you — like the plants around you or the parts of the world that make you feel peaceful and creative. I care more about how someone lives, how they think, how they connect with people. That’s what sticks with me. So yeah, I’m definitely influenced by things like skateboarding, graffiti, and gardening because they’ve been part of my life through my mom and grandfather. But I don’t intentionally try to reference those things in my work. It’s more that I live through those ideas, and they naturally show up. It’s not about trying to signal influence — it’s about building a philosophy and an approach to life that’s rooted in those things.

What’s the first thing you visualize when you hear a new track you’re going to shoot? Color? 

I usually close my eyes and listen to the track over and over again. I try to hear what inspires me naturally — what images or feelings come up without forcing them. That quiet, still space is really important for me. It’s one of the reasons I love nature and the garden so much. Being outside gives me a clear head. I’m not scrolling through Instagram or accidentally copying someone else’s concept — I’m just letting ideas come to me. A lot of my videos have a natural tone for that reason. You’ll see a lot of nature scenes, and that’s because I genuinely love those environments. I think the best creative results come when you lean into what feels natural and comfortable for you. That said, when I’m working on a treatment — especially if I’m one of multiple directors pitching — I do consider who I’m pitching to. Like, if I love flowers and sunshine, but the artist is super emo, I’m going to find a way to meet them halfway. Maybe it’s sunshine at the start and then it starts to rain. I still stay true to my style, but I’m also being smart about connecting with the artist and the tone of the track. It’s important to know what they’re looking for and tailor the pitch accordingly — and real talk, you can always tweak things once you’ve landed the job. 

Treatments are sales pitches. It’s still your art, but if you want to get hired, you have to be strategic. Ask the artist what they’re trying to do. Text them. Dig into the brief. Be empathetic to the fact that they’re reading 7–10 treatments, and if yours doesn’t grab them early, it might never get read. One thing I really believe in — and something I wish more visual artists understood — is that we’re service providers. Sometimes, people just want you to execute their vision, and I think that’s okay. A lot of creatives get caught up in their ego, thinking, ‘This is my art,’ but especially when you’re starting out, it’s valuable to approach the work as an act of service. Not in a way where you get taken advantage of — know your worth — but in a way where you’re helping someone bring their art into the world. It’s their song, their face, their voice. You might get a director credit, but it’s not about you. That philosophy — being of service — has taken me far. The flip side is that I haven’t developed this super distinct personal brand like, say, Gibson Hazard. He’s done his thing unapologetically, and now people line up just to let him do whatever he wants. That’s amazing, and I admire it. But I also think there’s power in giving. Especially when you’re building your name, giving — generously, authentically — is what opens doors. Give, and you will receive.

You’ve worked on some awesome projects; “Afraid” is one that really stood out to me. What was it like collaborating with 2hollis and nate sib on that?

That one was a very specific case. I was working for the record label Hollis was signed to, and I happened to be on tour with him. The only reason I even got into that position was because I’d been directing videos and showing up as my authentic self. All the things we’ve talked about — that’s what got me hired. Now, to be honest, I’m not someone who creates ultra-detailed shot lists or builds super rigid plans. Some directors are super exact, down to the frame, and I totally respect that. I do create mood boards and treatments, and sometimes storylines, but once you’re on set, everything changes. The artist might show up late. The weather shifts. A prop is the wrong color. I’ve learned to stay dynamic. With “Afraid,” I remember walking into the green room, and Nate and Hollis were like, ‘Dude, we made this song last night in the hotel. We love it. We want to shoot a video right now.’ I was like, ‘Let’s do it.’ 

We were in this random venue in Atlanta, and I thought, this spot’s actually kind of cool. So I walked around and found this abandoned mall connected to the venue. I took a few reference videos on my phone, came back, and showed them like, ‘This is literally right here. Should we just shoot it?’ They were down. We grabbed a JBL speaker, and I shot the video with a Canon 5D Mark IV in one hand and an iPhone 15 Pro in the other. I had a manual focus lens on the Canon, no autofocus — it was total chaos. At one point I had to ditch one camera just to make it manageable. But that’s the thing: as a creative, you have to be ready to do whatever it takes to make it happen. We shot the whole thing in maybe 20 minutes — four or five full takes. It was fast, fun, and totally unplanned. That’s why it works. It felt good. And full credit to Hollis for the edit — he edited the whole video, and it wouldn’t have been the same if I had done it. He’s really special like that. Something I’ve learned — and this might be a bit of a tangent, but it’s important — is that if you want to be successful as a visual artist, you’ve got to know your strengths and your weaknesses. That mindset took my work to the next level. I started working with JMP and Paperwork Studios, and they taught me how to structure a real process. You bring in a producer to handle logistics, a DP to handle lighting and camera work, and you focus on what matters most — the story, the energy, the talent. One of my earliest mentors, a TV director, told me that the best directors are the ones who build the strongest relationships with their crew. That stuck with me. I used to work in film and TV, and I saw firsthand how that kind of leadership translates into the quality of the work. It’s not just about calling shots — it’s about connection.

In the “Hypnotized” music video breakdown I absolutely loved the scene switch through the monitor. How did that idea come to you?

That was totally improvised, honestly. The security camera was already in the bar, and it wasn’t planned. I just thought, okay, Rio’s going to walk into the club, Skai’s going to appear out of the smoke, and it’s going to feel like this ethereal, dreamlike shift. I wanted that whole sequence to be one take, and when we reached the bar, I realized the security camera could become part of the story. So, instead of us filming Skai directly, the camera picks him up, and we transition into the monitor. That moment became a kind of visual metaphor — like entering a different layer of consciousness. That video, in general, is about this digital world we all live in and how you can slip into different states — conscious, subconscious, hypnotized.

With the shift between the dark, ravey world and the bright fisheye moments—what were you trying to contrast or explore there?

The contrast was really about mental states. The rave scenes are the external, overstimulating world. The fisheye shots and bright moments feel surreal and playful — like you’re bouncing between layers of reality. There’s a white wall “mind scene” in the video too filled with clocks and random imagery, which represents that subconscious space. Creating this, above all, was fun. That’s what I keep coming back to: don’t overthink. Build with people you genuinely care about. Skai and Rio are people I love and respect, and that’s why we were able to make something special. Sometimes, you work with big artists, and it’s your worst experience — no vibe, no chemistry, and bad performance. The best work happens when artists and directors grow together. So yeah, have fun and play around. Some of the best growth as a director comes from just experimenting, following instincts, and not needing a reason. Play is a superpower. That’s how we learn and evolve — not just as artists, but as people.

What kind of legacy do you want to build through your visual work, particularly in music videos?

I’m still figuring that out — I’m in a transitional period right now. I just left a job that brought amazing opportunities, like touring with OneRepublic and 2Hollis and working with people I really respect. But the environment was super corporate — rules on rules, process on process — and I lost a bit of that playful spark that made me love being an artist in the first place. So now, I’m building something different. I want to create a community space that brings together music, visuals, and nature — rooted in my garden and other natural environments. With everything happening in the industry — shrinking budgets, rising competition, the rise of AI — I think we’re approaching a kind of collapse. And I want to stay a step ahead of that. 

What I’m working on is still in early stages, but the vision is clear: I want to build a platform where artists, directors, producers, and creatives can come together and make work in a more grounded, human, nature-connected way. Less like GQ shoots in white-wall studios — and more like Architectural Digest meets the garden. Rick Rubin in the woods energy. I’m inspired by a lot — nature, Eastern philosophy, Rick Rubin, David Lynch. If you look at my book stack right now it’d tell you everything: The Creative Act, Catching the Big Fish, The Mind of a Bee, The Body Keeps the Score, Birds of Uruguay. That’s who I am. So, the legacy? It’s still being built. But I know it’s about community. It’s about nature. It’s about giving. And I really believe that if I keep giving — with love, with curiosity, and without knowing exactly where it’s all going — something meaningful is going to come from it. I don’t have all the answers yet, but I’m not complacent. I’m exploring. I’m passionate. And I think that’s exactly where I’m supposed to be.

This story first ran in NYOTA’s Art is Life Issue. Read more from the issue here and purchase a print copy here