René van der Meijden

Empty Book Club wasn't born in a boardroom. It was born at dinner tables, in airport lounges, and during the "after-hours" of a decade spent in global business.

I noticed a pattern. The most profound truths, the sharpest insights, and the best jokes of a trip were never the ones written in the official report. They were the ones shared over a farewell drink, the observations that were too honest for a PowerPoint, but too good to forget.

I started turning those observations into book covers. I'd hand them to colleagues and friends as gifts. The books looked like premium literature; the interiors were entirely empty.

They became the hit of every party for one reason: they gave people permission to stop being so serious.

I am a fan of the six-word story and stylishly absurd art. I believe a title can carry more weight than 400 pages of filler. In a world drowning in AI-generated noise and over-explanation, EBC is a return to restraint.

We are a publishing house that doesn't publish words. We provide the frame; you provide the meaning.

If it's going to be empty, the exterior must be flawless. I treat every EBC book like a piece of art, a physical anchor for your desk or shelf that serves as a constant reminder to leave room for reflection, a grin, or the power of keeping your mouth shut.

The covers were the warm-up. I also paint: multi-layer spray stencils, the polish on top, the thought underneath. Old Masters get the crude inner thought nobody says out loud. Executives get the parts left out of the annual report. I'm not against the system, I like the game. I'm against the worship: of them, and of myself. Every piece has a joke you have to earn, and a painting that should still hold up after you've stopped laughing. The work is at renevandermeijden.com. The site is still under construction. The paintings are not.