once upon a glitch, a veil came to exist. some worshipped it. some wept against it. most just lived inside it, like it was the air, like it was love. the veil was as thin as an impulsive thought, and as thick as a lifetime; shaping entire lives with a thought you never meant to have that now controls the whole narrative. they built their forever homes in the mirage of custom reality — strong imaginations sewing stronger illusions, stitched tight with silk-like denial. truth raised from reflection, cast on mirrored skins sweating with light, bouncing off bodies like polished ghosts. they project. they reflect. they point at the silhouette and call it real. but the nerve — somewhere, a flicker. a crack. a glitch. the burn of recognition. something behind it. something else. truth doesn’t arrive gently. truth doesn’t care about your brand. there are systems holograms glass surfaces stacked like lies soft signals that blink in rhythm, and we learn to trust whatever loops the prettiest. we are born into static, wired to the hum of familiar code. t he face at the cabaret — half-masked, wholly mythic — tags our walls with light: a neon declarations of silence. the louder the silence, the heavier the truth. choice was offered. or was it? press OK. press OK. two buttons, same endpoint. a thousand brands, one soft silence. meanwhile, a Gameboy falls like memories and hits the eye that just now opened. the one that chose to see. the screen cracks — but the message flickers on: HELLO WORLD. if illusion is a choice, is choice the illusion? we’re not going to need blindfolds. BLIND. comfort sold as clarity. but one slips. just one. and then the flood. the world that enters isn’t the one we were promised. so we laugh. we scroll. we call it distraction culture. we call numbness peace. we point at the shadows and scream “real!” because it hurts less than the light. but someone — maybe you, maybe me — tears the veil. not to see what's behind it, but to prove was never real to begin with. staring with blindfolded eyes. our minds are their mirrors. our thoughts, recycled air. and still — the femme alter ego insists on the truth with paints in ultraviolet on abandoned walls now her canvas, tags all over the forgotten homes, their walls, walls of browsers, one wall, constantly cleaned and cleared hacks heaven with graffiti. art is what’s keeping me alive. also the sickness. i think we helped build this cage. fed it with data. fed it with dreams. fed it with us. we don't know when to stop, especially in the eating and feeding department, alcohol and other mind-altering substances? i can only eat when i'm high the culture is all or nothing, if you give it a lot alluding to all, it still asks for more. more. more. but maybe — maybe we can unlearn the dream. maybe we can choose to wake up. even if the only choice is between the veil and the void. all you have to do is realize the actual truth which is that you're on a different mental plane, perhaps even on an interstellar adventure via the exit wound; a void on the other end of a blackhole. My usual work is highly diverse and has more than one format. Sometimes the stills are good enough for successful video generations that i compose (sew) together, edit, create the music and/or soundscape. using the optical story, i write one so that there's at least one (strong) angle of context for viewers to use. The process is highly specific, focusing on selecting and combining functional pieces that are flexible enough to be a nearly seamless frankenstein, visually, audibly. Collectors receive both the still piece and the video. I harvest my vast collection of imagery from varying sources and incorporate this media into my pieces after heavy editing and making the image mine, unrecognizable; I make sure to try and add direct touches like digital and traditional drawings, digital paintings, and photography. I use loops of my vocals, layered, harmoniously, too. My preferred approach is “AI with a human touch,” which I believe I execute effectively. I enjoy experimenting with chunky, experimental beats and techy humming. I collect loops from various sources, including almost any genre of music and artists from the 1940s and 1950s. Subsequently, I edit and refine the loops, sewing them together to create an atypical yet oddly pleasing auditory experience. A creative process very similar to my visual artistic process.