Pau Waelder  

Addy Feuerstein. Artificial Nostalgia – Triptych #1, 2026

As a tech entrepreneur and designer, you have extensive experience in the tech and design industries. What drove you to develop an artistic persona, and how do you navigate the art world compared to the tech and design communities?

I never experienced these worlds as separate. I studied art and design, and although after school I was immediately drawn to tech, it was always there in the background, so in a way I feel like I’m coming full circle now.

The same topics that I explore in my art, such as time, the relationship between people and technology, and the sense of an individual within a crowd, were always present in my entrepreneurial career, mainly in my first startup, AllofMe, which explored personal memory through digital timeline representations. For example, you could explore your life in parallel with a historical technology timeline and examine how you were affected by it.

The interesting aspect here is that AI artists are very much tech entrepreneurs themselves. The development of the tools is happening so fast that you must be very tech-oriented to keep up. So, it actually feels very familiar to tech.

For me personally, generative AI is particularly rewarding. I was always a very visually oriented person. My dream was to become an architect, but unfortunately, I can’t draw very well. AI allows me to “paint with my mind” and create visuals that were not possible for me before, so it feels like I was suddenly awarded a new limb. It’s like a dream come true, and in a way, I feel like I have been waiting for it my whole life.

“AI artists are tech entrepreneurs themselves. AI is evolving so fast that you must be very tech-oriented to keep up.”

Artists often describe their relationship with AI tools as a “collaboration,” in which the AI system has a certain agency that can shape the outcome beyond the artist’s imagination. In this sense, how is your relationship with the tools that you use? How do you balance the willingness to control the outcome and the openness to be surprised by it?

Oh, it’s definitely a collaboration, and possibly even more. When I first exhibited the Artificial Nostalgia series at Reichman University, I gave the AI full credit. The sign next to the work read: “By Addy Feuerstein and Midjourney”.

When I work with AI, I sometimes intentionally try to confuse it using contradictory prompts mixed with poetic phrases, just to see where it takes me. Those are often the moments when I get the most surprising results. Then I take the variations that resonate with me and regenerate them again and again, gradually narrowing toward a direction that feels right.

In a way, I feel like my process mirrors the AI’s ‘diffusion’ process itself: the AI extracts an image out of noise, and I extract meaning and direction out of the AI’s noise. We are both reducing randomness, just at different levels. A single image can sometimes go through more than 100 variations before I feel like we finally “got it right”.

Addy Feuerstein. Artificial Nostalgia – The Mix, 2026

The artist Gregory Chatonsky has coined the term “Artificial Imagination (AIm)” to describe the idea that in the context of AI, an image is not a trace of reality but one in many possibilities within a latent space, and therefore it is a type of imagination not grounded in real experience but in mathematical probability. What is your take on this concept, and how would you relate it to your work?

I didn’t know that term. This is a very interesting claim.

I think that AI is basically a gigantic vocabulary of everything that has happened so far. Generative AI is, in a way, a visual index of human history that was fed into it. So one could argue, however, that it is in fact based on “grounded real-life experiences,” which also raises another question: isn’t our own human imagination itself based on a kind of mathematical probability?

“A single image can sometimes go through more than 100 variations before I feel like we finally «got it right».”

For example, when we watch a really good movie that moves us emotionally, we often develop a sense of “false nostalgia” for the time and place it represents. Are those feelings based on “grounded real-life experiences,” or on the fictional movie we just saw? And what about books, paintings, or photography?

This is exactly the “big question” I was trying to explore in Artificial Nostalgia, and I don’t have the answer. Instead, I now have even more questions. But I might have some observations: I can say that AI does an amazing job of rendering false memories that emotionally move me, perhaps more than any other medium I know.

Addy Feuerstein. Artificial Nostalgia – Triptych #2, 2026

You have expressed your preference for Midjourney. Can you elaborate on it and on how the choice of tools can determine the path of an artistic project?

It’s true. While generative AI models have developed at an amazingly rapid pace, Midjourney still stands out as a tool that enables extremely strong visual interpretations. This is not an accident. It works differently from many of the other tools. It relies on large-scale human crowd rating of “what is beautiful,” and therefore it has a massive aesthetic bias. It is heavily optimized to prioritize lighting, composition, atmosphere, and artistic flair, and most of all, it enables users to build their own personal “style” and teach the model what they themselves find beautiful.

When I work with it, it feels like we’re collaborating. I suggest directions, and Midjourney reacts with dozens of variations. I choose what I like, and it takes it from there and creates additional variations. It often surprises me with visual ideas I hadn’t thought about myself. I love this process. It feels like a ping-pong game.

The bottom line is that before Midjourney, I wasn’t creating the kind of work that I do today, and I probably could not have done it with any other tool. It allows me to create images I could previously only imagine.

“When I work with Midjourney, it feels like we’re collaborating. It often surprises me with visual ideas I hadn’t thought about myself. I love this process. It feels like a ping-pong game.”

Artificial Nostalgia uses AI to imagine a retrofuturistic world. What fascinates you about the technology and aesthetics of the 1950s and early 1960s? Is it the perception of technology as something bright and full of promise, in contrast to the more somber and dystopian views that have dominated since the 1970s?

I never really lived through the 1950s, and I was an infant in the 1960s, so obviously this is, in itself, a kind of “artificial nostalgia.”

It seems to me, however, that after World War II, which was probably the great shaping and provoking event of modern history, the world entered an unbelievably creative and, more importantly, liberating period. You can see it in art, in industrial design, in cinema, and in the music of that era. People in that period imagined the future as elegant, domestic, and almost theatrical. Technology appeared to be something understandable and aspirational rather than invisible and overwhelming.

From a design perspective, it was the era of machinery that was clear and visible. Form followed function. Bauhaus, the International Style, and even Streamline Moderne. This aesthetic simply moves me.

Today, in a way, technology itself has become hidden. Hardware has become software, as much of the technology we use now is concealed inside computers and networks, so the design often becomes just an empty UX shell. A simulacrum. I wanted to explore that emotional contradiction in Artificial Nostalgia.

By recreating imagined past futures with contemporary AI tools, the project creates a layered time loop: people from the present generating images of how people in the past imagined our present.

Addy Feuerstein. Artificial Nostalgia – The Film Drive, 2026

This series features both still images and short animations. How would you compare them, in terms of their production, the narrative, and the viewer’s experience?

The original installation of Artificial Nostalgia is exhibited as a three-screen triptych that randomly cycles through over 360 images and runs endlessly. Currently, about 70 of them include motion.

I wanted to find a way to surprise the viewer with a very subtle, almost unnoticeable difference between the still images and the videos. When you look at the installation, sometimes you’re not sure whether the image you just saw had actually moved or not.

I use a “time remapping” effect to start the motion very slowly, accelerate it momentarily, and then gradually freeze the frame again. This effect is very engaging because viewers stand in front of the piece and try to “catch” the motion.

The funny thing is that since some of the visuals are presented both as still images and as videos, I myself sometimes don’t know whether a piece is going to move or not, and occasionally I’m not even sure whether it actually did.

“Artificial Nostalgia creates a layered time loop: people from the present generating images of how people in the past imagined our present.”

You have participated in Peter Gabriel’s 50:50, a project inviting creators to imagine music videos for his songs. How was your experience participating in this project? Besides this particular project, you frequently create music videos with your studio UrbanOrigami.art. Is AI creation, with its unlimited possibilities of image creation, its tendency to surrealism, and its ability to create seamless flows between images, particularly apt for music videos? How do you integrate each song’s lyrics and music into your creations?

I think that music is probably one of the genres in which the sense of false “Artificial Nostalgia” feels especially strong. I see my children listening today to The Beatles, Pink Floyd, and Neil Young. What does this mean? It seems to me that this world is full of nostalgia by definition, and that we are all constantly trying to reimagine the past.

Participating in Peter Gabriel’s 50:50 project was, first of all, a great honor, as he is one of my all-time favorite artists. It was particularly exciting because it enabled me to interpret his beautiful 1977 song ‘Here Comes the Flood’ from today’s perspective. If you read the lyrics and Gabriel’s own expansion of them, you could see that he almost predicted today’s internet flood of information, and in a way even the AI revolution, back in the 1970s. I find that amazing.

“I love creating music videos because they leave vast room for imagination and storytelling, which is perfect for generative AI.”

I love creating music videos because they are usually open to interpretation, so they leave vast room for imagination and storytelling, which is perfect for generative AI. Besides, I guess I envy musicians. I wish I could write music. It’s a very liberating art form with an immediate emotional reward. So, I guess this is the closest I can get to it.

Addy Feuerstein. Artificial Nostalgia – Triptych #3, 2026

You have exhibited your work in art galleries, museums, festivals, online marketplaces, streaming platforms such as Niio, and have even created merchandise. What can you tell us about the possibilities and challenges that artists face when distributing their work through these different spaces and channels?

Well, I think the main challenge for AI artists is overcoming people’s fear, or even hatred, toward generative AI. It has a very bad reputation, and I can understand why. Much of the AI imagery currently being created does not feel very original. Frankly, it is a world that is full of crap, especially given the huge amount of fake and cringe imagery out there. Because of this, many people automatically reject anything that carries an “AI” label. I see that often on my Instagram.

At the same time, there is a growing movement of artists who are seriously trying to understand this new medium, explore what it means, and discover what can be done with it artistically. I think we are still in the very early stages of that process.

“Artists are no longer just creating art. We are also constantly curating ourselves, promoting ourselves, building audiences, and adapting work to very different environments.”

Additionally, one of the most interesting shifts happening today is that distribution itself has become part of artistic practice. Artists are no longer just creating art. We are also constantly curating ourselves, promoting ourselves, building audiences, and adapting work to very different environments such as galleries, streaming platforms, social media, merchandise, and digital installations.

You mentioned festivals. In a way, I think FilmFreeway has done to the film festival industry something a little similar to what Airbnb did to the hosting industry. It lowered the barrier to entry so much that suddenly there are far more festivals than before. So it became very difficult to understand which ones are actually worth your time and money.

Each space changes the way the work is experienced. A gallery invites contemplation, while Instagram encourages speed and endless scrolling. A museum creates context, while merchandise turns an artwork into an object people can physically live with. Navigating between all these worlds has become part of the creative process itself, and it is very much a full-time job.

Addy Feuerstein. Artificial Nostalgia – The Jellyfish Triptych, 2026

Nowadays even the Pope warns us about the dangers of AI. Do you think that artistic creation with AI tools can provide a more positive perception of artificial intelligence or help us understand it better, both with its bright and dark sides?

When I first wrote about Artificial Nostalgia, my first question was: “If you had a time machine, would you travel to the past or to the future?” I got surprisingly mixed answers, but for me, I’m pretty sure I would choose the future. I never feared technology, and I have always embraced it with excitement and curiosity.

So, to answer the question, I never fully understood the fear surrounding AI. I think that part of the artist’s “job” is to try to understand and express the world they are living in, and we are currently living in an AI world.

One of my favorite movies is Todd Haynes’s ‘I’m Not There’, the fictionalized Bob Dylan biography. I always remembered one quote from it, when the kid who plays the supposedly young Dylan, while performing old country music, is told by an elderly woman: “Live your own time, child.” I love that quote, and I try to live by it. The Times They Are A-Changin’, and we are all living in an AI world now. So, live your own time, child.

“The artist’s «job» is to try to understand and express the world they are living in, and we are currently living in an AI world.”