Author Archives: Niio

The Meditative Surrealism of MiraRuido

Niio Editorial

Joseba Elorza—the Spanish artist from Vitoria-Gasteiz better known by his synesthetic moniker MiraRuido—delves into the delicate balance between tranquil aesthetics and underlying tension that defines his signature form of collage surrealism. Originally trained as a sound technician before his passion for visual collage took over, Elorza has spent the last two decades building an impressive portfolio with clients like National Geographic, The Wall Street Journal, and Green Day. In this interview for Niio Editorial, the artist discusses his evolving creative process, from meticulously hunting for found footage to carefully integrating AI as raw material for his intricate digital collages.

MiraRuido. 2 Lands, 2026

You have ample professional experience as an illustrator and creator of music videos. In both these types of creative projects there is a strong narrative element that guides each composition or animation. How do you work with this narrative aspect in your work? Does it drive your choice of elements, aesthetics, and the development of each scene, or do you keep to a central form of narration that is the core of your artistic practice?

Two decades of creative work give you room to experiment, and along the way I’ve realized I basically work in two different but complementary ways. One is the obvious one: I open a blank notebook, think about what I want to say, and start sketching whatever visual forms come to mind to say it. The other starts somewhere else entirely. I open the archive of photographs and footage I’ve been collecting for years and just browse through it. Sometimes a photo of a person doing one very specific thing triggers an idea, and I connect it straight to whatever commission or project is sitting on my desk. From there a snowball starts rolling and there’s no stopping it.

The narrative is usually the spine, but it doesn’t always come first. Sometimes I know the story and go looking for the image. Other times the image arrives before I know what it’s about, and the meaning surfaces while I’m building it. What stays constant in both cases isn’t a plot so much as a single situation, usually a figure who’s witnessing something rather than acting on it.

MiraRuido. Hold, 2023

Your visual style could be described as “sunny day surrealism” for its uplifting themes, bright colors, and overall positive and calming atmosphere. What leads you to create this particular ambience in your compositions? Which are your sources of inspiration?

I understand why it gets described that way, though I’d add a layer to it. The bright skies and the calm are deliberate, but they’re a hook, not the subject. What I’m really after is the moment right before discomfort, a beautiful space with something slightly wrong in it that you can’t immediately name. The light and the color are there precisely so the unease lands softer and stays with you longer.

The difference between a piece and a decorative image, for me, is whether something in it quietly refuses to let you feel entirely comfortable. My inspiration comes less from other image-makers than from cinema and from certain everyday situations that already feel surreal on their own.

“What I’m really after is the moment right before discomfort, a beautiful space with something slightly wrong in it that you can’t immediately name.”

Collage animation is a particular form of artistic expression that requires the ability to find the right elements and create a living scene from still, bidimensional images. Can you walk us through your creative process and the making of your animations?

Finding the right elements for a piece eats up a huge part of my time, and it’s something I’ve always loved, that search. They say a person spends a third of their life asleep; I’ve easily spent a third of my working life looking for photos and footage.

These days you can generate your own assets with AI, but my process hasn’t really changed. An animation always begins with a composition in Photoshop. Sometimes I detail it heavily, sometimes less, but the image has to hold up on its own first. Once it does, I rebuild everything in After Effects and the animation begins. Water moves, clouds drift, a flock crosses, but the figure usually stays still. And it’s during that search for material that the work itself can take directions I hadn’t planned, which is the part I find most rewarding.

MiraRuido. Life, 2026

Image generation with AI models is an increasing trend among artists. As a collage artist, how do you approach this trend? What does this technique bring to your work?

For a collage artist, AI is just a different way of getting the material I’m going to cut up anyway. It’s a raw matter that I then run through my own workflow, which stays more or less the same as it always was. Used that way, it’s source material, never the work itself. I’ll be honest that it does put my own moral standards under constant questioning, but then again so do a lot of everyday practices we’ve quietly come to take for granted. 

“I’d rather create an artwork on two levels and let the viewer choose their depth than spell out the theme”

Some of your artworks have been conceived as NFTs. What has been your experience in the NFT community and market?

It’s a complicated world that’s lived through its own bubble. But at the time it mattered to me for a very concrete reason. As a digital artist who’d spent nearly twenty years handing his work over for other companies to monetize without ever seeing a cent of it, that moment opened a door: the door to actually living off my personal work. Client illustration and animation have always been my livelihood and I’m grateful for that, it’s wonderful work. But getting to live off the pieces that genuinely resonate with you, with no client brief in sight, is the best thing there is for an artist like me. It was impossible to turn down. 

MiraRuido. Roomscape 01, 2023

The Roomscapes series was created during the pandemic, but it still resonates with our daily experience of the spaces we live in and the places we would like to escape to. You have expressed that this project was well received. Can you tell us about its development and what has fascinated viewers about it?

Roomscapes grew out of a previous series called ‘Inside Worlds’, which I made in 2021 with the lockdown still fresh, landscapes folded inside four walls. But I quickly realized those rooms meant something more personal than the pandemic. I’m an extremely introverted person, and my home has always been a refuge that also makes me feel slightly guilty for staying in. That tension, where the interior keeps me safe but the exterior keeps pulling at me, is what the rooms are really about. I think it resonated because everyone recognizes it now: the comfort and the quiet claustrophobia of the space you live in. With Roomscapes I cut the pandemic thread and left the concept open, so each viewer could furnish the room with their own version of that feeling. 

“Roomscapes resonates with people because we all experience the comfort and the quiet claustrophobia of the space you live in.”

Decoupled is a particularly evocative and fascinating artwork that has been very favorably received among our audience at Niio. Despite its apparent simplicity, it is an elaborate combination of different animations that has been presented in different formats and contexts. Can you tell us more about this artwork and its making?

It looks simple, but it’s the opposite. The piece is about the sterile dialogue a couple ends up trapped in, the one where you’re not really listening, just waiting for the other person to stop talking so you can say your part. Two figures exchange gestures that never quite connect. The cypresses are their shared world, swaying back and forth in a loop that goes nowhere. And the veil running down the center is the distance growing between them, beautiful and indifferent. I always saw Magritte’s Les Amants as a painting about frustrated passion. Decoupled is what I imagine comes after: the veil is still there, but the passion’s gone and what’s left is the silence.

Technically it’s a combination of separate videos and images that come together to compose one enormous piece. 

MiraRuido. Decoupled, 2026

The Afterlife series depicts a series of calm, dreamlike scenes which actually illustrate reflections about life, death, and eternity. The contrast between the peaceful images and the profound themes they address is particularly interesting, but it also might lead to misunderstanding what the artworks are about. How do you deal with the multiple readings of your work?

I don’t try to control the readings, and the contrast you mention is intentional. Afterlife places very heavy subjects, death, eternity…. The risk is obvious: someone sees only a peaceful image and stops there. But I’ve made my peace with that. I’d rather create an artwork on two levels and let the viewer choose their depth than spell out the theme and kill it. The serene surface isn’t a disguise for the dark content; they’re the same thing. Death is dramatic, but it’s peaceful too. It’s the final stillness, the total stop, the most peaceful and the most dramatic thing at once. The series itself is about how I imagine life after death, if it existed at all: as an infinite tension, eternally unresolvable. 

MiraRuido. Cloud, 2021

In a similar vein, Death addresses the end of life but it does so through a beautiful depiction, a composition whose theatricality is inevitably mesmerizing. Considering this series, as well as Afterlife, and Life, how do you imagine the emotional response of viewers? 

I don’t aim for a specific emotion, and I’m wary of artists who claim they do. What I hope for is recognition more than reaction, that someone stands in front of one of these and feels something they were already carrying but hadn’t seen put into an image. With the death pieces especially, I’m not after sadness or fear. If anything I want a strange calm, the kind you feel looking at a landscape that’s completely indifferent to you. In Death the grand architecture adds the theatricality, that melodrama we’ve all collectively built up around dying over the centuries. The beauty isn’t there to soften the subject. It’s there because I think these themes really are beautiful, in a way we’ve been taught to find frightening.

“The real challenge is keeping the work recognizably yours as it moves between contexts that each pull it in a different direction.”

You have exhibited your work in art galleries, festivals, public spaces, 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?

Each channel asks for a different version of the same work, and each one teaches you something. Galleries and festivals give you context and credibility but reach few people and move slowly. Public space is the opposite, enormous reach and almost no context, so the work has to land in three seconds. Streaming platforms like Niio are the most interesting shift for me, because screens are everywhere now and a moving piece can finally live in a space the way a painting does, only designed for light and time instead of canvas. Merchandise is humbler but honest; it’s how people who can’t collect a piece still get to take it home. The real challenge isn’t picking one channel. It’s keeping the work recognizably yours as it moves between contexts that each pull it in a different direction.

Dennis H. Miller: creating AI art as a composer

Niio Editorial

Dennis H. Miller’s career bridges modern concert music, digital media, and contemporary art. Trained as a composer at Columbia University, Miller spent almost four decades as a professor at Northeastern University, where he taught composition and multimedia art while refining an interdisciplinary practice that treats the digital canvas like a musical score.

His work is an exploration of the potential for Artificial Intelligence to extend the boundaries of visual expression. Leveraging an extensive personal archive of tens of thousands of photographs, Miller engages in a dialogue with technology, using specific algorithms and generative systems to create environments of color and motion that feel both fluid and mathematically precise.

In this interview, Miller discusses the “composer’s mindset,” the ethical necessity of original source material in AI, and why the most profound artistic meanings are those that emerge slowly through time.

Dennis H. Miller, In Living Color #8, 2025

How does music theory influence your AI-generated work?
I approach everything as a composer – though the medium might change, the thinking doesn’t. I’m focused on pacing, proportion, and how something develops over time. This works especially well for animation, as both it and music are time-based. Color relationships function a lot like harmony, and the interaction between elements feels very much like counterpoint. Even in a still image, I’m thinking about movement—how the eye travels through it, where it settles, how it resolves. AI is just another way to generate material that I can shape and structure.

Dennis H. Miller, Materialism 2, 2025

Can you explain the process of selecting a seed image? Do imperfect photos ever work better?
When I consider a photograph as source material, I’m looking for underlying structure. Things like tonal balance, spatial relationships, and irregularities matter more than subject. In fact, imperfect images often work better. A technically flawed photo—uneven lighting, distortions, artifacts—can give the AI something more interesting to work with. A “perfect” image is often too complete; it leaves less room for transformation.

“I approach everything as a composer – though the medium might change, the thinking doesn’t.” 

Why prioritize a more cerebral engagement rather than immediate emotional impact?
I’m not against a viewer having an emotional response to one of my works – I just don’t want to force them into feeling any specific way or impose specific associations on them. Kandinsky noted that viewers often search for subject matter in abstract work, imposing meanings that were never intended and missing what is actually there. By removing obvious cues—faces, narratives, familiar imagery—the viewer has to spend a little longer with the piece, and the experience builds gradually. It’s closer to how music works—meaning emerges through engagement, not instantly. Work that relies on an immediate emotional impact tends to deliver a quick response and then fade. I’m more interested in something that holds attention over time. 

Dennis H. Miller. In Living Color #6, 2025

How do you resist AI’s tendency toward realism and popular aesthetics?
Left on its own, most AI models will default to familiar imagery and polished effects. I spend most of my time pushing against that. Prompts are kept tight and specific, with a strong emphasis on abstraction. Negative prompting also plays a big role in removing recognizable elements. There are also new tools that let the artist build his/her own models that are based on abstract work – I use these extensively. Just as important, I discard most outputs, often 70-80%. Acting as a “curator,” I filter aggressively until something aligns with the work I’m trying to make.

“Abstract art is closer to how music works—meaning emerges through engagement, not instantly.”

When AI suggests an unexpected direction, how do you decide whether to follow it or steer it back?
The question is whether it strengthens the piece. If the result has more clarity—better form, stronger structure—I’ll follow it. If it introduces noise or weakens the composition, I pull it back. It’s really pretty simple – does it make the piece stronger or not?

Dennis H. Miller. 1944, 2025

Is there a consistent sense of completion across music, animation, and still images?

Yes, but it doesn’t come from traditional ideas of harmonic resolution or preexisting formal structures. My music is atonal, so there’s no inherited roadmap, such as ending in the same key it started in. The decision is intuitive, based on years of listening, composing, and recognizing when something is working and when it isn’t. There’s a point where the piece feels resolved, not because it arrived somewhere prescribed, but because adding more would start to weaken it.

That carries across to animation—it’s when the main thematic elements I’m working with have played out to some logical conclusion – they are resolved in terms of what I set out to explore. In shorter works, there often isn’t the time to fully develop those ideas, so the ending is more compressed. In longer pieces—especially those meant for theatrical screening—I can really let those elements unfold and evolve, and that’s where the work fully becomes “visual music.”

In a still image, it’s when the elements sit together in a way that feels stable and complete. Different medium, same instinct.

“There’s a point where the piece feels resolved, not because it arrived somewhere prescribed, but because adding more would start to weaken it.”

There’s also the practical side. Often there’s a fixed duration required by a venue or a commission, and that can really help. I’d rather have a clear time constraint—it gives the work a frame. Stravinsky talked about how starting from a blank page can be the hardest situation, and I agree. Give me limits—time, scale, instrumentation—and the work tends to become more focused. The constraints don’t get in the way; they help define the piece.

Dennis H. Miller. In Living Color #12, 2025

With so many iterations, how do you identify which images truly resonate?
Most of them don’t. I go through things pretty quickly. If something doesn’t read clearly or feels like it’s relying on surface detail, I move on. The ones I keep usually have a kind of internal order—you can feel that they’re holding together in a meaningful way.

“Most of what we see is fast, direct, and constantly demanding attention. This work does the opposite. It doesn’t push or explain; it just unfolds at its own pace.”

What do you hope viewers experience with your slower, atmospheric work?
I’m not trying to deliver a message or change how people think. What I’m after is much simpler—giving someone a few minutes where things might slow down a bit. Most of what we see is fast, direct, and constantly demanding attention. This work does the opposite. It doesn’t push or explain; it just unfolds at its own pace.

Because of that, the experience changes the longer you stay with it. At first, it might just register as an image or a field of motion, but over time the relationships inside it become clearer—how things shift, how they balance, how they change. I’m not asking the viewer to figure anything out – just to see what is there. If that works, maybe it gives a little boost to their day.

Dennis H. Miller. Pyrology #9, 2026

What did you take from directing the Visual Music Marathon, and how can platforms like Niio help today?
The Marathon made it clear how much strong work exists, and how little of it people actually encounter. We had over 300 submissions from 23 countries, and about 70 works were selected. The 12-hour program also included an hour of historical work presented on film, along with two hours curated by guest curators. It gave a clear sense of both the range of what’s being made and how much of it remains largely unseen.

What we did see was a consistent audience—there was a packed house for nearly the entire program. That suggests there is real interest when this kind of work is actually made available.

“With so many screens now everywhere, there’s an opportunity to place abstract art where people will come across it as part of everyday life.”

That’s where platforms like Niio can help. With so many screens now—in homes, public spaces, and commercial environments—there’s an opportunity to place abstract, non-narrative work where people will come across it as part of everyday life. Over time, that kind of visibility can make this work feel less peripheral and more like a natural part of the visual landscape.

Dennis H. Miller. Dance Glass 1, 2026

What is the most important ethical consideration for artists working with AI?
For me, the issue is avoiding dependence on other artists’ work. A lot of AI output draws heavily on existing styles, and it’s easy to end up producing images that feel derived rather than independent. That’s where the ethical concern sits.

The way I address that is by keeping the work grounded in my own material. I don’t use artist prompts, and I train models on my own imagery so the results come out of my own practice, not someone else’s.

“The work has to come from your own decisions, your own source material, and your own direction.”

You see a lot of images now that look interchangeable, often coming from the same systems and settings. The important thing is not to let the software or its presets determine the result. The work has to come from your own decisions, your own source material, and your own direction. That’s what keeps it distinct and avoids crossing into someone else’s territory.

Florence Lefebvre: Marine Emotions

Niio Editorial

Florence Lefebvre is a self-taught French digital artist whose practice emerges from a lifelong dialogue with the sea. Growing up with formative summers in the South of France and later observing the shifting coasts of Normandy, Brittany, and the North Sea, she developed a deep sensitivity to tides, light, and movement. What began as hours spent underwater with a mask and snorkel evolved into a visual language built from fluidity, rhythm, and transformation. Today, she translates these marine memories into immersive digital compositions, describing herself as a “digital explorer” navigating an ocean of pixels.

Following the launch of her solo artcast Waltz of Flowers on Niio, we had a conversation about her creative process and the sources of her inspiration.

Florence Lefebvre. Waltz of Flowers #1, 2022

You have stated that your work draws its inspiration from “marine emotions.” Could you share with us a specific memory, place, or marine sensation that continues to inspire your work today?

For me, the sea is an emotional language: an endless immersion where fluid, uninterrupted movement inspires my digital exploration.

Every summer, during long family holidays in the South of France, I discovered my first wonders beneath the surface of the water. Equipped with just a mask and snorkel, I spent hours exploring this secret realm, fascinated by the light filtering through the waves and the shifting reflections. The green of the seaweed rippled gently, while fish, their hues ranging from red to orange, then to blue and silver, moved through this world like a living dance. These moments instilled in me the beauty of rhythm, color, and movement—essential elements of any artistic composition.

“My creations immerse us in a universe where art transcends the boundaries of the canvas!”

Even today, I regularly observe the beach and the sea along the Normandy and Brittany coasts, as well as in the North Sea, where the tides constantly create new patterns on the sand and alter the dance of the waves. On winter mornings, on calm or windy days, I watch the light change with every moment: the sky merges with the sea, clouds stretch to the horizon, and sometimes silvery reflections illuminate the surface. I feel fully connected to this shifting space, attentive to every ripple of the water and every variation of color brought about by the tides.

The sea has taught me that nothing is fixed, that everything is fluid and transformative. In my digital ocean, each pixel becomes a grain of sand to explore!

My art is a dialogue between the real and the digital, where each composition carries the memory of an inner journey that continues endlessly!

Florence Lefebvre. Stellar Melodies, 2025

In your work, you prioritize contemplation first, then mastering the production process. What does “contemplation” look like in your daily practice?

For me, contemplation is an active immersion, the starting point of all creation. It always begins far from screens, with careful observation of nature. I am deeply moved by the spectacle of the tides and the perpetual movement of the waves.

My approach unfolds around three axes: flow and energy, forms and textures, and time for reflection. By exploring the Normandy and Brittany coasts, I capture the metamorphosis of the shores under the action of the sea, the power of the waves, and the fluidity of their movements. I linger on the rhythms of the water, the undulations of the sand, the contrasts between rock and sea, building a repertoire of sensations that I then transpose into my digital creations.

“It is during my walks along wild coastlines that my works take shape in feeling, before technology becomes an extension of my gaze”

The settling time involves knowing how to detach oneself from the digital world, allowing these impressions to organize themselves internally. It is during my walks along wild coastlines that my works take shape in feeling, before technology becomes an extension of my gaze, transcribing into images what the sea has whispered to me.

My art is thus a dialogue between the real and the digital, a perpetually transforming flow, where each pixel mirrors an instant, as a grain of sand carried away by the tide.

When did digital creation become the medium where you felt you could “fully” express your sensitivity, and what did it reveal that other forms did not allow?

One day, I embarked on this artistic quest of creativity and exploration as a self-taught artist, using whatever tools I had at hand. I explored, tested, observed, experimented, and created with passion, fascinated by the possibility of bringing to life the movements, textures, and colors I had observed in the sea since childhood. This moment remains very important to me because it marked the beginning of an intense period of artistic creation. I instinctively grasp computer tools and naturally become familiar with them, while working regularly and rigorously, which allows me to acquire technical mastery of the software. It’s a passion fueled by daily exploration, research, and creation.

“The sea has taught me that nothing is fixed, that everything is fluid and transformative. In my digital ocean, each pixel becomes a grain of sand to explore!”

Digital creation became a universe for me where I could fully express my sensitivity when I felt the need to translate the flows, movements, and nuances of nature in a more immersive and vibrant way. Unlike other traditional forms, digital art allows me to capture the fluidity, light, and rhythm of my marine memories, to create subtle movements, infinite oscillations, and to experiment with variations of color and texture that paper, canvas, or sculpture don’t always allow.

Throughout my exploration, I also developed a passion for flowers, which I animate like peintures mouvantes (moving paintings), creating a dialogue between nature and digital art to produce living, poetic works.

This creative space has revealed to me that emotion can be immersed, amplified, and reinvented; that each pixel can convey a feeling; and that the interaction between the real and the virtual opens an infinite dialogue with the viewer. Where other forms could freeze a moment, digital art allows me to bring movement and transformation to life, to recreate the memory of ocean currents and the dance of the elements, while remaining true to my vision and artistic intuition.

Since then, I’ve defined myself as a digital explorer, approaching the screen as an ocean of possibilities. Each video I create becomes an immersive atmosphere, where every shape and color contributes to the experience and the feeling, offering a dialogue between the real and the virtual.

“Unlike other traditional forms, digital art allows me to capture the fluidity, light, and rhythm of my marine memories”

Florence Lefebvre, Infinitesimal, 2023

Your work often revolves around “digital fluids and forms.” Are these abstractions meant to evoke water, emotions, memory, or something else?

I work with digital fluids and forms to translate what I feel in the face of the sea and life, rather than representing the world literally. Water, with its fluidity and oscillations, becomes a central metaphor: it evokes movement, emotion, memory, and transformation.

For me, digital art is a space of infinite exploration, where each work can evolve, reinvent itself, and engage in a dialogue with the viewer.

I create dynamic and evolving fluids, where each element transforms and interacts across multiple dimensions. This universe allows me to explore inaccessible realms, where movement and color harmonize perfectly, offering the viewer a true escape.

“My goal is for the artwork to transport the viewer, transforming their contemplation into a unique emotional experience.”

Each work is born from a subtle balance between observation of reality and digital exploration. Waves, currents, and ocean currents inspire my rhythms and textures, but these elements are reinvented as free abstractions, capable of conveying the flow of an emotion or the memory of a moment.

My goal is for the artwork to transport the viewer, transforming their contemplation into a unique emotional experience. Each creation is designed to resonate with the space around it and invite everyone to feel emotion, a memory, or a sense of escape.

My works thus become a space for exploration where the viewer can perceive movement, color, and depth, while giving free rein to their interpretation. Digital fluids are therefore not just water: they constitute a visual language that evokes feeling: a dialogue between real and virtual, memory and emotion.

You mention algorithms and multidimensional composition. How do you reconcile control and emergence, and at what point do you want surprise to appear in the image?

In my work, control and emergence interact like two complementary forces. Through the software’s algorithms, I shape my creations, orchestrating rhythms, textures, and movements that I wish to explore.

However, I always leave room for surprise, because it is often in the unexpected that the most poetic and vibrant moments are born. Sometimes, a flow reacts differently, a color blends differently, a ripple forms unexpectedly: these moments become creative triggers that I then choose whether or not to incorporate.

I then become a conductor, or rather a captain: I steer my digital compositions with intention and mastery, while leaving the necessary space for emergence. “Ctrl+Z” becomes my magic wand: surprise is no longer a constraint, but the wind that fills my sails toward the unknown, transforming the unpredictable into an opportunity for exploration!

Florence Lefebvre. Flowergraph, 2022

You speak of linking contemporary life to the “cradle of primitive life.” What does “primitive” mean to you: biology, mythology, evolution, spirituality, or a psychological state? Your goal is to represent “the depths of the subconscious.” Do you start with an emotion and then find an image for it, or with an image to discover the emotion later?

I perceive the primitive as the vital force that animates the entire universe, a cradle of life that is simultaneously biological, instinctive, and psychological. It is this raw energy that flows through nature, from ocean currents to distant stars, and that inspires creation. My approach is akin to a biology of the imagination: an exploration of matter coming to life, where instinct and memory intertwine with digital technology.

My goal is to represent the depths of the subconscious, where emotions and memories converge. Sometimes, I begin with an emotion, allowing it to percolate and transform into image, form, and movement; sometimes, an image emerges spontaneously, revealing the latent emotion it carries. In all cases, the unexpected becomes the raw material of creation, and the primal, a living and inspiring source.

“I have also developed a passion for flowers I animate like peintures mouvantes (moving paintings), creating a dialogue between nature and digital media.”

The orchestration of my digital fluids allows me to create shifting, dreamlike worlds where life, poetry, and the invisible meet. I explore the infinitely small with works like “Infinitesimal,” observing digital fluids under a microscope.

In my series ‘Abyss’ and ‘The Secret of the Abyss’, the ocean depths mingle with the subconscious, giving rise to abyssal creatures that I call ‘Abyss’, born in the heart of these depths and bearers of the mysteries of the ocean. Finally, the celestial journey with the “Nebula” series connects the ocean depths to the most distant stars, continuing this quest for energy, cosmic fluidity, and infinite reverie.

Digital art offers me immense freedom of exploration, a boundless, dreamlike, and ever-shifting universe where the invisible becomes visible and the unexpected transforms into living inspiration.

Florence Lefebvre. Confusion, 2022

A significant portion of your work is abstract, dominated by fluids and fluidity, with some references to nature. However, some of your most recent works, created with AI models, lean towards figuration, with scenes reminiscent of street art and early hand-painted photographs. What does AI bring to your creative process that has motivated this evolution towards figurative compositions?

AI is primarily used in my work when I explore figurative art. It allows me to develop scenes, characters, and visual worlds that I explore through various themes, from street art to early hand-painted photographs, including sketches reminiscent of drawing or comics.

I use it as a tool for shaping and experimentation: I define the intentions, adjust the parameters, select, refine, and rework the images. The AI ​​generates suggestions, but the vision, direction, and aesthetic choices remain entirely my own.

“Working with AI is not a change of direction, but an expansion of my artistic language, where each work, with its own tools, contributes to the same vision.”

What interests me is not just the speed of execution, but above all the possibility of exploring a wide variety of subjects and styles without hindering the creative flow. Where my passion for digital fluidity explores colors, flows, geometric shapes, and multidimensional interactions, AI allows me to introduce a narrative dimension.

The common thread remains the same: life, color, and the subtle connections that interact with each other.

This is not a change of direction, but an expansion of my artistic language, where each work, with its own tools, contributes to the same vision.

Florence Lefebvre. Pop Culture, 2022

You stated that your work transcends the canvas, incorporating 3D and movement. What is your ideal viewing context: phone, large screen, installation, home space? And how does this context influence the perception of the work?

My work transcends the traditional canvas, incorporating 3D, movement, and an immersive dimension. I design my pieces to be felt in space, not just seen.

The viewing context plays a central role in the perception of the work:

  • Large screen or projection: this is ideal for fully experiencing the fluidity of movement, the depth of textures, and the Waltz of my flowers. The viewer is immersed in the universe I have created. The animated flowers, which I conceive as moving paintings, reveal all their subtlety, creating a poetic and immersive dialogue between nature and digital technology.
  • Installation or dedicated space: the artwork engages with its environment, and the viewer becomes an active participant in the perception, moving around the piece, discovering details and dynamics depending on the viewpoint.
  • Phone or small screen: even on a smaller screen, the artwork retains its power. Some details or subtleties of movement may be less perceptible, but the experience becomes more intimate, offering a direct connection that integrates into the viewer’s daily life.
  • Everyday setting: the artwork interacts with the rhythm of life and the environment, creating an emotional resonance where the digital and the living meet in everyday life.

Thus, the format and context influence how movement, depth, and narrative are perceived. I aim for a subtle balance between individual connection and total immersion in the world of my artworks, respecting the fluidity and energy of each piece, so that the viewer can fully experience the movement, color, vibration of the flows, and the digital life I seek to convey.

Florence Lefebvre. Waltz of Flowers #2, 2022

Regarding the context of experiencing the artwork, how do you think Niio and other companies that distribute digital art on public screens can benefit artists and art lovers? What has been your experience of presenting your work on digital screens in public spaces?

Niio displayed two works from my collection, “Waltz of Flowers” and “LINK,” on a high-quality screen at an event in a prestigious hotel. This was an enriching experience, as it allowed a wide audience to discover my creations and perceive the interaction between digital art and space. Seeing artworks presented on screens demonstrates how essential these exhibitions are in making digital art accessible and introducing it to a diverse audience.

Platforms like Niio and other companies that broadcast digital art on public screens offer artists invaluable visibility and allow their work to reach a wider audience. They also make digital art more accessible by integrating it into everyday spaces, where passersby can spontaneously discover the works.

I would also like my work to be exhibited in art galleries, where the context fosters a more attentive and contemplative experience. In this setting, the public can take the time to look at and interpret the works, creating a deeper dialogue between the artwork, the space, and the viewer. It is also an environment that encourages exchanges with visitors, curators, and other art professionals.

“Platforms like Niio offer artists invaluable visibility and allow their work to reach a wider audience”

I am also very interested in the possibility of collaborating with other artists on joint projects. Working with multiple artists allows for the confrontation of different approaches, techniques, and sensibilities, thus enriching the creative process and paving the way for more experimental or ambitious projects.

I am curious to see how my work can engage in dialogue with other artistic practices and different exhibition contexts, and I would like to explore new forms of interaction between the artwork, the public, and the space.

Valentina Ferrandes: Reshaping Icons

Niio Editorial

Valentina Ferrandes is an artist working across moving image, installation, and digital world-building, whose practice weaves together ecology, mythology, and the lived experience of place. Grounded in research and a documentary sensitivity to landscapes, archives, and historical traces, she shifted from filming toward constructing sensorial 3D environments, using scans, procedural tools, and real-time engines to let forms drift, fracture, and evolve. Classical sculpture and ancient narratives become both emotional anchors and critical material in her work: icons that carry through time, re-shaped through contemporary technologies into atmospheres of beauty and tension where political rupture can be felt indirectly through light, motion, and sound.

On the occasion of the launch of her solo artcast Metamorphoses: Myth, Body, and Code, we had a conversation about her work and creative process.

Valentina Ferrandes. Aurea, 2023

You describe your practice as connecting ecology, mythology, technology, and post-human imaginaries. When you start a new project, what drives it, the research, the story, or the technique you have chosen to produce it?

I normally start with research.

I’m interested in the way we live through environments and the stories that shape them. Myths, landscapes, architectures, archaeological traces. At first, these things appear separate; when you sit with them long enough, they begin to echo one another.

Only then do I choose the technique, the choice is never neutral.

Lately, I’ve been working with 3D motion, procedural tools, real-time engines, and 3D scans,  not to represent the world, but to build systems that can behave like it. Tools that allow things to drift, mutate, and occasionally slip out of control. Sometimes a project expands from a single shape, a scanned object from an archive, or material gathered through direct observation. That form becomes a world. Using game engines and procedural workflows, I stretch it, repeat it, let it evolve.

Ultimately, I’m trying to immerse the viewer in a mood, mostly driven by aesthetics, fragments of stories, and sensory tension, rather than by purely documentary logic.

Valentina Ferrandes. Still from Travelogue, 2018

You made experimental documentaries for years, then moved into CGI and real-time worlds. What changed for you around 2020 that made 3D the right language?

Around 2018 I made a film called Travelogue. It was a visual diary of a journey I took to Izmir in Turkey and then to the island of Kos, shot in a documentary register a couple of years back, right at the height of the Mediterranean migratory crisis. It followed my previous work Other Than Our Sea, where I used montage to collapse fragments of Mediterranean mythology, classical literature, ethnographic film, archival material, and glimpses of contemporary newsreels of shipwrecks in the Mediterranean into layered visual narratives.

But shooting Travelogue felt tougher as it touched something much closer. My family has a history of forced migration. Although Italian citizens, my father’s family had long-standing ties to Libya and Tunisia. After decades of living in Libya, they were compelled to return to Italy as refugees in the late 1970s. That sense of loss, of having to abandon an entire world to rebuild another, was something I grew up with. Filming along the semi-illegal routes in Turkey and Greece that many migrants were taking toward Europe, witnessing those crossings and the weight they carried, made me realise that documentary language had reached its limit for me.

Depicting reality no longer felt feasible. I didn’t want to record crises anymore but construct worlds that could allude to moments of rupture, holding some emotional truth but without reproducing their images directly.  I needed a medium that could be more sensorial, more abstract, and more heartfelt than documentary realism.

I had no language for it, so I stopped making films for a while.

“Depicting reality no longer felt feasible. I didn’t want to record crises anymore but construct worlds that could allude to moments of rupture.”

Then, around 2020, I turned to 3D. I began experimenting with scanned classical sculptures that had shaped my imagination growing up in southern Italy, fragments of classicity that, for me, functioned as emotional anchors. They were beautiful, but also quietly critical: stabilising forms in times of uncertainty, grounding while still provoking thought and aspiration. At the same time, I was going through a period of personal losses. Working in 3D allowed me to move away from documentation and toward construction: creating works driven by form, light, and colour rather than evidence.  Real-time worlds and CGI offered that kind of a-political space, a way to build beauty and tension, and to think about crisis indirectly, through atmosphere, motion, light and colour.

From that point on, my work shifted toward 3D hybrid forms.

Valentina Ferrandes. Victory, 2020


“Victory” treats Nike of Samothrace as something that can be algorithmically decomposed and rebuilt. What does computation allow you to “see” in sculpture that a camera cannot?

A camera can only register what is visible. It freezes what is already there. Computational tools do something else: they open the parameters to make instability visible and let you play with latent forms. Even the most solid material, like marble, is in reality energy in motion, atoms vibrating, matter constantly becoming. We just can’t see it.

In Victory, computation allows me to see sculpture as movement rather than image. When the Nike of Samothrace is translated into a 3D motion system, it stops being a fixed surface and becomes a fluid field of forces, basic geometries, vectors, and polygons that can shift, fracture, and reassemble.

“Even the most solid material, like marble, is in reality energy in motion, atoms vibrating, matter constantly becoming.”

In the Athena works, you connect a local pre-Christian cult, the olive tree, and the long chain of copies from Greece to Roman times and beyond. What does that continuity mean to you inside a digital artwork today?

We often think of digital media as something entirely new, as if it belongs only to the future. For me, however, digital tools are a means of reshaping icons that are already deeply ingrained in our collective memory.

In the Athena works, bringing together a local pre-Christian cult, the olive tree, and the long chain of copies creates a sense of continuity rather than rupture. Using a hyper-contemporary medium to work with ancient mythology opens up a different timeline, one where past and present coexist instead of replacing one another.

Classical icons are solid, almost a-temporal structures, narratives that can be applied to any moment in history, much like religious icons. They carry ethical, emotional and symbolic lessons that can stay legible across centuries.

“For me, digital tools are a means of reshaping icons that are already deeply ingrained in our collective memory.”

At the same time, I want my works to remain open. A digital artwork can be interpreted in various ways, ranging from a purely aesthetic encounter driven by form, light and rhythm to a more layered and reflective interpretation, depending on the viewer’s sensitivity and cultural background.

Digital tools don’t need to reject this legacy in favour of futuristic expectations. They enable us to revisit these foundational forms, reshape them, and discover new meanings within them. 

Valentina Ferrandes. Daaphne, 2022

You revisit Apollo and Daphne in both “Daaphne” and “Aurea.” Why return to that myth now, and what feels ethically or emotionally at stake in reanimating it with AI and procedural CGI?

This myth, at its core, stages a clear opposition: Apollo as a rational, male-driven force, mathematical, controlling, and oppressive, and Daphne as a figure bound to nature, freedom, and transformation. The moment of rupture between them could not be more explicit and in my work, I used AI to push that rupture even further.
I worked with an AI writing tool trained on game narratives and powered by a rudimentary version of GPT-3, fed it the story of Daphne as written in Ovid’s Metamorphoses and asked it to imagine what this nymph might wake up as after a set time as a laurel tree.

The AI imagined Daphne re-emerging as a post-human, hybrid being, part human, part aquatic, drifting in an underwater world, without language or memory, completely disoriented. I loved that the story had a hallucinatory, almost comic tone, like a futuristic fiction gone off-track.

“Daphne’s transformation is survival, a reminder that neither nature nor the systems we create can ever be fully governed by pure rationality.”

From there, I worked with 3D motion to animate forms suggested by the AI’s text. The work became a meditation on rupture at multiple levels: between human and nature, between rationality and excess, and between control and unpredictability. AI, in this sense, operates like an alter ego, a parallel intelligence that accelerates extraction, mutation, and instability.

In that way, the myth of Apollo and Daphne can be uncannily contemporary as it speaks to an enduring conflict: nature versus culture, rational order versus metamorphosis.  Apollo’s loss of power in the face of nature, something fundamentally uncontrollable, mirrors our relationship with AI today. We are building a system that behaves like a subconscious, one that evolves beyond our control, driven by its own form of self-preservation.

Daphne’s transformation is survival, a reminder that neither nature nor the systems we create can ever be fully governed by pure rationality.

Valentina Ferrandes. Midday Muse, 2022. Site-specific installation, META London Headquarters.


A lot of your work sits between fiction and documentation. How do you decide what must remain “true” and where you allow speculation to take over?

Usually, I decide on a set of rules, fixed conditions and boundaries for a given project.
I tend to ground a new work in real elements, a place, a historical fact, a piece of storytelling, a dataset, a myth that already exists, a landscape I’ve walked through. It’s almost a forensic layer to start building upon. This documentary approach anchors the work to the world as it is, while I use fiction to open a door to how it might feel, how it might mutate, or how it could be remembered in the future.

The balance is intuitive more than anything. What remains “true” is the research spine and the ethical position. Form, narrative, and atmosphere can drift in fluid ways.

Valentina Ferrandes. The Beautiful One Has Come, 2021.

Sound shows up as a structural element in several projects. Do you think of sound as world-building, as evidence, or as emotion?

When I began working on Daaphne, it was 2022, and the war in Ukraine had just started. One of the first elements I used in my soundtrack was a Russian lullaby,  a song meant to put children to sleep, but sung as an eerie horror story. I layered it with voices of phone calls from Russian mothers trying to find out where their sons had disappeared on the battlefield.

These sounds were among the first field recordings to surface from the conflict. They weren’t yet shaped by long-form reporting or political framing. They were raw, deeply human, and I knew they would soon be buried under 24h news coverage. I wanted to hold onto them before they disappeared. I’m drawn to these small, fragile fragments of reality, pieces of evidence that are emotionally charged but not always fully legible. They speak of a specific moment in time, yet they slip away easily, like trying to remember a conversation heard in a dream just after waking.

Much of the sound material I work with also comes from evidence: archival recordings, field recordings I collect myself, binaural sound, fragments of voiceover. But it’s almost always assembled as a collage. Sound often becomes the backbone of my work but it does not demand that everything be decoded. If someone wants to sit with it and trace the details, that’s possible. If not, the surface remains open.

Valentina Ferrandes. Bloom, 2024. Site-specific 3D animation, Night Lights Denver

In “BLOOM,” classical iconography is projected onto a city landmark. What draws you to public architecture as a screen, and what do you want viewers to feel at that scale?

Public architecture is interesting because it operates at a scale where meaning turns physical. Facades, towers, and landmarks are symbols of power, progress, and permanence. Using them as screens immediately creates a shift in perception.

In BLOOM, projecting classical iconography onto a hypermodern skyline for Denver Night Lights meant staging a clash of meanings. On one side, you have contemporary architecture, on the other, a classical image that many viewers may never have encountered directly, unless they’ve visited the museum that houses it. That displacement is intentional.

“Classical iconography carries a quiet power because it transcends specific cultures to communicate through beauty rather than explanation.”

At that scale, the work isn’t meant to be fully legible. It’s meant to interrupt routine, to slow people down, and to create a brief moment of disconnection from the everyday flow of the city. Ultimately, to leave space for a  few minutes of awe.

Ultimately, classical iconography carries a quiet power because it transcends specific cultures and historical knowledge to communicate through beauty rather than explanation. When placed on an urban skyline like Denver’s, it opens up a small pocket of dreaming,  a moment of wonder appearing where it doesn’t quite belong.

Lines of Thought: painting across mediums

Niio Editorial

British artist Thomas Lisle has long explored the frontier where painting meets digital media, creating a compelling fusion of tradition and innovation. With a career spanning over four decades, his work seamlessly integrates analog techniques with immersive digital processes. Currently, Galeria Maior in Pollença is presenting Lines of Thought, a solo exhibition curated by Pau Waelder. This body of work is complemented by an artcast on Niio, offering audiences a deeper insight into Lisle’s hybrid practice of “time-based paintings” and dynamic compositions.

We spoke with the artist about his creative process, the interplay between digital and physical media, and how his works evolve across dimensions and time. This brief three-question interview offers readers a quick dive into Lisle’s work, which can be further explored in a longer interview and an essay by the artist, both published in Niio Editorial.

View of the exhibition “Lines of Thought” by Thomas Lisle at Galeria Maior in Pollença (Mallorca, Spain).

Your exhibition Lines of Thought showcases both physical and digital works. Can you tell us how these two forms are connected in your process?

In this series, the digital paintings came first. Using the 3D animation software, I painted a series of tubular shapes, similar to pencil lines but with volume. These I could edit, move around, and change in any way I wanted. When I was happy with these elements, I converted the tubular shapes into simulated liquids and set different parts of each of them to have different values of mass, viscosity, and so on.

The pencil lines thus became a liquid simulation (using complex mathematics developed by others). I turned the gravity to zero in most pieces but not all: in some of the pieces several paint strokes have gravity and others don’t. Then in some of the artworks I animated a brushstroke over time, moving across the virtual canvas and interacting with other paint elements. The main themes of this series of artworks are about dynamic compositions and forms, as well as contrasts of colour, forms, mass, and movement.

Thomas Lisle. Currents, 2025

The next step was the animation of the liquid paints: to do that I built complex invisible forces that push the liquids around. I spent a lot of time trying out different combinations of forces and the settings controlling the liquids, until I got the results I aimed for, that have a visual, painterly meaning to me. I think about these compositions in terms of relationships and abstractions that I think could make either a great painting and/or a good animation.

For the paintings I took specific moments of the animation where I felt that the composition, colour, and forms are the best and then I used that image as the basis for a painting. So all the process that I described above has also been carried out considering this last stage in which the animation can become an oil painting on canvas.

Thomas Lisle. Flotsam, 2025.

You describe these animations as “time-based paintings.” What makes this digital approach painterly in your view?

What makes them painterly is the visual language they inherit from traditional painting—color, composition, gesture—but reimagined in motion and time. Each animation is a dynamic abstraction, shaped by invisible forces I program to manipulate the virtual paint. I spend a lot of time adjusting these forces and liquid parameters to create meaningful visual relationships—whether it’s through tension, mass, or movement. These aren’t just technical effects; they’re part of a painterly exploration, extended into the temporal realm.

“In the digital 3D space, lines evolve; they can be manipulated in ways unimaginable even 20 years ago.”

What does the idea of a “line” mean in this body of work, especially given the title Lines of Thought?

The line is foundational here—both as a visual element and as a metaphor. Traditionally, lines have been the building blocks of drawings and paintings. In the digital 3D space, lines evolve; they can be manipulated in ways unimaginable even 20 years ago. In my process, lines are the genesis of everything: they become forms, masses, and ultimately, flowing simulations. Conceptually, the title Lines of Thought speaks to both this visual structure and the algorithmic logic behind digital creation—almost like thinking made visible.

Lines of Thought is on view at Galeria Maior, Pollença, throughout June 2025. A curated selection of Lisle’s digital works is also available on Niio as part of a special artcast accompanying the exhibition.

A purely visual experience. The art of Eisuke Ikeda

Niio Editorial

Born in Osaka in 1976 and trained in post-production editing after graduating from the University of Fine Arts, Eisuke Ikeda has developed a distinctive visual language that seamlessly weaves analog sensibility into digital precision. His works are marked by an intentional embrace of imperfection—subtle distortions, organic pulses, and delicate fractures that bring a surprising tactility to the virtual screen. Central to Ikeda’s practice is a deep trust in the viewer’s intuition. He eschews overt symbolism or narrative structure, focusing instead on the phenomenological act of seeing. Subtle distortions, organic fluctuations, and textural echoes mimic natural erosion and evoke the tactile essence of physical matter, despite being rendered entirely in the digital realm.

Niio has recently launched the solo artcast Eternity of the Ephemeral, which features five artworks that, more than just moving images, unfold like ambient states of consciousness. These are not works to be watched in the conventional sense—they are to be dwelled in, felt, and absorbed. Each composition becomes an experiential landscape where the viewer’s perception becomes the true medium. In the following interview, the artist elaborates on his creative process and the concepts that underlie his artistic practice.

Eisuke Ikeda. EXoC 2681257 | 2025 Remix |, 2025

You have worked as a post-production CGI specialist for film productions. How does this background influence or nurture your artistic production? What have you learned in terms of software usage and image production that you are now applying to your artistic projects?

When I worked in post-production, my duties ranged from assisting with television editing to creating CGI components and producing opening visuals for music events.

What impressed me most during that time were the veteran craftsmen at the Kyoto film studios. Cinematographers, editors and script supervisors—professionals who, in other careers, would already be retired—devoted themselves to finishing each project, working through the night without hesitation. Their approach to filmmaking was more than technical skill; it was a way of life. The blend of boldness, precision and pride they embodied remains vivid in my memory.

Those experiences still shape my practice today. Although my methods have evolved, the resolve to “communicate through moving images” and the quiet sincerity with which I face each work are values I inherited from them.

“The interweaving of nature with daily life and the presence of temples and shrines in Kyoto have formed my aesthetic foundation since childhood.”

My sensibility is also rooted in Kyoto’s environment. The interweaving of nature with daily life and the presence of temples and shrines have formed my aesthetic foundation since childhood. From art-school days to the present I have been drawn to contemporary art, Japanese Zen, Buddhist art and classical arts; the decorative and symbolic qualities of hanging scrolls, folding screens and esoteric Buddhist implements continue to influence me spiritually.

The software skills I acquired by self-study at university became my technical base. I entered the field just as digital tools were being introduced, and programs such as After Effects, Photoshop and non-linear editors proved indispensable in both commercial and personal work. Those skills still underpin my art today. More recently I have expanded my toolkit—again self-taught—to include TouchDesigner and Ableton Live.

Thus, beyond any single CGI technique, it is the mindset and sensibility cultivated in post-production, together with my exposure to diverse art forms, that define the core of my creative work.

Eisuke Ikeda. EXoC 2681257 | 2025 Remix |, 2025

Can you briefly describe the process of elaboration of your artworks? Despite being abstract compositions, what are the experiences, images, or ideas that trigger their creation?

I currently rely on TouchDesigner and Ableton Live to pursue abstractions in which sight and sound intertwine. Although I once produced 3-D character animation, I gradually became more attracted to abstraction—forms that leave interpretation to the viewer rather than imposing narrative or figuration. I am drawn to structures with no beginning or end, no fixed centre, in which spiritual resonance can reside.

My process is improvisational. Instead of following a strict concept, I trust “moments of visual delight.” As light, motion and colour shift, I adjust elements in real time, responding with my emotions and bodily sense—an approach akin to musical improvisation.

The five works uploaded to Niio focus on delicate particle movements, yet my style remains fluid. Depending on my state of mind I may move toward flat compositions, high contrast or rapid motion. In every case I seek to evoke pre-linguistic emotions or fragments of memory, rather than convey explicit meaning.

“I am drawn to structures with no beginning or end, no fixed centre, in which spiritual resonance can reside.”

In your artworks, you avoid any rigid interpretation or meaning. In fact, the title of each video is mostly a reference number, with no intention of providing any narrative. Yet the descriptions are quite poetic, with references to memory, silence, the soul, or eternity. How do you balance the purely abstract and rational with the more evocative and narrative aspects of your work?

Titles such as EXoC or abCnW are deliberately cryptic: abbreviations of words that interested me at the time. They preserve ambiguity and poetic space, encouraging open interpretation rather than prescribing it. 

Ultimately I want to offer a “purely visual experience” that quietly expands awareness. What I call a “tactile sensation beyond the screen” is this spiritual and sensory resonance—one that connects, for me, with the animistic quietude in traditional Japanese aesthetics.

“Ultimately I want to offer a purely visual experience that quietly expands awareness.”

Ephemerality is a key concept in your work, expressed in fleeting elements, bursts of light, and also darkness. Is the search for the expression of the ephemeral what led you to work with digital media? How do motion, light, and darkness play a role in your work?

Creating art has always been a digital act for me. Since my student days I have worked on a computer; I have never painted on canvas. Thus expression and digital media are inseparable in my practice.

I did not adopt digital tools because I sought ephemerality; rather, I have long explored how to express ephemerality within the digital environment I know so well.

That sense of impermanence appears in flickers of light, bleeding shadows and formless tremors that rise and vanish. These overlap with memory fragments and emotional echoes, permeating the viewer as a subtle perception of time and space.

Motion, light and darkness are indispensable to this. They remain understated—quivering softly inside the frame, leaving a quiet trace. Only digital media allow the fine-grained accumulation of change that produces the fragile texture I seek.

Eisuke Ikeda. EXoC 2681257 | 2025 Remix |, 2025

Each artwork in this series features a meditative soundtrack. How does music support the visual experience? Does it introduce a narrative, or convey a certain emotion?

For every piece in this series the soundtrack was composed after the visuals were completed. The music introduces no explicit narrative; its purpose is to support atmosphere and mood.

Sound and image function symbiotically: audio flows with the rhythm of light and movement. Rather than directing viewers toward set emotions, the restrained soundscape leaves room for personal reflection and sensory introspection.

“Only digital media allow the fine-grained accumulation of change that produces the fragile texture I seek.”

The use of Artificial Intelligence models is gaining widespread use in artistic creation. Are you interested in applying AI to your creative process in any way?

Advances in AI have opened a new perspective on my work. When OpenAI’s ChatGPT gained wide attention a few years ago, its potential struck me powerfully. For an artist rooted in digital expression, AI’s arrival echoed the shock photography once delivered to painting, prompting artists to reconsider their medium.

Many creators now collaborate with AI. I have begun tentative experiments in TouchDesigner, exploring AI-driven possibilities. My use is still preliminary, but I am gradually looking toward deeper integration—generating code and widening the scope of interaction.