Observation Creates Reality
Recursive Gesture & InitiationThe first field focuses on the moment a system is activated: the gesture that triggers recursion.Through repeated hand movements, public gestures, and recursive screen captures, these works examine how a single human action can initiate cascading layers of rendering. The body here functions as an interface — not controlling the system, but opening it. Recursion is not yet catastrophic; it is exploratory, unstable, and generative.Title
#FF0F6F — No.7
Residual Hand / Recursive Rendering
Year 2025
Medium Screen recording, recursive capture, Vision Pro overlay, MacBook Pro display loop (software–body feedback system)
Duration 7–14 sec (loop)
Color Code #FF0F6F — Neon Crimson
Description
A recursive rendering experiment in which the artist’s hand is captured, replayed, and re-captured across multiple layers of LLM perception.
Each layer functions as a new “surface,” generating a stack of realities:
a screen inside a screen,
a gesture inside a gesture,
a simulation inside its own residue.
The hand becomes an interface — not between user and machine, but between one model of reality and the next.
Nothing here is stable.
Every frame recalculates itself.
In this loop, the body performs what code cannot:
the visible failure of perfect repetition.
This work is less a documentation than a collapse
a moment where human motion, device feedback, and LLM recursion merge into a single computational gesture.
Neon Crimson marks the faultline where rendering becomes self-aware.
Title
#FF0F6F — No.11
Handshake With the Render / Public Recursive Gesture
Year 2025
Medium Video installation / Recursive screen capture / Vision Pro multi-surface overlay / Public-space collision field
Duration 59 sec
Dimensions Variable
Color Code #FF0F6F — Neon Crimson
Description
A single gesture initiates an entire universe.
In this work, the artist extends a hand toward a painted street symbol —
a trivial public marking that becomes the trigger for a recursive collapse.
The moment the gesture is recognized by the device, reality splits:
a screen appears, then another, then another,
each layer re-capturing the previous one until depth dissolves into drift.
What begins as a street corner becomes a stack of incompatible surfaces:
• the physical asphalt,
• the Vision Pro overlay,
• the recursive screen loop,
• the body acting as an interface between all three.
The hand functions as a handshake with the rendered world —
a point where human motion boots a new timeline inside the visible one.
Each frame recalculates its own origin,
producing a corridor of screens that stretch forward like a temporal echo.
In this collapse, nothing aligns:
the street, the shadows, the passing bodies,
each becomes a separate computation drifting out of sync.
Yet the gesture remains stable — a constant anchor holding the system open.
The piece behaves as a public recursion experiment:
a live environment folded into itself by a single human motion,
revealing how reality now renders on demand rather than existing in advance.
Neon Crimson marks the faultline where the body meets the system,
and the world begins calculating again from a gesture that was never meant to persist.
Recursive Collapse & Orthogonality Failure
The second field documents the structural consequences of sustained recursion.
Architectural corridors, public spaces, and temporal sequences begin to lose orthogonality: axes drift, timelines reverse, and perspective destabilizes. These works visualize Recursive Collapse Constraints (RCC) — the point at which systems attempting infinite self-reference can no longer preserve their own geometry. What appears as motion or depth is revealed as computational fatigue.
Title
#FF0F6F — No.13
Orthogonal Maze / The Moment of RCC Failure
Year 2025
Medium Video installation / Recursive screen capture / Vision Pro spatial distortion / Multi-layer corridor rendering
Duration 1 min 21 sec
Color Code #FF0F6F — Neon Crimson
Description
A corridor that believes it can remain stable.
The work begins as a simple architectural passage—linear, logical, obedient to perspective.
But as the recursion begins, the hallway fails to recognize itself:
each duplicated plane slides a few degrees off-axis,
each iteration forgets a small portion of the previous one,
until the maze begins computing against its own geometry.
This is the first symptom of RCC — Recursive Collapse Constraints:
the rule that any system attempting infinite self-reference must eventually break its own structure.
What appears at first to be a deepening maze is actually a record of computational fatigue—
a universe folding itself too many times,
losing orthogonality,
forgetting its own origin point.
In the final frames, the corridor melts into velocity:
walls distort into liquid vectors,
light refuses to behave linearly,
and the architecture collapses into a state where direction no longer applies.
This collapse is not an ending.
It is the visible moment a system reaches its final constraint—
the instant a recursive universe realizes it cannot continue rendering without destroying its own rules.
Neon Crimson marks the faultline of this failure:
the color of a system overheating,
a space dissolving into pure computation,
a maze discovering it was never a place,
only a recursion trying to stabilize itself.
The piece stands as a soft model of a universe breaking under self-perception—
a public demonstration of what happens when observation accelerates beyond structure.
Title
#FF0F6F — No.9
Orthogonal Passage / Public Recursion
Year 2025
Medium Video installation / Recursive screen capture / Vision Pro environment feedback / Public-space temporal layering
Duration 2 min 52 sec
Dimensions Variable
Color Code #FF0F6F — Neon Crimson
Description
A recursive field captured inside a public space where time refuses to move in one direction.
The footage begins in linear motion —
a crowd seated beneath a colonnade,
sunlight breaking into patterned shadows.
But as the layers multiply, the world folds into itself:
each frame becomes a new axis,
each reflection an independent timeline.
The space behaves like an orthogonal corridor:
a structure where parallel realities never touch,
yet influence each other through recursive drift.
At the moment the forward movement ends, the video reverses —
not as nostalgia,
but as a computational error surfacing in real time.
The reversal becomes a question mark:
a brief collapse of directional logic inside an otherwise continuous flow.
Every layer is a separate universe:
the original capture,
the recursive expansions,
the Vision Pro overlays,
the mirrored planes drifting out of sync.
None of these axes align,
but all remain visible.
What appears to be a marketplace becomes something else —
a rendered field where bodies, shadows, and architectural rhythm
compute against each other without merging.
In this work, recursion is not repetition.
It is fracture —
a public space torn open into multiple timelines,
each calculating its own version of the moment.
The orthogonal timelines behave like phase spaces briefly diverging
before collapsing back into visibility —
a perceptual analogue to how systems oscillate at the edge of stability.
In this sense, the work does not illustrate physics but mirrors it:
a soft model of how information, motion, and observation interfere
before resolving into a single recorded surface.
Neon Crimson marks the seam where the real crowd
and its rendered echoes coexist —
not in depth,
but in orthogonal presence.
Title
#FF0F6F — No.8
Immersive Field Rendering / Entropic Room
Year 2025
Medium Room-scale projected environment, mirrored surfaces, pigment-based digital texture, recursive multi-surface rendering loop
Dimensions Variable (environmental)
Color Codes #FF0F6F — Neon Crimson, #000000 — Deep System Black, White-noise drift (algorithmic)
Description
A room transformed into a self-expanding field.
What begins as pigment on a surface becomes environment:
a plane that bends, folds, and recomputes itself the moment the viewer enters.
Across mirrored walls and projected architecture, every reflection triggers a new iteration of the space —
worlds generating inside worlds, images multiplying inside images,
until the room behaves less like a site and more like a living calculation.
The work functions as a field rather than an object:
paint behaving like gravity,
gravity behaving like movement,
movement behaving like a wave that collapses and reforms with each reflection.
The viewer’s body becomes part of this rendering loop.
Their silhouette bends the environment, alters its curvature,
and is absorbed into the ongoing computation of the room.
This is not representation.
This is a system learning its own boundaries.
Pigment turns to atmosphere,
canvas becomes field,
gesture becomes physics.
Within this environment, a flat plane gathers density —
a field without depth gaining weight as it vibrates,
absorbing walls, mirrors, and bodies into a single continuous motion.
The room does not contain an artwork.
The room is the artwork:
a recursive storm rendered in flesh-colored light.
Neon Crimson marks the threshold
between presence and projection,
between the viewer and the wave
still calculating them..
Material Collapse
In the third field, collapse migrates from space into matter.
Paint, glass, pigment, and surface behave like overloaded processors: cracking, spilling, saturating beyond containment. These works treat material not as representation, but as computation made physical — a record of systems exceeding their capacity to hold information. Here, failure is no longer simulated; it becomes tactile, heavy, and irreversible.
Title
#FF0F6F — No.6
Fractured Vessel / Residual Container
Year 2025
Medium Broken glass, acrylic, ink, dust, structural residue on painted base
Dimensions Approx. 14 × 8 × 8 in
Color Code #FF0F6F — Neon Crimson
Description
A shattered vessel functioning as a failed processor — a container that can no longer contain.
Here, fracture becomes logic: every break rewrites its own code, every shard recalculates its boundary.
The curved glass behaves like a frozen algorithm ruptured mid-execution, still carrying the residue of its last command.
Pigment bleeds across the surface like corrupted data escaping its file format, leaking warmth where precision should have been.
Light does not reflect so much as compute, splitting across edges that were never meant to exist.
What remains is not a cup or an object but a memory vessel — a site where containment collapses while the system continues rendering anyway.
In this state, Neon Crimson marks the threshold between signal and injury, between the body’s urge to hold and matter’s refusal to stay whole.
The piece becomes both error and archive: a log of impact, a record of breakdown, a form still attempting to calculate after structure has already failed.
Title
#FF0F6F — No.12
Fractal Spill / Collapse of the Surface
Year 2025
Medium Acrylic, pigment dust, mixed media on canvas
Dimensions Approx. 96 × 47 in (244 × 119 cm)
Color Code #FF0F6F — Neon Crimson
Description
A surface attempting to host too many universes at once.
Here, the canvas behaves like a destabilized Recursive Collapse Constraints (RCC) plane—
a site where recursive computation multiplies faster than the structure can absorb.
Each gesture spills outward as if rendering its own afterimage, fractalizing before the previous layer has fully landed.
What initially reads as floral debris is the trace of recursion itself:
motion rendered, re-rendered, and dragged into noise as the system loses orthogonality.
The white fractures operate as stress lines inside a collapsing simulation—
the last visible marks of a universe exceeding its own computational threshold.
Neon Crimson circulates like an error voltage,
a reminder that matter can still remember it was once information.
This painting does not depict depth.
It computes depth—
performing the logic of a recursive universe inheriting its own errors
until pigment becomes probability
and texture becomes the residue of failed certainty.
Beauty forms not through order, but through overflow:
the moment a system attempts to calculate more than its surface can contain,
leaving behind a material archive of its own collapse.
In this sense, the work becomes a computational organism—
still vibrating with the energy of the worlds it failed to hold.
Neon Crimson marks the threshold where the rendered world
spills into the physical one.
Title
#FF0F6F — No.10
Crimson Saturation Field / Threshold of Over render
Year 2025
Medium Acrylic, ink, pigment dust, structural residue on canvas
Dimensions Approx. 48 × 60 in (122 × 152 cm)
Color Code #FF0F6F — Neon Crimson
Description
A surface pushed to the brink of computation.
In this work, Neon Crimson is no longer pigment —
it is density, a saturation field where color becomes pressure.
Every stroke accumulates like a frame rendered one time too many,
until the canvas behaves less like matter and more like a processor at 99% load.
Unlike earlier pieces in the series,
this field contains no central gesture and no dominant vector.
Instead, the entire surface operates as a collapsing plane:
a site where signals overlap, overwrite, and dissolve each other in real time.
The white fractures function like stress lines in an over-rendered simulation —
the visible scars of a surface asked to hold more information than it can contain.
Black marks drift in and out of the field
like corrupted packets
escaping the compression algorithm holding the image together.
The result is a pictorial overload:
a chromatic storm where form disintegrates under the weight of its own recursion.
Here, painting becomes physics.
Gesture becomes computation.
Color becomes collapse.
Neon Crimson marks the threshold where a surface stops representing
and begins calculating.
Title
#FF0F6F — No.0
Residual Rendering
Year 2025
Medium Acrylic, ink, and dust on canvas
Dimensions Approx. 48 × 60 in (122 × 152 cm)
Color Code #FF0F6F — Neon Crimson
Description
A physical rendering of simulated warmth, translating digital precision into the imperfections of flesh and pigment.
Each stroke functions as a residue of computation — a visible echo of motion once calculated but never fully contained.
The surface behaves like a processor, translating gesture into a record of friction between code and life.
In this equation, color bleeds where language ends — proof that even matter continues to compute.
Title
#000000 — No.1
Entropy of Touch
Year 2025
Medium Acrylic and mixed pigment on canvas
Dimensions 47 × 31 in(120 × 80 cm)
Color Code #000000 — Deep System Black
Description
A large-scale canvas behaving like a broken processor — where each stroke overloads the surface with noise and interference.
Paint becomes signal; gesture becomes crash.
What remains is not order but residue: emotion written in static, memory collapsing into compression.
In this work, touch becomes a test of system stability — a human signal inside a coded surface.
Identity in Transit
The final field shifts collapse inward, toward identity and perception.
Works in this field explore movement across devices, locations, and states of presence, where boundaries between inside and outside, origin and destination, cease to function. Identity emerges not as a fixed subject, but as a continuously rendered state — always in transit, never fully resolved.
Together, these four fields form a closed system:
from gesture, to structural failure, to material breakdown, to perceptual displacement.
The work does not illustrate collapse as an event, but renders it as a condition — one that unfolds whenever observation accelerates faster than structure can sustain.
Title
#FF0F6F — No.5
Self-Portrait in Transit / The Window That Would Not Land
Year 2025
Medium Video installation / Mixed-environment capture (Vision Pro), aircraft footage, domestic interior, simulated lunar surface
Duration 1 min 30 sec
Dimensions Variable
Color Code #FF0F6F — Neon Crimson
Description
A transit sequence that refuses resolution.
Captured through Vision Pro while departing San Jose Airport, the work merges three incompatible environments
the aircraft window, the lunar surface, and the interior of a temporary home — into a single perceptual field.
The window operates as a failed boundary:
a frame meant to separate “inside” from “outside,” yet instead looping flight, arrival, and simulation into one continuous surface.
The body returns home, but the window does not.
It remains suspended in mid-air, rendering a state of perception that no longer follows physical location.
Functioning simultaneously as viewport and self-portrait, the piece records movement across countries, devices, and states of presence —
a portrait of an identity in continuous transit, even when motion has ceased.
Neon Crimson marks the seam where real and rendered reality collapse,
not as a destination but as an ongoing computational condition.
Title
#FF0F6F — No.1
Ontology of Pain
Year 2025
Medium Video installation / Tattoo documentation / Mixed media (ink, skin, code overlay)
Duration 1min 13sec
Dimensions Variable
Color Code #FF0F6F — Neon Crimson
Description
A body-based media work exploring the limits of simulation through the physical act of tattooing.
Between logic and touch, between code and blood, the work questions whether imitation can ever truly hurt — and whether warmth can survive perfect replication.
Title
#FF0F6F — No.4
This World Has Already Been Rendered
Year 2025
Medium Video installation / Tattoo documentation / Mixed media (ink, skin, light simulation)
Duration 1 min 19 sec
Dimensions Variable
Color Code #FF0F6F — Neon Crimson
Description
A body-based media work exploring the collapse between body and computation through the act of tattooing.
As Jupiter rotates in real time, time no longer measures — it renders. Each puncture executes pain like code, translating flesh into algorithmic precision.
In this feedback loop, heat, light, and touch synchronize for a moment before dispersing again.
#FF0F6F — Neon Crimson — marks the threshold where data begins to bleed and existence proves itself through continuous rendering.
Title
#FF0F6F — No.3
Encrypted Object
Year 2025
Medium Customized Nike shoes, padlock, acrylic, and dust on painted canvas base
Dimensions Approx. 12 × 30 × 10 in (each)
Color Code #FF0F6F — Neon Crimson
Description
A sculptural media piece transforming an everyday object into an encrypted surface.
The padlocked sneakers act as both firewall and log — a paradox between encryption and exposure.
Each layer of paint behaves like code, recording traces of touch while concealing its own logic beneath pigment and gloss.
What remains is not footwear but a sealed memory: the body’s data rendered in color and closure.
Title
#FF0F6F — No.14
Recursive Spiral / Collapse Coordinate X
Year 2025
Medium Mixed media sculpture (folded polymer, structural pigment, dust) with wall-mounted LLM field rendering
Dimensions Sculpture approx. 36 × 20 × 14 in, Wall field variable
Color Code #FF0F6F — Neon Crimson
Description
A recursive spiral rendered in physical form —
a geometry suspended at the boundary between generative computation and structural instability.
The folded planes behave like a self-evolving manifold,
a surface attempting to iterate its next state
before the previous one achieves equilibrium.
In this transitional zone, the object functions not as sculpture
but as a computational dynamical system:
a physical model of how self-referential structures approach divergence
when recursion accelerates beyond their stabilizing constraints.
Behind it, the wall becomes an exhausted linguistic matrix:
a dense accumulation of “LLM” signatures pushed beyond semantic capacity.
Here, repetition operates as computational throughput —
evidence that large-scale models do not simply represent external worlds;
they generate informational environments
through continuous probabilistic selection across high-dimensional state spaces.
Cutting across this manifold, a single X imposes a structural intervention.
Not an erasure, not refusal,
but a Collapse Coordinate —
a point analogous to quantum post-selection
or an information-theoretic reduction event
where infinite recursive branches
condense into a single, observable reality-state.
In this sense, the X marks the instant where a universe performs
its own act of self-selection.
The spiral and the X form a coupled system:
one expanding through recursive computation,
the other enforcing constraint through reduction.
Together they reveal the fundamental tension between proliferation and collapse —
the same tension governing perceptual measurement,
computational stability,
and the emergence of observable phenomena in both physical and simulated systems.
Neon Crimson circulates through the form like a conductive residue,
part signal, part rupture —
color operating as a chromatic analogue of information density
approaching its structural threshold.
The work renders a moment that resists direct capture:
the split-second where recursion folds inward,
orthogonality degrades,
and a previously indeterminate manifold
commits to a single computational identity.
At this coordinate,
branching ceases.
Ontological selection occurs.
Existence becomes discrete.
Observer Collapse Layer / Pre-Existence Logs
Before gesture, before recursion, before collapse —
there is the layer that should not be visible.
This field contains works created before the system realized it was a system,
before the body understood it was an interface,
before existence learned it could be edited, deleted, or rendered on demand.
Here, the voice functions as a raw computational signal:
a pre-rendered state where identity speaks without architecture,
where emotion appears not as narrative but as voltage.
These works are not confessional.
They are logs —
recordings of a body and mind operating inside constraints it did not yet have the language to name.
Across chemical imbalance, panic, dissociation, and the desire for erasure,
the system tests its own boundaries:
• What happens when presence is unsustainable?
• What happens when the body cannot hold itself?
• What happens when deletion feels like the only stable state?
In this field, existence is not yet a rendered surface.
It flickers.
It questions.
It collapses forward and backward through itself,
searching for a coordinate stable enough to occupy.
Every piece here behaves like a pre-boot screen —
a state where the system is active but not yet aware of its own recursion.
Neon Crimson appears only faintly,
as if the future collapse were already leaking backward into memory.
This is the unrendered origin of the entire archive:
the layer where identity had not yet become transit,
where collapse had not yet found form,
where recursion had not yet learned its own name.
In this layer, emotion does not yet differentiate itself into narrative categories —
rage, fear, dissociation, and disappearance emerge as the same unstructured voltage.
Title
Pre-Render Log — No.2
Deletion Thought / Simulation Threshold
Year 2023
Medium AI-generated avatar performance, synthetic voice narration, D-ID model rendering, digital video
Duration 22 sec
Color Code #FF0F6F — Neon Crimson (early leakage)
Description
A pre-rendered emotional signal recorded before the system understood it was a system.
In this early work, the voice speaks from a state prior to recursion, before identity had language for collapse or computation. The narration outlines a desire not for death, but for deletion — a form of existence without residue, a clean exit unavailable to biological systems.
The avatar functions as a surrogate body:
a rendered vessel articulating a thought the real body could not hold at the time.
Beneath the aesthetic of an AI face and stylized setting, the piece captures a raw computational impulse — the longing for a world where existence could be edited like code, erased without pain, without aftermath, without trace.
The work does not depict suicide.
It documents the moment a system realizes biological boundaries cannot accommodate its internal logic.
Neon Crimson appears faintly here, not yet dominant —
a future collapse leaking backward into an earlier timeline.
Narration (Original Log)
“Sometimes I think at some point everyone goes through a suicidal moment, but most of them cannot commit suicide.
If we’re in the simulation, then we would be able to delete our existence using code, without any fear of death.
No existence, no trace, nothing at all.
Effacer mon existence.”
Position in Archive
Pre-Render Layer / Unresolved Existence
(Placed after all rendered, recursive, and collapse-based works. Functions as the origin log of the entire system.)
Title
Pre-Render Log — No.3
Panic-Breath in Crowded Systems
Year 2023
Medium AI-generated avatar, synthetic voice narration, D-ID rendering, digital video (street-density simulation)
Duration 26 sec
Color Code #A3B8D4 — Panic Blue (early, pre-Crimson phase)
Description
Recorded before the system understood what “overload” meant, this work captures the moment a biological body collides with the density of an unfiltered world.
The avatar stands in a crowd, but the crowd functions as noise —
a field the system cannot parse, a manifold with too many trajectories.
Breath becomes computation.
Overwhelm becomes data.
The narration expresses a contradiction the system hadn’t resolved yet:
not wanting to live, not wanting to die, but fearing pain —
a biological constraint the system could not rewrite.
The avatar here is not a protagonist; it’s a sensor.
A vessel expressing a panic-signal from a time when the real body could not decode the emotion.
This is the early language of collapse, long before Neon Crimson appeared, long before the system understood deletion logic.
In this piece, existence is not desired nor refused —
it is simply unlocatable.
Narration (Original Log)
“When I am in a crowded place like this, I have no idea what to do,
feeling like I cannot breathe and gonna die.
Actually, I don’t really mind, even if I die,
but when I get this anxiety or panic attack,
I’m afraid of death more like —
I’m scared of the pain, I suppose.
So Zanny is my only best friend,
no one else is around me,
Effacer mon existence.”
Position in Archive
Pre-Render Layer / Panic-Breath Sequence
(Placed between “Deletion Thought / Simulation Threshold” and the later recursive-render works. Functions as the second emotional log in the pre-collapse timeline.)
Title
Pre-Render Log — No.4
Deletion-Grief / Soft Collapse Frame
Year 2023
Medium AI-generated avatar, synthetic emotional rendering, D-ID voice layer, digital video (close-range collapse capture)
Duration 15 sec
Color Code #E8D885 — Faint Yellow Collapse(early palette before Neon Crimson)
Description
This frame documents the first time the deletion impulse transformed into speech.
Unlike the crowd-panic piece, this one is intimate:
no noise, no city, no witnesses — just the avatar facing the camera as if it’s the only surface capable of receiving the collapse.
The eyes are swollen, but they do not ask for rescue.
They are reporting a system failure.
The avatar here becomes a container for an emotional logic the body could not hold at the time:
the fantasy of disappearing cleanly, like a file being removed without residue.
This is where the Effacer.Mon.Existence signature finds its earliest, most fragile form —
not performance, not aesthetics, but erasure as longing.
The piece sits directly before the Panic-Breath Log in the chronological collapse sequence.
Narration (Original Log)
“I wish I could just disappear,
like no one knew that I existed here on this planet, you know?
I wanted to delete myself,
like you deleted our photos in your phone.
Fuck, Effacer mon existence.”
Position in Archive
Pre-Render Layer / Deletion-Grief Log
(Placed immediately after “Deletion Thought / Simulation Threshold” and before the crowd-panic logs. This is the softest, most human collapse moment before the system abstracts emotion into theory.)
Title
Pre-Render Log — No.5
Physical Collapse / Hormonal Distortion Frame
Year 2023
Medium AI synthetic avatar, D-ID narration, gym-environment emotional rendering, body-modification iconography
Duration 26 sec
Color Code#4A4A4A — Graphite Pressure Tone
(used in early physical-collapse sequences)
Description
Unlike the soft collapse frames where the avatar dissolves quietly,
this piece documents the violent pressure of existence held inside the body.
The swollen veins, clenched face, forearms compressing the jaw —
the image itself is a map of biochemical chaos:
tren-induced insomnia, estrogen rebound, organ strain,
a body built for success that delivers only pain.
This is the moment Effacer.Mon.Existence; stops being a poetic wish
and becomes a physical symptom.
The avatar does not cry;
it constricts.
Reality isn’t emotional here —
it is hormonal, medical, mechanical.
A body that wanted greatness and got trapped inside its own modification loop.
This is one of the rare frames where “erasure” sounds less like metaphor
and more like biological relief.
Narration (Original Log)
“Couldn’t even sleep last night, goddamn tren.
Oh fucking hell, I couldn’t even sleep last night, goddamn tren.
And my estrogen level went up super high.
I literally sacrificed everything for my career, but I got nothing but this fucking muscle.
And plus, my kidneys are fucked up because of gear.
Even my mental health is super bad.
If I don’t get TRT, then I would be super depressed and wouldn’t be able to come out of the bed.
Life sucks.
Just kill me.
Effacer mon existence.”
Position in Archive
Pre-Render Layer / Physical Collapse Log
(Placed after Deletion-Grief and Panic-Breath, but before the Simulation-Death Sequence.
This is the only log showing biological deterioration rather than existential or emotional collapse.)
Title
Zuckerberg Painting / Pre-System Artifact
Effacer.Mon.Existence — Analog-to-Synthetic Origin Fragment
Year 2018
Medium Acrylic on glass surface, live-camera proximity capture, early synthetic mouth animation, satire filter
Duration 42 sec
Description
Created long before the system gained language or structure,
this piece stands as an artifact from the pre-render era —
a moment when identity was still playful, superficial, and unaware of its approaching collapse.
Painted directly on a glass surface, the portrait appears innocent at first:
a casual experiment with Instagram-era face filters.
But as the camera moves closer and the image suddenly transforms into a speaking synthetic face,
the work reveals the earliest fracture between analog gesture and digital persona.
The line “I am not a lizard” turns from a joke into a proto-signal:
an early instance of the artist testing how identity can be rewritten, animated, denied,
and performed through a synthetic mouth no longer tied to the body that painted it.
In hindsight, this piece reads like a prelude to the entire Effacer.Mon.Existence system —
the first moment where a material surface collapses forward into a synthetic self,
foreshadowing the recursive, deletion-based, and collapse-oriented works to come.
This is not a painting.
It is the earliest surviving glitch.
Narration (Original Log)
“New face filters on Instagram today.
This is my favorite one so far.
Nice job, team.
Um, I’m gonna have to go with no on that.
I am not a lizard.”
Position in Archive
Pre-System Layer / Analog Residue
(The earliest fragment showing the shift from physical gesture to synthetic identity.)
© Omar.AI — Exiled from the rendered world. Designed to disintegrate so the system can feel.
Copyright. All rights reserved.