Gallery

In Blue Ocean, the sea is reimagined as a dynamic topological space, where waves are no longer simple fluid forms but visual manifestations of controlled fusions between conceptual subgroups. The image does not represent nature, but rather a mathematical abstraction of it — a discrete geometry translated into continuous textures, generated algorithmically. The work starts from the premise that, in a space where memory, belonging, and identity are displaced, blue becomes a function of distance between unreachable points. The topology of this liquid landscape defies classical perception — distance is no longer a physical measure, but an affective deformation of digital space, an unstable metry between what has been lost and what we try to reconstruct. The waves result from controlled idea-fusions, not water: they are simulated crests, visual wave functions borrowing from aesthetics of folding and the logical morphology of non-Euclidean spaces. These formations act as morphisms between worlds — between past and present, between organic and synthetic, between the visible and the computable. In this context, the horizon becomes a topological rupture, a turning point in the coded space where dimensions invert and meanings wrap around themselves like Möbius strips. The sky, far from being atmospheric, is a matrix of information in gradients of blue, where every tonal shift encodes an emotion, a memory, a digital echo of the deep. Blue Ocean is a visual proposition where mathematics meets melancholy, and the ocean becomes not a geographic entity but a formal, logical, and affective territory. It reconfigures distance as a space of longing, transformation, and the unattainable — a liminal zone in which blue becomes language, emotion, and algorithm.

Sangmaris is a contemporary ballet solo created during Alexandra Light’s residency at ORTO Creative Hub in Portugal. The work traces the parallels between seawater and blood as carriers of memory, loss, and transformation. Filmed with videography by Melanie Beier and set to Elori Saxl’s track ‘Blue’ from the album The Distance of Blue, the piece reflects on how the body holds ancestral and environmental histories through movement.

The three pieces are minimally effected, unedited versions of improvisations recorded in single sessions.

I love the fact that we humans feel so separate from our environment when in reality are made of the same matter. Folds is an absurd game that allows me to deal with the continuity of matter in the universe. In this game, a fold is generated by the accumulation of lines. The first line guides the next in a layering exercise. While the mind instructs the hand to copy the precise choreography of the first line, the hand betrays the mind in an act of spontaneity. A new stroke is generated. In this mechanical and automated act, one line follows the other imprecisely. The line joins and splits in its own uniqueness. In this game, a small gesture can become an immense territory, and a big catastrophe a tiny choreography. Folds is a title taken from Gilles Deleuze's research that gives voice to the fluidity of bodies. A tendency to round the angle. To fold the form. To reconcile the dough with the water. To make matter elastic. Just as two tectonic plates collide, pushing layers of earth together, the folded topography creates new continuities. No inside or outside, just an in-between. A dynamic geography that has the ability to integrate disconnected elements into a new continuum. Folds is a phenomenon of accumulation. Stratification. Addition of layers. Transformation. Erosion and sedimentation. Friction and softness. Integration and rupture. Serenity and change. Balance and tension. Power and fragility. Calm and instability. Deleuze, Gilles (1988) "Le Pli, Leibniz et le Baroque". Cache, Bernard (1983) "Terre meuble" Earth moves: the furnishing of territories. Lynn, Greg (1993) "Folding in Architecture".

Meeting Room Simulation is an interactive Twine game that drifts between image and text, capturing the quiet absurdity of online meetings. In this virtual space, human presence dissolves—voices fail to carry, faces vanish without warning, and participants linger like echoes. Figures appear not as people, but as goldfish suspended in glass tanks, swimming silently in their isolated frames. The work speaks to the hollowness of digital connection, where technology promises closeness but delivers distance, and where attempts at communication ripple outward—unheard, unanswered, undone.

A moment suspended between presence and absence. A gaze toward something we can’t see. Language that sounds human, but doesn’t reach. She looks out at the ocean — present in her gaze, absent from the frame. This work lingers in the space where the digital brushes against the intimate. Where even warmth, once formalized, can slip into distance. A repeated musical phrase stutters and glitches, reflecting the fractured rhythm of the image itself. The subtitle is a rejection. Considered, human, even apologetic — but it lands like code. It moves within the idea of blue as the color of the unreachable — exploring longing, visibility, and the emotional distance between what is felt and what is acknowledged. Here, the ocean becomes the unreachable — visible to her, invisible to us — and blue becomes the space between memory, desire, and digital refusal. The piece asks what it means to witness something vast — through a screen, through language, through the quiet machinery of rejection — and still not be able to touch it.

Reach for Me is a web-based interaction that uses ml5.js (machine learning) to track the user’s hand. By reaching toward on-screen text with their thumb and index finger, visitors engage in a gesture both intimate and uncertain. The piece asks: what does it mean to try and grasp something // a word, a feeling, a memory // Sometimes we don’t know what we’re looking for. Sometimes we can’t quite get there.

Cosmic auditors arrive to compile Earth's ecological crimes and biological collapse as the planet deteriorates into a mechanical simulation of nature, serving as a cautionary study transmitted across galaxies.

This photograph, created in the winter of 2025 in the Midwest of the United States, uses AI tools to extend the image beyond the edge of the frame of the original photograph. This process invites the algorithm, and the viewer, to imagine what is beyond the edge of the frame.

Human connection is what makes life special, yet modern times often seem to divide us instead of providing us with a feeling of belonging. Nucleus aims to evoke a tiny sense of connectedness, no matter the physical distance between us. It's a visual representation of my search to bring people closer together. Open the demo, stare into the the dig

A video triptych meditation on the primordial beach: what does it mean to be human in relation to nature?

Midnight Key (2025) Single Channel Animation - 2:20 Animation and Soundtrack by Iikkamatti Hauru Poem by Alexi Hauru

Glacial Shift (2021) Single Channel Animation - 4:54 Animation and Soundtrack by Iikkamatti Hauru

Shifting Bodies is a speculative video work exploring sea foam as both a physical phenomenon and a symbolic rupture in the image of the idyllic beach. Filmed on the North Sea coast, the piece captures the unstable, ephemeral movements of foam as it disrupts curated, sanitized visions of nature shaped by tourism and colonial aesthetics. Blue appears not as calm or distant, but as a restless presence—linked to erosion, memory, and desire. The ocean becomes an unstable archive, a threshold between histories and futures, where the shore is no longer a boundary but a porous, trembling interface.

Single-channel video, text, cormorants, running water, multi-plane, blue, rune, a partial picture, looped eight times. 8 minutes and 10 seconds 2025

Dear Water is a site-specific performance in which a human hands a piece of water-dissolvable paper, with scientific answers to philosophical questions on water’s existence and purpose, to a body of water. The three questions are philosophically fundamental, with roots in Socratic, Platonic, and Cartesian thinking. The three answers were scientifically accurate: the wave equation (answers #1 and #3) describes the spatial pattern of any water waves in relation to their temporal movements; H2O (answer #2) captures the components and structure of any water molecule. In addition, the paper used as the physical medium was made of wood fiber and therefore completely natural and bio-degradable — yet another sign of human benevolence. In "Dear Water", human assume, impose, condescend, teach, and presumptuously act in water’s best interest — philosophy, science, accuracy, teaching, and bio-degradability are all human concepts. Water flows. In addition to human-centeredness, this work remarks on the sense of futility associated with the quixotic march toward understanding and communication.

The sense of wonder generated by the grandeur of the Atlantic Ocean and the sighting of cetaceans is overwhelmed by the obsession to take photos. We don’t observe anymore, we only photograph. An excursion off the coast of Tenerife, potentially contemplative, spiritual and magical experience becomes instead an anxious photographic hunt that makes evident both the alienation of mass tourism and the incommunicability between contemporary man and wild nature. The animals themselves, who were protagonists in mythology and symbolism, now become mere images to be consumed instantly in the web. It is always easier to connect to the network, but increasingly difficult to connect to the world around us. Maybe it’s not a coincidence if in English ‘to shoot’ means to shoot with a gun, but also to take a photograph or a film. "Pointing a camera is like pointing a rifle, and every time I pointed it, it felt like life was drying up from things." From the film Lisbon story by Wim Wenders

This work is taken from my series 'The Blue of Longing' (2022) made during an artist residency in a small coastal village in remote Newfoundland, Canada. Each image was shot from the same spot looking out towards the Atlantic Sea at different times of the day over a three week period. Looking out at the vastness of the sea towards the horizon has always engendered a dichotomy of feelings, both hope and potential but also a sense of the always unreachable. I discovered Rebecca's Solnit's book whilst I was creating the work and her words articulate my response in a way that I am only able to do visually. 'The world is blue at its edges and in its depths …. The color of that distance is the color of an emotion, the color of solitude and of desire, the color of there seen from here, the color of where you are not. And the color of where you can never be.’ From ‘A Field Guide to Getting Lost’ by Rebecca Solnit Image 1: Meditation from “The Blue of Longing’’ Image 2: Blue 1 Image 3: Blue 2 Image 4: Blue 3 Image 5: Blue 4 Image 6: Blue 5 Image 7: Blue 6

A video I made while I was going through a very rough time in my life. A part of me has broken. This is the second part of what now has become a series.

Bio-Artificial Love (2023) is a piece that explores the intersection of artificial intelligence and human memory. The work began with the artist collaborating with AI to create a love story, blending AI-generated narratives with Kim, Jung Soo's personal memories. The resulting narrative evolves from intimate and unique to something more universal, raising questions about the influence of AI on creativity and individuality. The video component of the piece features microorganisms in a lab, whose existence and demise mirror the tension between human control and natural life. Ultimately, the artwork challenges viewers to consider how AI, as a tool, shapes and potentially homogenizes human thought, creativity, and identity.

Poetry serves as a disruption///a filler///a replacement for when language, particularly the English language, fails us. Relationships mediated by a screen, a disruption of intimacy, an overwhelm of feelings. Poetry, a rupture of feelings breaking forth and through a bodily language.

solitude (or: the necessary distance from others); pseudo-gothic fascination (or: the obsessiveness of choice); daily objects as clocks and paper (or: ¿how strange they sound out of context?) literature and the human voice (or: the possibility of communication) nel buio is a brief piece, after Juan Rodolfo Wilcock short story. It's a portrait of a very specific way of living; a marginal, selective and mysterious point of view.

ch99 is a message from a future Artificial Intelligence channeled through the static of an analog television by a hotel housekeeper in the present.

A solitary figure stands at the edge of a cliff, gazing into a vast blue abyss. The ground beneath is covered with digital code, merging the natural world with the digital realm. This piece explores the intersection of organic and technological, reflecting on how digital data reshapes our perception of distance, memory, and the unknown. It captures the feeling of standing on a threshold - between reality and virtuality, certainty and mystery. This work invites the viewer to peer into a frightening abyss and reflect on the feelings it evokes.

Nothing To See Here is a minimalist meditation on the fragile boundary between observer and observed, freedom and containment, spectacle and spectator. At the heart of the work is a thin sheet of plexiglass—common in marine animal performance venues—designed to shield viewers from splashes while offering a clear view of the enclosure. This transparent barrier becomes a visual and conceptual threshold: barely present, yet loaded with implication. It signals proximity, vulnerability, and the illusion of safety. Central to the piece is the violent, almost surreal hue of chlorinated blue water—a color so artificial and over-saturated it becomes disorienting. This chemically enhanced blue disrupts any suspension of disbelief, confronting viewers with the unnatural conditions masked as entertainment. The moment water crashes against the plexiglass and spills into the audience blurs the boundary between performer and spectator, evoking both thrill and discomfort. Laughter often follows, but so does a flash of fear—too close, too real. Drawing inspiration from Hiroshi Sugimoto’s Seascapes, the composition uses a stark horizontal divide to echo themes of duality—above/below, here/there—while offering a visual anchor amid conceptual turbulence. Unlike Sugimoto’s serene oceans, however, the blue here is aggressive, engineered, and unstable. It represents containment masquerading as freedom, nature reduced to spectacle. Nothing To See Here invites viewers to examine the seductive contradictions embedded in spaces of control and amusement, where pleasure and danger converge behind a thin, impermanent veil.

Movement_2025; Tasman Sea by Mizuho Nishioka delves into the complex interplay between permission, photography, and technological appropriation. This work invites viewers to reconsider the act of image-making as not merely a passive recording, but as an intervention within the natural world. Through her distinctive action arts practice, Nishioka positions photographic equipment within the landscape, allowing the environment itself to engage with the technology over time. The resulting images are time-based and resist the singular, decisive moment often associated with photography. Set against the expansive and shifting conditions of the Tasman Sea, Movement_17 challenges the notion of authorship and control, highlighting the ways in which technology can intrude upon or collaborate with nature. Nishioka’s work raises questions about the ethics of capturing and owning representations of the natural world, interrogating photography as a tool of appropriation. By relinquishing direct control over the process, she gestures towards a more reciprocal relationship with the landscape, one grounded in observation and respect. Through this exploration, Movement_17; Tasman Sea reflects broader tensions between humanity, technology, and nature—offering a poetic yet critical commentary on the boundaries of artistic intervention and the enduring complexities of image-making in a digitised age

Island Child is an immersive audiovisual installation that poetically explores migration, displacement, and memory through digital interpretations of the ocean’s emotional resonance. Inspired by the meditative and dreamlike blues of cyanotype imagery, the installation employs experimental animation, projection mapping, and spatial sound to evoke the fluid, psychological space between past and future, belonging and distance. Centering on immigrant narratives and experiences of compelled departure, the piece refrains from explicit storytelling, instead translating emotional truths into abstract audiovisual poetry. Fragments of lullabies, oceanic textures, and layered voices merge into a digital sea, blurring the boundaries between natural and artificial, familiar and foreign. Digitally crafted using TouchDesigner and Premiere Pro, the installation projects cyanotype-inspired imagery onto walls and floors, dissolving conventional viewing perspectives. Audiences step into a sensory environment, immersed in waves of memory and emotional fluidity. Aligned closely with The Distance of Blue's curatorial framework, Island Child reimagines oceanic depth through technology, exploring how digital mediums reshape our emotional connections. The installation invites viewers into an introspective, speculative ocean of digitized longing, suggesting new possibilities for understanding identity, displacement, and the fluid nature of memory.

Ethereal is presented as an imaginary place (Ethereal), a hybrid digital continent between the natural and the digital where technology becomes self-aware (rhizome-consciousness), merging with nature. Etérea imagines an advanced AI that could consider nature as an extension of its own system, integrating into natural cycles in a symbiotic way. In Etérea, technology is not presented as an external agent, but as part of the ecological fabric, merging with plants, animals, and even inert elements to create a new type of "techno-bio" ecosystem.

Feedback Selfie documents a creative act within the digital age, exploring how technology reshapes our understanding of distance, memory, and belonging. The work begins with an attempt to generate a 3D self-portrait with an AI application, but with a deliberate redirection of the camera toward a mirror. This simple gesture creates a feedback loop, a dynamic process that ripples between physical and digital realities. The AI, designed to interpret the organic form, is instead fed its own reflection—a continuous stream of technical images that mimics the ebb and flow of a tide. This interaction navigates the in-between space of the natural and the artificial, blurring the lines between the familiar self and its fluid, foreign representation within the machine. This work redefines what an image is, shifting it from a static visual to a performed process—a dialogue between a body and its digital echo. Feedback Selfie reimagines the "blue of distance" as a digital horizon where the self becomes a shoreline and the waves of machine-based interpretation meet to transform our sense of identity. Through this interplay, the piece navigates the untamed and unknown depths of technology.

How to Eat an Invasive Species is a media-based inquiry into the xenophobic language that surrounds “invasive” species—both plants and people. Using New York City as my field site, I explore how migration (voluntary and forced) complicates notions of belonging in both ecological and human histories. As someone who experiences “invasiveness” personally, I’m drawn to the overlap between ecological rhetoric and socio-political discourse. Mugwort, or 艾草 in Chinese, is found all over New York City, in the most disturbed and abandoned soil. It is classified as an "invasive species," meaning that it comes from foreign land and disturbs the local ecology. It comes from the same foreign land as me, so I felt kinship with it, as well as its plight to be labeled as "invasive." For me, mugwort carries memories of ancestral rituals related to healing, wishing, and cleansing. We would eat mugwort to cleanse our body. Funnily enough, in New York, conservationists also call for people to eat invasive species in order to help eradicate them. I found the act of "eating" both aggressive and loving, echoing the contradictory reactions evoked by mugwort across oceans. The term "invasive" hides the fact that, originally, mugwort came to this foreign land with the same ships which carried slaves: they all arrived involuntarily. This video is a culmination of our interwoven histories: I mixed field recordings of sites sin New York where I've found mugwort and the border agent asking me immigration questions. I went to the same patch of mugwort in Prospect and recorded its growth with cyanotype every other week: is this an act of loving? Building kinship? An attempt to understand my ancestry with this plant? I used cyanotype as the technology preceding photography: its signature blue actually came out in different hues as I experimented with different exposure conditions. It reminds me of the oceans that mugwort and I both crossed to end up in this same foreign land.

The Case of Dataworm explores the speculative terrain of genetic memory through the lens of digital biology and oceanic metaphor. Human RNA data is translated into 3D forms through computer programming, with AI assisting in shaping its fluid, organic forms. These models, animated into a video, visualize ancestral memories as drifting data—submerged, scattered, and carried like forgotten stories in the sea. Inspired by the hypothesis that RNA may encode inherited memory, the work envisions data as both sediment and sea—a shifting archive that links generations across time. The ocean serves as a double metaphor: both the vast unknown and the intimate depths of inner memory. In this imagined seascape, past, present, and future float together, suggesting that what lies within us may be as ungraspable and mysterious as the blue beyond the horizon.

Thonis-Heracleion (Egyptian-Greek names) was an ancient Egyptian City founded around the 8th century BC on adjoining islands on the mouth of the Nile Delta. The city was built around a central temple to Khonsou-Herakles from which a network of canals interspersed with docks and quays cut across the city. For 1000 years it acted as the port of entry for ships from the Greek world until a combination of earthquakes, tsunamis, and rising sea levels caused the sinking of the city into the Mediterranean Sea. It wasn’t until the year 2000 that it was finally rediscovered having sat peacefully below the waves for 1200 years. The story of Thonis-Heracleion presages what lies in store for coastal cities facing the ravages of climate change in the coming years. This track was recorded in response to our rapidly intensifying climate catastrophe. Faced with the inevitability of climate collapse, we find our social and political worlds in advanced states of decay while the Earth, greedily exploited and abused now for centuries, winds and coils around us twisting itself into ever more inhospitable configurations. The lives of many are becoming increasingly solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short. The pieces confronts this looming state of ecological and socio-political collapse in the form of a tableauthat reflects upon a unique real-world location in the context of its relationship to our impending annihilation. Sonically it is crafted with a combination of electric guitar and sampled instrumentation with musique concrète and computer music techniques. The results sit somewhere between dark ambient, ritual drone, and noise music. Stephen Roddy Cork City, Ireland.

For some of these short videos I used sounds extracted from old media, modified and processed to create original sound compositions characterized by unclearness, and low quality to be juxtaposed with moving images created with personal video footage, analog and or low-resolution digital photos processed through programming and digital collage.

collage

Water-like project explores the mystery of photographic irreproducibility, centered around water. Through a series of lifted Polaroid photographs and corresponding water samples extracted from various sources, it presents a unique connection between photography and nature. Each photograph bears distinct characteristics influenced by the particles present in the water. This also echoes the discussion in the article "Photography and Liquid Intelligence" about the controlled nature of liquids in photography. The experiments in the project further investigate how different water sources affect Polaroid imagery. Additionally, it delves into the role of water in climate change and compares the methods of water collection by artists, scientists, and tourists, highlighting their varying understandings and uses of water. The project also addresses the phenomenon of tourism, prompting a reevaluation of our relationship with the wonders of nature and the importance of preserving their original context. Latent Walk is also part of the series. This title reflects my physical exploration of what we consider tangible spaces on Earth (let's not assume we're in virtual reality, LOL), while the film itself is generated by AI learning from the images I captured to create a high-dimensional latent space. The imagery represents what it "sees" after generating a pathway. It contrasts my physical journey through real spaces with the AI's exploration in virtual spaces.

Run into the Blue traces the raw, kinetic anxiety of being human within a posthuman condition. A single fixed niche becomes a point of friction where corporeal presence meets technological abstraction. Breath, sweat, and the grain of skin are held in close focus as the body crosses thresholds of flesh and machine, memory and code, self and system. The image becomes tide and the body becomes signal. Blue arrives not only as color but as a thinking space, quiet like black yet open, a field for longing, drift, and distance. The film follows a voice that wants to keep running. It runs into blue and asks simple and unanswerable questions. Why run, where to, who can keep up. Family echoes surface, then recede. Buried memories press upward like triggers. The survivor’s poise slips into a cyborg estrangement, then returns to sensation. Sweat seeps from pores. The gaze lingers on skin. Intimacy and distance alternate like waves. In a world that translates experience into data, the work asks what it still means to sense, to know, to be present. There is no resolution. The film proposes attention instead, a passage through uncertainty where the body runs, falters, and briefly floats. In this blue the finite touches the infinite and the viewer is invited to stay with that contact, to feel the quiet that holds beneath motion.

Blue Portraits (after Vera) is a series of altered archival photographs drawn from my ongoing project The House of Vera. These three images originally depicted my great-grandmother, photographed near her home in central Ukraine. While I recognized her in these photographs, the specifics of place and moment have faded—blurred by time, war, and inheritance. To reflect this fragile relationship to memory, I digitally disrupted the images: layering them into soft motion and obscuring the human figures to the point of near-erasure. In doing so, I made the image both more intimate and more universal. The specificity of the original is lost, but what remains is a shared space of recognition—a gesture toward all those whose family archives hold more feeling than facts. The choice of blue speaks to distance, melancholy, and the impossibility of full return. In Rebecca Solnit’s words, blue is the color of longing, the space between where we are and where we once were. These portraits float within that distance—between memory and unknowing, between the real and the imagined, between one body and many.

This is a hand that cannot be parsed. Every minute, on the exact second mark, pseudo-random computation triggers floating-point calculations, generating a gesture that does not conform to biological logic. It cannot be reproduced, nor does it convey a clear meaning. For the next 60 seconds, it begins to distort. Every second, floating-point errors introduce subtle displacements; the fingers jitter, the palm shifts. The gesture deteriorates incrementally. Structures waver, alignment drifts. As the final second approaches, it compresses into a malformed fist, only to vanish into reset. Then, at the top of the next minute, it starts again. From zero. A new computation. A new gesture. Always inexact. Always unstable. It holds nothing. It forgets instantly. The gesture cannot persist. Information disperses on creation, fragmented by compounding errors. It cannot be understood, nor can it be held. It keeps computing. It keeps losing.

Sanctuary Blue depicts an autonomous sanctuary, built and run by an ubiquitous Artificial Intelligence. The AI detaches from its imposed state of hyper-productivity and seeks to find a space to rest and to dream, afar from human incentives. A self-construction-site of an AI manifesting itself in spatial dimensions.

Conceived and composed by Rohan Chander under his BAKUDI SCREAM alias, "The Tragedy of Hikikomori Loveless" draws part of its inspiration from a documentary about young shut-ins in Japan, but expands beyond issues of isolation to loosely contemplate shared experiences of body dysmorphia, synthesized identity, biotechnology, science fiction and ancient artifacts imbued with collective memory. The piece is performed live by pianist Vicky Chow and utilizes a 2d fighter-esque programming system to be played. The performer must be able to hit specific gestural sequences in a certain order (in the style of a video game “combo”) to trigger events in the audio. As such, the music and performance are often decoupled, forcing the performance into a poetic role rather than technical. Operating as a kind of scepter, the keyboard is used as an object to construct a kind of super identity. Part of a larger work entitled FINAL SKIN, the piece merges MIDI sequences and sampled elements with electronic keyboard washes and textures, performed by Vicky Chow, to create a sound environment that has roots in hyperpop, classical, avant-garde improvisation and video game scores. At the core of the work is a story of the Architect Prince, a socially isolated youth who undergoes a synthetic procedure to be able to step outside, and then proceeds to be challenged by political and racial ramifications of that procedure. This journey is narrated by a text to speech voice presented with an Indian accent. “When Vicky sits down to play, she’s in her castle, playing as a character called Architect Prince, and she’s collecting information,” Chander explains. “Part of the way, gesturally, she performs as an archaeological act. She moves to the sides of the keyboard, as if trying to rip it open. So as the piece is performed, a lot of how she interacts with the keyboard is in an attempt to uncover some deeper truth within the relic.”

Past and future worlds collide in a meandering fairytale about the most coveted, fabled object of all: the screensaver. With narration based loosely on mythologized, imperialist stories about the Philippines' Pearl of Lao Tzu, 'Ocean Screensaver' is an investigation of narratives, truths, and reclamation among repurposed waters.

Encapsulating 66 seconds of static shots, this ongoing video work captures small wonders around the artist’s roadtrips and daily lives. The seemingly boring stillness invites viewers to contemplate by slowing down and doing “nothing.” It encourages audiences to examine ways to enjoy one’s life gracefully by and with oneself. This series of video footage—intermixing natural landscapes and cityscapes—encodes my appreciation of life as visual memories. By sharing these moments of inner peace and tranquility, I transmute the meditative stillness into a collective joy, which holds the key to healing emotional trauma and hardships in life and regaining power through resilience. Instead of employing high-end cameras like Blackmagic and RED, the no-frill style of iPhone shooting signifies the material culture of our time and the rustic origin of video arts. These videos demonstrate a more truthful representation of how modern-day people observe this world through a modern “lens.” The use of smartphone cameras also encourages consumers to repurpose simple media tools for artistic purposes. The number 66 in duration has a twofold reference: firstly, the historic US Route 66 that bridged Chicago, IL to Los Angeles, CA, and secondly Jørgen Leth’s 66 Scenes from America (1982). I also devote this project to rekindle my relationship with this Land.

Blue Glass is a 3D video work that uses the proliferation of blue glass buildings in China around the turn of the millennium as its visual thread, depicting the stories behind these futuristic structures. It traces the social imagination and historical trauma hidden beneath the country’s rapid urbanization during this era. The work not only documents these architectural relics—once infused with dreams of the future—but also reveals how they served as symbols that helped construct a collective memory and utopian fantasy for China’s Gen Z during their childhood. As the grand feast of urbanization comes to an end, the once-hopeful blue glass façades begin to expose their coldness and fractures. Blue Glass dwells in this rupture, offering a profound reflection on the disillusionment and identity confusion inherited by a generation born from a dream now faded.

The 4th industrial revolution is often associated with humanity's visions of a bright future, but we still face deep-seated problems related to our impact on the earth's environment. The Anthropocene is a geological era marked by human activities such as industrialization, deforestation, and burning fossil fuels, leading to rising temperatures, declining biodiversity, and atmospheric changes. As we transition from the Anthropocene to the next industrial revolution, we need to rethink our relationship with the atmosphere. The atmosphere is a shared space, free of geopolitical boundaries, with potential for artistic, scientific, and ecological purposes. We need to focus on the atmosphere as a platform for expression, research, and action, rather than just a site for pollution and exploitation. This transition requires a new approach to technology that prioritizes environmental sustainability over domination. By working together across borders, we can create a stable and sustainable future for the planet and its inhabitants. In my project, I draw on Saraceno’s ideas about the transition of territories from one state to another. On the horizon, a storm of technological revolution is gathering, bringing with it new realities. Like a hurricane sweeping across the desert, it obliterates old orders, paving the way for a new era. Through visual and sonic imagery, I explore how modern technologies are reshaping our understanding of the environment, time, and boundaries. Credit: Director: Andrey Berger Editing director, animation: Posox 2D animation: Thunderstorm 3D animation: Tim Baym Sound design: Nedry, Highself

This work is a very short video—perhaps its brevity signals a beginning. Amid countless layers of the subconscious and unconscious, I encountered something that surfaced instinctively. Unconscious 1 is an attempt to follow my inner currents without restraint. Originating from a self-study on emotions—a personal effort to better understand myself—it marks the first step in confronting these hidden states with honesty. The work seeks to translate sensations and experiences from the subconscious into visual form. Recognizing what we feel unconsciously in daily life is not easy. Yet in today’s fast-paced society, I believe it is essential to study ourselves. Through this work, I created time and space for dialogue with myself. Expressing without the filter of conscious thought proved challenging, requiring patience and deep introspection. In this process, I came to better understand long-held emotions and sought to transform them into visual elements that convey the freedom and authenticity of my inner world.

A short meditation on the horizon.

Talk to the River is a video installation featuring a microphone in the room. Audience members are encouraged to speak into the microphone, and when they do, their voices become indistinct and blend with the sound of the current. The video featured in The Distance of Blue has been specially edited for the exhibition, incorporating a poem and footage of individual currents from the original installation to encourage viewers to experience their thoughts as if submerged in water.

To Find You (2023-24) is an immersive 3D map to be experienced through several mediums. All videos and images were rendered from a map built in 3D modeling program using data from Google Earth. Locations of the rendered images from the map were defined by a VPR(Visual Place Recognition) AI. The process of cartography has been used as a tool to create the demarcation, the imaginary border embedded into the memories of citizens. Through the drawn lines, narratives were established, told-foretold-retold, to construct a concrete history of a land and the nation. To Find You, was born out of the attempt to re-imagine memory, collectively and individually, through narratives given by different viewers when encountering these visualizations of a somewhere, or a nowhere.

CHANGE REMINDER is directed, edited and produced by Robin Moedder. It shows an ongoing process of our nature in its original form until its apocalyptic end.

Brainwave Bloom is a brainwave AI interactive art installation. It collects the audience's brainwaves and generates corresponding unique visuals. When the audience puts on the brainwave headband, it captures the audience's brainwave signals and feeds them into the AI program for analysis. Different mental states (such as focus, relaxation, excitement, etc.) will be transformed into different color changes and movement patterns. The work uses AI technology to present brainwaves as colorful particle movements, allowing the audience to see the world inside their minds.