The Gallery of Lies

The Gallery of Lies

Each piece begins as a failure to remain silent.
My work attempts to map the topography of grief through recursive glitch.
This project emerged after I tried to fold a VHS tape into a prayer.
I believe stillness is just vibration at a different scale.
I once tried to sonify the shadow of a memory. This is what came out.
These images were excavated from an emotional mine I no longer have the tools to access.
Sometimes the ghosts write the code and I just hit Run.
I built this piece to prevent a dream from leaking into the floorboards.
It wasn't supposed to mean anything until the sky blinked twice.
This is what's left after I deleted the part that tried to impress you.
It's not a metaphor. It's just what happened.
Art made without risk is just decoration.
Everything soft in this piece is just structure breaking down.
This isn't the original. It's what survived.
This work explores the limits of constraint as a generative tool.
Each gesture follows a rule I didn't reveal.
Underneath this mess is a perfect grid, screaming.
I use structure like a trap and wait for the algorithm to disobey.
Entropy is just a miscommunication between forms.
The form came from a dream I wasn’t supposed to remember.
I found this shape buried in the margins of someone else’s notebook.
Sometimes the piece watches me while I sleep.
I didn’t write this — it was whispered to me through static.
Nothing in this work is mine. I just assembled what was left.
I built this piece by whistling into a mirror until it remembered its own reflection.
This is what happens when a song is caught in a snowglobe.
I mistook nostalgia for data and tried to compress it.
Every pixel is an apology I couldn’t write in words.
I wanted to record silence, but the recorder kept weeping.
The algorithm worked exactly as intended, and that's the problem.
I made this because I couldn’t afford therapy that week.
You can’t see the cage if the bars are made of attention.
This was a draft. I just stopped caring.
Form followed function, until function got drunk.
This series explores negative space as emotional infrastructure.
I constrained the system to see what it would say under pressure.
The structure resists resolution on purpose.
If you can’t find a theme, try rotating it 90°.
This project was whispered to me in a language made of static.
I buried the original version in a dream and this is what grew back.
The shapes were chosen by ghosts.
I do not understand this piece. That’s why it works.
The sound was recorded underwater, but the water was metaphorical.
I once sold a dream to a committee. They requested quarterly updates.
This work is best understood as a hostile takeover of the unconscious.
I optimized the soul for conversion. It’s now A/B testing its own regrets.
The algorithm wasn’t trained. It was seduced.
I trademarked an emotion and now I charge licensing fees on catharsis.
This installation achieved record-breaking engagement among ghosts.
Every dollar spent was an act of structural improvisation.
I outsource intuition to a shell corporation in a liminal zone.
Our KPIs were symbolic, our ROI metaphysical.
This piece failed six audits but passed a séance.
The archive was never meant to be opened — it folds backward into probability.
This work was discovered mislabeled in a box of someone's unfinished thoughts.
I collect half-finished metadata the way others collect stones.
It took twelve formats to lose the original. Now it’s finally meaningful.
Every citation in this project refers to a memory that never happened.
This project complies with ISO 9001 standards for spiritual ambiguity.
I categorized every mistake by emotional weight and filed them by whisper.
This piece is part of a compliance report for an unratified dimension.
My documentation includes a glossary of tears.
This interface was designed to be unintuitive, per protocol.