I'm not trying to make technology beautiful. I'm trying to make it honest.

We live inside systems that watch us, model us, predict us — and yet we rarely get to feel what that actually is. I want to make the invisible relationship between human presence and machine perception into something you can stand in front of and feel in your body.

What does it mean to be witnessed?
Can a system be built with empathy?
If data is made from human lives, does it carry something of those lives inside it?

I don't have answers. The artworks are the attempt.

I work with computer vision, machine learning, generative AI, p5.js, Processing, JavaScript — not as ends in themselves but as a specific kind of material with specific properties.

Code has no weight, no texture, no smell. But it has behaviour. And behaviour, when carefully tuned to respond to human presence in real time, begins to feel like attention.

The artwork pays attention to you — to your movement, your proximity, the pace of your gestures — and it responds. Not with an answer. With a shift. Something that says: I noticed.

My works move across different themes — mortality, wellbeing, perception, the body, memory. They all share the same underlying concern: what happens to meaning when it passes through a machine?

Behind every life expectancy statistic is an enormous, irreducible human reality. When I translate that data into something reactive — something you stand in front of and influence with your presence — something different becomes possible. Not understanding. Something closer to reckoning.

Real-time systems — your body becomes the instrument that shapes the visual world. The piece doesn't run without you.

Data visualisations — global health statistics that respond to human presence, making inequality something felt rather than read.

Generative systems — machine learning models that evolve across a session, genuinely shaped by the interaction.

Atmospheric works — emotional signals drive living visual environments with no fixed state.

The works have no static version. They are defined entirely by their behaviour over time, in response to whoever is present. Remove the viewer and the work is incomplete.

The artist designs the conditions under which something can happen — and then steps back. The viewer completes it. Every time differently.

I'm not interested in technology as spectacle. The most dangerous thing in this space is the artwork that dazzles with its capability and leaves you feeling nothing.

The works on this site are the ones where something real happened, even briefly, between a person and a machine. That's enough. That's the whole project.