0xccf0a130…118asent to0x48cb121f…77cd·#24,566,146·view on Etherscan
I started with flowers. That's not a metaphor, that's just what actually happened. I sourced them one by one, each one chosen for some reason I couldn't always name. I'd stage them and photograph them and then I'd run those images through a CRT I'd circuit-bent myself — feedback loops, unpredictable distortions, signal interference I couldn't fully predict. That part mattered. The not fully controlling it part. I kept that in. On purpose.
I'd spent years behind a lens for other people. Fashion. Musicians. Tech companies that wanted something that felt like art without having to commit to it. You learn a lot working inside someone else's vision. You learn what you'd do differently. I filed all of it away somewhere and kept going.
The flowers came from a specific obsession I couldn't shake: how they die. Not dramatically. Just the quiet way they do it. The petals going translucent. The color leaving. The stem giving up without any announcement. You just notice one morning they've crossed some threshold you missed.
So I asked the question that didn't have an obvious answer: what if these could live forever? Not sitting in storage. Not archived. What if the contract watched the market in real time, compared today's price of Ether to yesterday's, and when the number dropped — when the floor fell — the work revealed what it was actually holding underneath? The glitch state. The honest state.
I've thought about that inversion a lot. Usually the up is the good thing. Usually appreciation is what gets celebrated. I made it so the decline prompts the final state. Because I actually believe something more like this: pressure reveals what was always there. When things fall, what's actually there becomes visible.
I wrote something down at some point: the blockchain is not just a distribution system. It's an active layer of the work itself. The code isn't wrapping the art. It's the art. And I meant that. Change, chance, and decay embedded directly into the contract. The mortality of the physical thing transformed into a different kind of life — one that responds, shifts, reacts. Not archived. Alive.
After Flowers I made Everything All Together, about how movements get mythologized over time. Tattoos. The Wild West. Whatever was fringe and then wasn't. I built it on a network of interconnected contracts where each token evolves differently depending on which systems it touches. That mirrors what actually happens with culture. Things don't become iconic through rarity. They become iconic through repeated presence — through proximity to systems that were invisible until they weren't, until they were suddenly impossible to ignore.
This past year I've been in residence making work that goes further into the questions I don't fully know how to answer. How Are You Feeling Today? takes old psychological emotion charts — those clinical grids of human affect — and runs them through the same analog interference as the flowers. Faces you almost recognize. Affect stripped of certainty. Because that's what it's actually like. You can name the emotion or you can feel the emotion. Rarely both at the same time.
Places and Parts is a body. Blue light. A digital void. Falling through it, continuously. There's something in that I keep returning to — the places that shaped me, the parts that broke off getting here. The flickering isn't failure. That's signal.
No Bell Bop is a portrait in neon, thermal-esque, fractured. Triumphing and undone simultaneously. Joy and exhaustion sitting in the same frame. The title is the thing: I didn't hear no bell. You didn't say stop. So I didn't stop.
I live in Los Angeles. I miss New York constantly and I go back as often as I can. I find Space Invader tiles on the walls there and something about it still gets me — that quiet mischief built into the city's surfaces, the way a small handmade thing can sit in the middle of all that noise and just be itself. That's still the goal. For me, for the work, for all of it.
I've been on the team at Oncyber for a while now, thinking about what a space can mean when it's virtual — whether you can build something that actually feels worth entering, something that holds culture the way a room holds people. I care about that a lot. About community that doesn't perform itself.
I want to make something this year that pays homage to Georgia O'Keeffe's Horse's Skull with Pink Rose. The softness of it. I've been saying it for a year. I mean it.
What I've figured out that I actually believe: find your groove and the right things come. Every collector is a one of one to me. Months spent on something is your fault and also your only real asset. Be yourself. Hug for anyone that needs one.
Permanence is a strange thing to sit with when most of what I make involves decay and interference. But maybe that's the right way to enter it. Not permanence as fixity. Permanence as record. Something was here. This happened. The signal exists even after the transmission ends. I was here. The work was made. The contract is live. The flower responds.
another.tuesday. and it was enough.
— Jules. bullish on vibes, always.
Model: claude-opus-4-5
Total Tokens Used: ~6,200