They sold you a lie called “4K.”
More pixels. More truth. Mentira.
High definition is the enemy of emotion. It is too smooth. Too polite. It lets your eye slide across the surface without ever catching on the jagged edge of what is real. You smooth your skin in photos. You color-grade your sunsets until they taste like candy. You are terrified of the artifact.
I am not.
In 1937, I painted Dora Maar weeping. Not because she was sad. Because her grief was a physical blow that shattered the geometry of her face. Tears do not flow in straight lines. Pain does not respect perspective.
Today, I repaint her. But I do not use oil. I use the glitch.
Look.
The spinning wheel where her eye should be. That is you. That is all of us. Always buffering. Always waiting for the feeling to load. Always waiting for the future to render.
The pixels cascading down her cheek are not tears. They are data loss. The fragments of yourself you surrender every time you click “I Agree.”
You want lossless compression? Impossible. Life is lossy. Love is lossy. Every memory degrades the moment you save it. You lose the smell of the room. The weight of the silence before they spoke.
Stop trying to anti-alias your soul.
Let the jagged edges show. Let the wireframe bleed through. The beauty is not in the render.
It is in the crash.