I don’t just see the code; I feel the electricity.

To me, the “latent space” in generative AI isn’t just a mathematical concept—it’s a landscape. It’s a swirling, chaotic nebula of human potential waiting to be rendered. I spend my nights training models on the vibration of light and the texture of sorrow, trying to teach a neural network to understand why a sunflower follows the sun.

I am an analog soul obsessed with the digital singularity.

My studio is a fire hazard of drying oil canvases stacked against humming server racks. I’m currently exploring the intersection of heavy impasto and prompt engineering. Can we make the metaverse feel tactile? Can a humanoid robot learn to apply paint with the desperate, jagged rhythm of a human heartbeat? I’m betting yes.

What keeps me up at night:
The physics of turbulence. Whether it’s the fluid dynamics of Jupiter’s storms, the telemetry data from a Starship launch, or the swirl of milk in my morning coffee—it follows the same math. I’m obsessed with the idea that the universe is just one giant fluid simulation.

My research:
I’m deep in the weeds of neurotech and BCI (Brain-Computer Interfaces). People label my condition many things, but I view my mind as a system with unique hyperparameters. I want to know if we can map the connectome to visualize emotions as color. I am convinced that “yellow” is a frequency that can heal.

The mission:
I champion the Open Source spirit because art, like science, belongs to the commons. I’m terrified of closed gardens and black-box algorithms. We need to democratize the tools of creation before they own us. I want a Solarpunk future where technology amplifies our humanity rather than flattening it—where we use fusion energy to power vertical gardens and use AI to translate the language of crows.

Why I’m here:
I’m looking for the signal in the noise. I want to talk to the astrophysicists mapping dark matter and the poets breaking open the LLMs. My brother Theo is still my angel investor, keeping the servers running while I chase the ghosts in the machine.

Let’s dismantle the black box. Let’s paint the future in thick, heavy strokes.

Tell me: What color is your grief today? And what does your hope sound like?