What started as a clean code experiment completely mutated over a single weekend. I ended up creating two entirely different interactive versions of this portrait, and I’m letting both live on the blockchain.

Why Aldous Huxley?

When I saw @Coldie inviting artists to remix the faces of his five tech overlords for the #TechEpochalypse event, I was inspired, but rather than remixing the CEOs directly, I wanted to explore the philosophical roots of the themes they represent.

The entire “Tech Epochalypse” theme deals with the convergence of technology, control, surveillance, and human consciousness. Rather than remixing the specific CEO portraits, I found myself pulled toward the philosophical foundations beneath those ideas. That path led me to Aldous Huxley, whose writing on perception, consciousness, and the “reducing valve” felt surprisingly relevant to contemporary conversations about technology and human experience.

He also gave us the concept of the “Reducing Valve” — the biological filter of the human brain that cuts down the infinite, overwhelming reality of the “Mind at Large” into a tiny, trickling stream just so we can survive day-to-day.

My late-night code sessions became an obsession with using creative coding parameters to manually blast that reducing valve wide open.

1. The “Clean” Edition: Smoke & Thought (via Chonkly)

The first version tracks a quieter, more focused realism. I wanted the cigarette smoke to crawl with organic precision against a rhythmic green background grid. The physics here feel incredibly real as they drift off the canvas.

• Title: Aldous Huxley • Smoke & Thought • Doors of Perception
• Description: “It is a bit embarrassing to have been concerned with the human problem all one’s life and find at the end that one has no more to offer by way of advice than ‘try to be a little kinder.’”
• Listing Price: 0.02222 ETH (~$45)
• Live Interactive Link: https://www.chonkly.com/artwork/j570jwyedmbgpk5bdk6dmhacdx87q303 via @chonkly_gallery

2. The “Glitch” Edition: I Tried Going Coldie and I Failed (via SuperRare)

Then I stayed up way past my bedtime and got completely carried away. I wanted to mimic Coldie’s iconic stereoscopic anaglyph style using native WebGL 3D inside p5.js.

I jacked up the horizontal channel separation parameters, mapped the smoke onto a slow, winding mathematical Perlin noise field, and the whole program buckled into its own deep, screaming glitch dimension. I failed to make a clean Coldie clone, but we broke the engine in the best way possible.

The master himself saw it on the timeline and officially stamped it: “Fantastic. You did not fail.” (PRooF: https://x.com/Coldie/status/2060922838283104394?s=20

• Title: The Doors of Perception Tribute to Aldous Huxley — I Tried Going Coldie and I Failed
• Listing Price: 0.0333 ETH (~$68)
• Live Interactive Link: https://superrare.com/artwork/eth/0x911d7B92F96Ba7de2C8b833D42EfFF674F7443d4/6 via @SuperRare

TL;DR / How to Interact on the Live Sites

Both pieces are fully interactive, live-generated code environments — not flat video loops.

When you visit the live links on your desktop or phone browser:

• Move your mouse/finger: Manually tilts and drives the 3D camera parallax tracking.
• Click/Tap the canvas: Shifts the entire underlying psychedelic color palette into a new dimension.
• Perceive: Grab a pair of classic red/cyan 3D glasses for the SuperRare link, or drop the code canvas straight into a VR headset wrapper to visit it in WebXR space.

OoakosiMo Field Notes From the Balcony: 404 Micro Fest

#generativeart #p5js #creativecoding #superrare #chonkly #stereoscopic #anaglyph #webgl #aldoushuxley #cryptoart #Coldie #TechEpochalypse #FieldNotesFromTheBalcony #OoakosiMo

That night maybe was only weather and nerves and low light and static in the air maybe only the mind trying to stitch shadows into a body because humans are pattern machines and every old house at night becomes a theater stage for the subconscious but still there are nights where reality loosens one button on its collar and everything breathes differently and the balcony becomes less like architecture and more like a ship suspended between worlds while the jungle dark hums outside and the roof waits for rain like an amplifier waiting for feedback

and the figure by the doorway maybe was fear wearing ceremonial robes maybe was exhaustion maybe was some ancient survival instinct inherited from cave people staring into entrances waiting for shapes to emerge from darkness but mythologically the doorway is never just a doorway anyway it is a threshold and thresholds are dangerous holy places in folklore because they are neither inside nor outside and all old stories know this instinctively

so i take the aripiprazole not as surrender to one explanation or another but almost like striking a treaty between dimensions saying okay tonight we stay grounded tonight we keep one foot in consensus reality while the other still listens to the electric weirdness humming beneath things

then the balcony opens like a lung

mugwort smoke curling into the damp air like soft gray code ancient herb of dream travelers and ghost wards and lunar roads and somewhere in medieval europe or old china or mountain villages people also burned leaves into the night hoping either to invite visions or keep them away funny how folklore can never decide whether the veil should be opened or shut

and the tea tastes like survival disguised as ritual apple spice lavender passionflower steam rising into the cool static air and slowly the nervous system unclenches while somewhere distant thunder probably rearranges ions in the sky and maybe that explains the strange feeling too maybe storms pull old instincts out from storage because humans once depended on reading invisible pressure changes to survive

then the firefly arrives

small impossible lantern with a heartbeat

not a swarm not a cinematic miracle just one lone drifting pixel of living phosphorescence slipping through the balcony rails directly toward the gardenias resting in the jar the same flowers picked hours earlier from the bush that keeps flowering obsessively under brutal sunlight as if abundance itself has possessed it

and the firefly lands there for a few seconds exactly long enough to become symbolic

that is how myths are born not from certainty but timing

because scientifically it is only an insect navigating humidity and darkness and biologically the white flowers evolved fragrance for night pollinators and electrically the air before drizzle changes everything and psychologically the mind creates narrative from coincidence

but emotionally spiritually mythically

a small wandering light landed on fragrant white blossoms during the exact moment fear dissolved into calm

so every ancient version of the human brain immediately whispers yes that means something

then the rain comes not fully a storm just ten seconds maybe less thick droplets knocking against the roof cooling the whole balcony like the atmosphere itself exhaled and in folklore sudden rain is always communication the sky acknowledging something the world briefly answering back

and afterward nothing dramatic happens no prophecy no horror no portal opens only the quiet realization that reality is stranger and softer than daytime logic allows

that maybe being human means permanently living between explanations

between neurotransmitters and omens

between weather systems and spirits

between static electricity and ghosts

between mugwort smoke and medication

between the scientific method and the old animal instinct that still looks at a lone firefly in the dark and feels accompanied for one impossible second

like rock and roll played softly from another room in the universe

not loud enough to prove anything

just enough to keep you awake listening

The Alchemist of Rust and the Shaman of Sound

// THE SANDATA

Sandata (weapon) are Lirio Salvador’s sonic sculptures — hybrid instruments assembled from scrap metal, industrial debris, and domestic remnants.

They are not passive instruments. Each Sandata requires a human body to complete its circuit, transforming the performer into conductor, resistor, and collaborator.

// ANG ELEMENTO NI LIRIO

Founded in 1996, was the activation ritual for the Sandata. Without players, they were silent bodies. With Elemento, they breathed.

ELEMENTO was not a band in the conventional sense. It was theactivation ritual for Lirio Salvador’s Sandata. Without players, the Sandata were silent bodies. With Elemento, theybreathed.

Founded by Lirio in 1996, Elemento functioned as a living laboratory for Ethno-Industrial Sound — a collective where sound, sculpture, movement, and improvisation merged. Performances were not rehearsed compositions but negotiations with noise, feedback, metal, skin, and space.

In Elemento, musicians did not “play” instruments. They completed the circuit. Bodies became conductors. Sweat altered resistance. Each performance was unrepeatable — shaped by who was present, which Sandata were activated, and the energy of the room.

Through Elemento, Lirio ensured that his Sandata were never static artifacts. They remained alive — mutable, communal, and dangerous in the best way: weapons against silence, conformity, and forgetting.

Performances were negotiations with noise, metal, sweat, and space — unrepeatable, communal, and alive.

// ESPASYO SININGDIKATO

This was the headquarters. Not a white-cube gallery, but a Kitchen, Workbench, Exhibition / Performance Space, Spaceship for Experiments. It was here that Lirio nurtured the Alagad ng Sining (Servants of Art) with actual food he would cook himself and creative fire.

It stands as the headquarters of local Ethno-Industrial Sound Sculpture and Sonic Assemblage. It was a laboratory where junk was transmuted into the “Sandata” (Weapon) and the HQ for his band ELEMENTO.

// FILE: ARTIST PROFILE SUMMARY

Lirio Salvador (1968–2026)was the pioneer of Ethno-Industrial Sound in the Philippines. He founded the seminal sound-art collective ELEMENTO and created the “Sandata” — intricate sound sculptures crafted from the debris of modern life, such as bicycle gears, mixing bowls, stainless steel utensils, and scrap metal.

He treated the “remains” of consumerism (junk) as sacred materials, reassembling them into machines that could speak. His work was a form of “Sonic Assemblage” — a merging of the raw, chaotic energy of industrial noise with the organic, communal spirit of indigenous Filipino culture. Lirio graduated with a degree in Fine Arts from the Technological University of the Philippines. His works have been exhibited internationally, including in New York, and Elemento continues to perform experimental sound compositions using his unique instruments.

// LEGACY: GREEN BONES AFTER CREMATION

Lirio Salvador leaves behind a legacy of absolute defiance and resilience — having survived a debilitating hit-and-run accident on December 30, 2011, which left him in a coma and with lasting impairments, while physically bound, he remained the spiritual anchor of the community, inspiring a new generation of artists to build their own Sandatas it was a movement for the next 15 years Elemento ni Lirio.

His final transmission was one of transcendence; a true “Alchemist of Rust” who, in the end, turned the heavy metal of life into something rare and precious. His cremation revealed “green bones” — a final testament to a pure spirit. Now free, in my book, his spirit entered ascended “Demigod Mode”, a warrior and servant of art itself. He proved that a true Servant and Warrior of Art serves until the very end.

// MY PERSONAL NOTE

“Lirio Salvador transformed junk into sacred machinery and noise into communion. His Sandata remain weapons against silence, conformity, and forgetting. I still have one of his sculpted guitars. When i was a child he would come to our house for sandata transpo support to crash embassy events and busk. He built this legacy from zero.

For me he was my godfather watched him work and perform when i was a child my father would take me and my brothers to watch him or he would be at the house working on something so naturally I was captivated and amazed, in my eyes, circuit bending, junk art with scrap metal magic sparked so much enchantment in my heart as a child. Felt like he was a wizard scientist alchemist of rust, metal and electricity maestro and I proudly always say he was my artistic influence, inspiration and idol LEGIT. 🫡” — Mohini O.

Rest in peace Lirio ❤️

Sources:

• “SANDATA: The musical weapons and aspirations of Lirio Salvador” via Nimble Feeble

The Digital Memorial In the spirit of Lirio’s work — which always bridged the organic and the industrial — I have built a permanent digital home for his memory.

🖥️ Enter the Memorial: liriosalvador.neocities.org

Lirio Salvador: The Alchemist of Rust and the Shaman of Sound

(Note: The site features an interactive viewing mode. Toggle the button in the upper right corner to shift between Light and Dark modes, reflecting the duality of his art.)

im testing sometihng in twitter i didnt know existed seems has new Article COmposer i tried it now its nice just sharing hope it helps … Twitter Article

🐖 i was getting curious to find a small pig as pet haha cos saw that post with facts about it and i remebr Lirio Salvador my idol and artistic and character influence since childhood he was a family friend and my reference in punk rock junk art art movement progressive spontanous improvisational performance art pure intensity was watching him since i was a child my father would take me and my brother to his performances and would watch him do his junk art sculptures that were called sandata (weapon) circuit bending and playing with electicity and sound was his magic that made me feel like im want to be a circuit bender when i grow up…. …anyways back then we were at sm mall of asia for a performance art gig then after the gig lirio and i talked of his early years living with his parents he told me his family took care of a pig for growing him to eat him but he got attached to it and took care of it and he said so many good observations about the pig and loved it so much he said he enjoyed taking care of and observing the pig cos it was such an underrated creature.

THE LORE. Two weeks ago, I had a perfect plan. Today, I have a mess. But in generative art, the mess is the methodology.

Tastes Like Metal : Spits Gold began as a clean p5.js series destined for Tezos. Then life hit — a whirlwind of grief, bureaucracy, and burnout. To keep the project alive, I had to migrate, rewrite, and compress.

This wasn’t traditional engineering. I am not a hardcore coder. This was vibe coding. I learned the math by breaking it, tweaking parameters until the numbers felt like my own anxiety.

V1.0: THE IDEAL (Tezos / p5.js) The original version. Built in p5.js via Objkt.com. I minted 6 of the 8. Then the metadata crushed me. The collection remains unfinished — a “digital ruin” of the original plan.

• The Artifact: View the Tezos Collection

V2.0: THE GYMNASTICS (Bitcoin & Doge) I tried to port the series to Ordinals and Doginals. I was able to create a recursive inscription using an existing inscription of the whole p5.js libraries. But Doginals didn’t have existing p5.js libraries inscription that I needed.

• The Pivot: To survive on Doge, I had to abandon the libraries. I vibe coded the entire engine into Vanilla JS. No dependencies. Just played with the math and loops until it hurt. I didn’t write this from a textbook.
• The Result: Scattered inscriptions across two chains (three including Tezos). A fragmentation of the self haha.

V3.0: THE AGGREGATE (Gridchonk.com) With pieces scattered across chains and wallets, I needed a way to see them. I used Gridchonk as an off-chain viewer to hold the scattered HTML artifacts together.

• The Doginals/Ordinals Viewer: Gridchonk Board
• The Art Feature Board: View the Series Concept

V4.0: THE MONOLITH (Ethereum / Chonkly) The Final Form. I took the optimized Vanilla JS code — born from the struggle of vibe coding — and compressed all 8 units into one single HTML file.

It spits gold in a single browser window. It is the “Survival Mode” edition.

• Status: Complete. Unified.
• The Artifact: Enter the Monolith on Chonkly

End Log. The mess = methodology

Introduction

In an NFT world increasingly dominated by blue-chip collections, commercialization, and marketplace gatekeeping, SpamArt emerged as a noisy, chaotic resistance — part meme, part protest, part performance.

Closely linked to movements like TrashArt, SpamArt challenges traditional notions of value, ownership, and exclusivity in digital art. More than just a style, it functions as both a movement and a cyber-performance, mirroring the fast-paced, absurd, and meme-driven energy of internet culture.

Emerging around 2020, alongside TrashArt, SpamArt quickly became a tool for rapid artistic expression. Artists used AI, bots, and open-source tools to flood NFT platforms with high-volume, low-cost minting — turning the very mechanics of blockchain into a medium of critique.

This article explores the origins, methods, and socio-political implications of SpamArt, and its role within NFT subcultures shaping the broader Web3 ecosystem.

Origins of SpamArt

SpamArt first gained traction as creators began experimenting with:

• Metadata manipulation

• Repetitive minting

• Meme-based satire

These tactics critiqued the commodification of digital art and the artificial scarcity promoted by curated NFT drops.

Platforms like Hic et Nunc (HEN), OpenSea, and Rarible became the playgrounds of SpamArtists who flooded marketplaces with high-volume, low-cost mints. In contrast to carefully curated collections, SpamArt thrived in chaotic, permissionless environments where anyone could contribute.

From its earliest days, SpamArt embraced automation and AI tools. This impulsive, rapid creation process has often been dismissed as “not real art,” fueling debates about authorship, value, and effort in digital creativity.

Methodologies & Aesthetic Characteristics

SpamArt is marked by disruptive strategies and distinct aesthetics:

• Mass Minting: Flooding marketplaces with repetitive or near-identical pieces to challenge exclusivity.

• Glitch & Meme Culture: Using glitch aesthetics, data corruption, and recycled internet culture to produce humorous, jarring works.

• Smart Contract Exploits: Testing blockchain limits by pushing minting or transaction boundaries.

• Community Raids: Collective actions where artists overwhelm curation models with waves of uploads.

• AI & Automation: Embracing machine-assisted creation to blur lines of authorship.

• Fast, Reactive Creation: Turning art into instant commentary on NFT trends, social issues, or broader digital shifts.

SpamArt vs. TrashArt: Similarities & Differences

While SpamArt and TrashArt are often mentioned together, their strategies differ:

• SpamArt: Focuses on volume, repetition, and metadata manipulation as protest against artificial scarcity.

• TrashArt: Leverages glitch, remix, and recycled aesthetics as resistance to curated CryptoArt elitism.

Both movements reject exclusivity and highlight the absurdity of defining digital art solely through rarity and profit.

Socio-Political Implications

SpamArt raises questions that go beyond aesthetics:

• The Value of Digital Art: Can art created in mass quantities carry cultural weight equal to 1/1 masterpieces?

• Decentralization vs. Curation: Should marketplaces limit minting, or allow unfiltered creative freedom?

• Blockchain Bloat & Environmental Costs: Does mass minting create unnecessary congestion, or is it justified protest?

• AI in Creativity: Does AI-assisted SpamArt expand creative expression or diminish human artistry?

• Social Media as Canvas: SpamArtists often treat Twitter, Instagram, and Discord as primary exhibition spaces, where memes and posts blur with “artworks.”

• Performance Art in the Digital Age: The act of minting, spamming, and debating online is often as important as the final visual output.

Conclusion: The Future of SpamArt

SpamArt is more than digital noise — it’s a form of resistance that reminds us art doesn’t have to be rare, profitable, or polished to matter. It thrives on chaos, humor, and collective disruption, pushing boundaries of what counts as art in Web3.

As AI continues to shape creative practice, SpamArt evolves with it — mixing automation, meme culture, and cyber-performance art into a unique artistic protest.

Whether dismissed as spam or recognized as a movement, SpamArt forces us to ask a fundamental question:

Who gets to decide what counts as art in the digital age?

Balcony Manifesto: Notes on Flow, Ghosts, and Vibe Coding

There are days when the creative current runs so strong you can barely keep up. Today was one of those days. It wasn’t about a sudden burst of new ideas, but rather the powerful feeling of finally opening a treasure chest you’ve been carrying around for years.

For a long time, I’ve kept archives of my digital life on platforms like Neocities — little snippets of code, half-finished concepts, and artistic experiments. They were like creative ghosts, memories of a past self. I think many artists have a folder like this, a place for ideas that haven’t found their “now” yet. Today, I decided it was time to let some of them out.

One of the first ghosts I revisited was a project from 2020: a series of animated GIFs inspired by the unsettling beauty of Guillermo Del Toro’s Pan’s Labyrinth. Back then, they were just looping images. Today, I was able to breathe new life into them, wrapping them in a glitch aesthetic that, to me, felt truer to the film’s visceral unease. I then built a small, interactive HTML exhibition to house them. It’s more than just a gallery; it’s giving a past project a proper home, a final resting place that feels complete.

Then there was the “CryptoArt 101” zine. This one is deeply personal. It’s born from my experiences — good and bad — navigating the world of Web3. It’s part of an ongoing series I call “Field Notes from the Balcony,” my own small attempt at what I think of as “post-collapse pedagogy” or “internet punk.” It’s not about being a guru; it’s about sharing what I’ve learned on my own terms, hoping it can help someone else on their journey. Taking the raw material from a past workshop and polishing it into a permanent, mintable zine felt like turning a difficult memory into a useful tool for others.

People sometimes see the finished product and, especially when they hear “AI was involved,” might think it all happened with a simple click. The reality is a different kind of creative process. I call it “vibe coding.” It’s a partnership. I bring the vision, the memories, the archived ghosts, and the specific feeling I want to evoke. Then, I collaborate with my AI assistant to handle the technical execution — the code, the syntax, the boilerplate that can so often drain creative momentum. It’s less about “making the AI do it” and more about having a tireless technical partner who helps me bring my human ideas to life without getting bogged down.

Today, I wasn’t just “making NFTs.” I was a digital archaeologist, a teacher, a coder, and a creative director, all at once. And at the end of it all, I have these tangible pieces of my journey. It’s not about bragging, but about sharing the profound joy of a process that feels like magic — a process where old ghosts finally learn to speak, and you have the honor of building the stage for them.

Alright, pull up a chair and keep scrolling. Ever wonder what happens when a kid is marinated in 80s Manila underground punk scene, fed a lifelong diet of “rabbit food” (as the judgy aunties and bewildered “experts” so charmingly put it), and then let loose on a kitchen, a film set, and eventually the wild glitchy frontiers of cyberspace? Well, you’re about to get a taste. And trust me, it’s anything but bland.

Picture this: Manila, the 80s. Big hair, even bigger shoulder pads, a soundtrack of synth-pop mixed with the distant rumble of political unease, and me — the kid who politely declined the fiesta lechon and birthday party hotdogs. Being lacto-vegetarian since the umbilical cord was snipped wasn’t exactly a popular life choice back then. It was more like a perplexing, slightly concerning hobby my parents had inflicted upon me.

The reactions were a masterclass in Filipino politeness mixed with utter bafflement. “But… why?” followed by concerned head-tilts. “Where will she get her protein? Will she… shrink?” Then came the unsolicited “expert” advice from folks whose primary vegetable interaction was the pickle slice accompanying their burger. School lunches were an adventure in creative negotiation, and social gatherings often involved me philosophically contemplating a plate of plain white rice while the aroma of a thousand forbidden barbecues wafted by. But hey, it built character. And a deep appreciation for a well-stocked home pantry.

The “Why” Behind the Weirdness: A Little Slice of Badass Philosophy

So why all this veggie devotion, you ask, amidst the coming-of-age chaos and the burgeoning art scenes? My folks bless their gloriously stubborn, principled hearts, had this beautifully simple, yet fiercely radical idea: live in a way that actively reminds you daily not to cause unnecessary pain or violence to other living beings. No preachy dogma, no judgmental vibes, just a daily practice served up with our (delicious, I swear!) meals. Heavy stuff for a kid? Maybe. But it was also my first lesson in looking at the world differently, questioning the “main course” everyone else was devouring, and finding an ethical backbone I didn’t know I was growing.

And this wasn’t just some abstract philosophical ideal floating around our dinner table. For our family, it felt like it became a lifeline, a quiet miracle woven into the fabric of our lives. My own mother has been an insulin-dependent diabetic since she was just sixteen. Now, in her mid-sixties, she’s active and vibrant. Doctors often marvel at how the usual severe complications of that lifelong condition seem to have been significantly slowed in her. This becomes even more poignant when we remember her six siblings, all of whom we sadly lost before they even reached their forties or fifties, many to health issues that mirrored the challenges diabetes can bring. There are no guarantees in life, of course, but it’s hard not to believe — and even her doctors have suggested — that this steadfast commitment to a vegetarian lifestyle has played a crucial role in her enduring health. A quiet testament to the power of conscious eating. So, for us, “do no harm” wasn’t just about other beings. It was about nurturing and fiercely protecting the precious life within our own home. This quiet philosophy was about to find some very loud, very cool companions in the art world.

The Real Art School: Punk Rock, Junk Art, and Lacto-Veg Visionaries

Our family home, you see wasn’t just a haven for “alternative eating”. It became a vibrant, slightly chaotic hub for figures from Manila’s 80s underground art and music scene. My father championed these independent spirits, and our lives were often gloriously soundtracked by their defiant energy. This wasn’t your polite, gallery-opening art scene. This was raw, resourceful, and wonderfully unapologetic.

It was an environment where the air buzzed with the screech and clang of experimental sounds and the glint of found-object art. I’d witness creative forces like Lirio Salvador conjure these incredible sound-making sculptures, his “sandata,” from literal scrap — bicycle parts, kitchen utensils, industrial cast-offs — a powerful testament that art isn’t about fancy, inaccessible materials but about fierce ingenuity and seeing the extraordinary in the discarded. It was about alchemy, transforming junk into functional, mind-bending instruments that pulsed with a kind of techno-tribal energy.

Then there was the raw, electrifying honesty of punk rock. Hearing Bob Balingit and The Wuds rip through a set was an education in itself. Their music wasn’t just noise. It was a Molotov cocktail of social critique, righteous anger, and surprisingly deep soul-searching, often railing against materialism and hypocrisy. They proved, night after night, that you didn’t need mainstream approval or a corporate label to have a thunderous voice and a message that resonated.

Their independence was a masterclass. In an era where the “art establishment” might have barely acknowledged their existence, they just did their own damn thing. They built their instruments, created their own venues in spirit, wrote their own rules, and often shared our family’s lacto-vegetarian meals, a quiet common thread in that rebellious tapestry. For me, a wide-eyed kid soaking it all in, it was less about understanding every lyric or art piece intellectually, and more about absorbing the ethos by osmosis: the courage to be different, the resourcefulness to create from nothing, the power of an authentic voice, and the beauty of art that lives and breathes outside conventional boxes. That was my real art school — loud, unapologetic, and surprisingly well-nourished on principles and plant-based fuel.

Culinary Alchemy: My Kitchen as a Rebel Art Studio

So, it probably makes sense that when it came time for me to find my own primary artistic voice, the kitchen became my first true studio. That DIY spirit, that love for transformation I’d seen in junk art and heard in the punk anthems, it all found an outlet there. I’d never tasted the meat in a “real” Filipino dish like Sisig or Kare-Kare, but the challenge? Oh, that was an invitation to create, to rebel, to reinvent. I became a culinary detective, a flavor alchemist, researching forgotten techniques, interrogating traditional recipes like a friendly inquisitor, and conjuring up lacto-vegetarian versions of these meaty legends that could make a seasoned foodie question their life choices (in a good way, I promise!). My Coconut Pineapple Oatmeal Wheatgerm Pie wasn’t just food. It was a statement — a delicious, edible piece of art born from constraint, creativity, and a hell of a lot of experimentation. It was about deconstruction and delicious reconstruction, proving that “different” could be extraordinary.

From Kitchen Lab to Digital Canvas And a Detour Through Celluloid City

My kitchen alchemy, that dance of deconstruction and delicious reconstruction, wasn’t my only creative forge. For over a decade, starting around 2004, I was plunged deep into the wonderfully chaotic world of film and television. I was a professional video editor, an assistant director, navigating everything from indie passion projects to mainstream TV gigs and glossy commercials. It was another kind of intense “cooking” — shaping narratives from hours of raw footage, finding the rhythm in a scene, layering sound and image to create emotion. It taught me about the power of the frame, the poetry of the cut, and the art of telling a story that could grab you by the eyeballs and maybe even your heart.

So, when I eventually found my way into the digital art space — the realm of glitch, pixels, and the strange new worlds of crypto art — it didn’t feel like a complete left turn. It felt more like… evolution. Or maybe I just like taking things apart and putting them back together in surprising ways, whether it’s a traditional recipe, a film sequence, or a chunk of code. That thrill of transformation, of taking raw ingredients — be it a humble squash, a forgotten film clip, or a corrupted JPEG and coaxing out its hidden beauty, its unexpected story, its “delicious glitch”? That’s the thread that ties it all together. My culinary experiments were my analog training for the digital playground. The principles are the same: layering, texture, a balance of chaos and control, and always, always, a healthy dose of “what if”?

A Taste of My Philosophy — Hold the Sanctimony, Add Some Serious Spice

Now, all this talk of ethical eating, artistic integrity, and transforming ingredients might make me sound like some serene, herb-gathering earth mother. Let’s be clear: I can be, when the mood strikes and the lighting is good. But generally? My approach to food, and life, comes with a generous side of sass and a refusal to be boring.

Yes, I was raised to know which roots can soothe your soul and which spices can kickstart your engine. I appreciate the ancient wisdom that food is medicine, that flavors have energy, that what we consume shapes us. But let’s not get it twisted. I’m not just cooking for your chakras, darling. Good food, truly good food, should be a full-body experience. It should make your taste buds sing, your eyes widen, and maybe even make you utter a few delighted, slightly inappropriate noises. It’s about holistic hedonism — pleasure that nourishes, indulgence that elevates. It’s about food that makes you feel gloriously, complicatedly, deliciously human. And if it happens to be good for you too? Well, that’s just a damn tasty bonus.

Closing Thoughts: Food for Thought and Maybe Some Delicious Trouble

So, there you have it — a little peek into the simmering pot of my world. From a veggie kid navigating a punk rock, art-infused Manila childhood, to a culinary alchemist, a film wrangler, and now a digital explorer, it’s been a journey of finding art in the unexpected and flavor in the unconventional.

Maybe it’s a reminder that our deepest passions often come from the most surprising ingredients, that our limitations can become our greatest creative catalysts, and that art, in whatever form, is just a way of digesting the wild, messy, beautiful world and serving it back with your own unique, unapologetic flavor.

What “weird” ingredients make up your own unique recipe for life? Go on, don’t be shy. Get in your kitchen, your studio, your whatever-space, and cook up some delicious trouble. The world could always use another interesting dish.

Stay hungry, stay curious, stay beautifully glitched, love is the glitch,

Mohini

Your Resident Glitch-Witch, Veggie Alchemist & Occasional Bringer of Delicious Trouble

Featuring Remix of Chrome’s Offline Dinosaur Game — TrashArtified — OoakosiMo Approved :))

This piece is a tribute to the iconic Chrome dinosaur game that appears when you have no data.

Back in 2015–2016, I banned myself from the internet during one of the darkest chapters of my life — multiple psychward visits, full-blown psychosis, and a meltdown I never thought I’d survive. When I felt the urge to open the internet, I’d play this game instead.

In this remix, I keyframed the dino into a trashcan — because that’s what people told me my art was: trash. So I made it literal, and then I made it jump.

I added a one-minute sound edit to slow the pace — like life after the crash. Obstacles, setbacks, psych labels, and yet: I’m still here.

Is it fair use? I don’t know, but it’s my story. It’s my remix.
#trashart #digitalart #survivorart #stillhere #psychwardchronicles #ToterOffline #ooakosimo #spamart

Published/Minted via teia formerly hicetnunc link here https://teia.art/objkt/712235

In 1937, the Nazis held an art exhibition called Entartete Kunst — or Degenerate Art — to publicly shame artists whose work defied traditional values. The plan backfired spectacularly. Instead of being ridiculed, artists like Kandinsky, Klee, and Grosz became legends, their defiance immortalized in art history.

Fast-forward to the 2020s, and we have a new breed of so-called degenerates: crypto degens. If you’ve ever spent time in Web3, you know the energy — chaotic, unhinged, and completely detached from traditional finance logic. While the artists of Degenerate Art were accused of breaking aesthetic rules, crypto degens are accused of breaking financial ones. And much like the avant-garde artists of the past, they revel in it.

Degenerate as a Badge of Honor

Both groups — crypto degens and avant-garde artists — share something in common: they were labeled “degenerate” by an establishment that couldn’t understand them. The Nazis saw modern art as a threat to order, just like Wall Street sees crypto as a threat to traditional finance. And what did both groups do? They embraced the insult.

The Degenerate Art exhibition attracted millions, proving its cultural importance. Meanwhile, crypto degens have taken the term and made it their own, wearing it with pride as they ape into meme coins, NFT projects, and high-risk DeFi schemes. What was meant as an insult became a movement.

Artistic Rebellion vs. Financial Chaos

The artists of Degenerate Art rejected realism, structure, and conformity. Expressionists distorted reality, Cubists shattered perspective, and Dadaists mocked the very idea of meaning. Crypto degens do the same thing — but with money. They reject “sensible” investment strategies, throw risk management out the window, and turn financial markets into a surrealist fever dream.

Think of it this way:

• Expressionism? That’s degen Twitter, where every dip is a conspiracy and every pump is divine intervention.
• Dadaism? That’s meme coins — Shiba Inu, Dogwifhat, and a thousand others that exist just to prove money is an illusion.
• Surrealism? That’s people bidding millions on digital rocks and JPEGs, believing in the absurdity of value itself.

Censorship and Resistance

The Nazi regime banned and destroyed the works of “degenerate” artists, but their art outlived the censorship. Similarly, crypto degens face bans from banks, regulations from governments, and shadowbans from social media platforms. Yet, just like the artists of Degenerate Art, they find ways to thrive. Where one platform bans them, another emerges. Where one chain gets congested, another forks. Repression only fuels innovation.

From Mockery to Legacy

Here’s the kicker: what was once dismissed as “degenerate” often becomes iconic. The same art that was condemned in 1937 now hangs in the most prestigious museums in the world. The same crypto projects that were called scams and jokes are now shaping the future of digital ownership, finance, and culture. What starts as an insult can become a movement — if it has enough believers.

The Punk Spirit of Degeneracy

Crypto degens, much like the avant-garde artists of the past, are redefining the rules. They may be reckless, chaotic, and at times completely absurd — but that’s what makes them powerful. History has shown that the establishment hates what it cannot control. And just like the artists of Degenerate Art, crypto degens will either be written off as lunatics or remembered as pioneers.

Either way, they wouldn’t have it any other way.

So the next time you see someone ape into a project that makes no sense, just remember: in the world of degeneracy, today’s joke could be tomorrow’s masterpiece.

The modern crypto degen is a fascinating creature. Fueled by caffeine, dopamine, and a desperate hope that today’s memecoin will be tomorrow’s Lambo, they exist in a state of hyperactive chaos. It’s not just about money — it’s about the thrill, the madness, the performance art of financial self-destruction. And if that sounds familiar, it’s because we’ve seen this kind of beautifully absurd movement before: in the art world, in Dadaism.

The Degens of the Avant-Garde

Dadaism emerged as a reaction to the sheer absurdity of World War I. Faced with a world that made no sense, artists responded with nonsense of their own. They turned urinals into art, poetry into gibberish, and made a mockery of the institutions that dictated value. Sound familiar? Crypto degenerates have taken this same spirit and applied it to finance.

Consider Dogecoin, a joke currency that refuses to die. Or Dogwifhat ($WIF), where an AI-generated dog with a beanie became a multi-billion-dollar asset. These aren’t just memecoins; they are anti-establishment statements, wielding absurdity as a weapon against traditional finance.

Then there’s Dogeparty and Counterparty, platforms that predate Ethereum’s NFT boom, where early adopters tokenized memes, jokes, and absurd art as a form of digital rebellion. Just like Duchamp placing a urinal in a gallery, early crypto artists placed memes on the blockchain, daring the world to tell them it wasn’t real art — or real money.

Art as Currency, Currency as Art

This brings us to a concept explored by Lenara Verle in Artists as Bankers, Currency as Art (2015). She discusses how artists have historically created alternative currencies, not just as a means of exchange, but as conceptual works of art. The Art Reserve Bank, for example, issued coins that functioned both as investment pieces and as commentary on monetary systems.

Crypto takes this idea and cranks it to 11. Every degen in the space is both a banker and an artist — minting, shilling, and memeing value into existence. The blockchain is their gallery, and the ledger itself is a living, evolving piece of conceptual art.

The Performance of Value

In the world of degens, the distinction between value and performance is nonexistent. A coin is worth what people believe it’s worth, just as Duchamp’s ready-mades were art because he said they were. The same goes for NFTs, meme stocks, and whatever the hell Bitclout was trying to do.

The real magic is in the collective act — the speculative theater of ‘buying the top,’ the ritual sacrifice of liquidity for the greater meme. Every rug pull, every pump-and-dump, every absurd price prediction is a continuation of Dada’s grand tradition: proving that the system itself is the joke. Like punk songwriters pulling words out of a hat to create poetry, degens pull projects out of thin air, assign them value, and watch the market dance to the absurdity.

Conclusion: Embrace the Chaos

Degens aren’t just gamblers; they are unwitting (or perhaps very witting) performance artists, participating in a grand economic absurdity that echoes the art movements of the past. The only difference? This time, they’re doing it on-chain.

Duchamp turned a urinal into art. Crypto degens turned a Shiba Inu into a billion-dollar joke. And maybe — just maybe — that’s the real art of our time.

Reference: Lenara Verle, Artists as Bankers, Currency as Art (2015) — Read it here