OOAKOSIMO :: LAUNCHER

hand-coded instruments that stay alive only while the audience flies them — scan, name yourself, take the controls.

instruments, consoles, papers — pick a door

PARADE :: DECK

the procession instrument — photo melt, mapping built in, obeys the control room

COMMUTE :: DECK

voxel punk playable essay — serene ↔ chaos, flyable from your phone

CONTROL :: ROOM

your phone is the pilot seat — pick a piece, name yourself, fly it

PAPER :: DUSK

origami flock in four dusk palettes — move to gather, hold to scatter. mouse & finger, no pilot seat needed

PAPERS ::

quickstart + flight manual — the papers, live and readable

KEYS :: DECK

psycho noir speedramp, vj edition — arriving soon

back room :: SHADER ARCHIVE — live shaders running in-page. heavy — best on computers.

ABOUT ::

Every work here is a single hand-coded HTML file — no app, no platform, no build — projected into the room and then handed over: scan the QR, invent a pilot name, and your phone takes the controls.

Life as we keep on keeping on is a playable essay about commuter trauma and algorithmic crowds: a voxel world of small runners crossing terrain that shifts between serenity and static. Visitors hold the switch between order and collapse — the daily commute's real question — and the crowd keeps moving either way.

CHONK PARADE is a procession of shadow creatures walking through a slow photographic melt — decay as a medium, attention as a signal. Pilots steer the procession from their phones and can flash their names briefly across the wall: present for a moment, then surrendered to the melt, like everything else.

PAPER DUSK is an origami flock in four dusk palettes — cranes, planes, and scraps that spook themselves and settle again. Move to gather; hold to scatter. First installed on the smart TV beside the Modeka toilet door — the wall with the longest queue in the house.

The SHADER ARCHIVE keeps the artist's performance instruments running live in the page — audio-reactive shaders written for VJ sets and projection nights, each one playable here and free to carry off with credit.

Together they make one argument the artist has been building for twenty years across post-production, cryptoart, and code: a system is only alive while someone tends it. The stream is the stage; the audience is the foley artist. These artworks don't perform for you — they wait for you.

The creatures descend from the artist's own shadow practice (2017; first published as shadow realm, 2020), with a nod to Marko Zubak, a.k.a. Mlibty, who blessed the derivations by name.

field notes from the balcony :: keep in touch