the site shows the performance; this stick is the relic. copy the file to wherever you keep the things you keep — the copy is the backup, this signed one is the original.
that this USB stick carries an original, hand-signed, flash-exam-verified (f3) edition of the piece checked on the right — one hand-coded HTML file that runs offline, in any browser, forever.
personal display & resale of this signed edition; the open-web version remains free for all.
Every work is a single hand-coded HTML file — no app,
no platform, no build — projected into the room and handed over.
The stream is the stage; the audience is the foley artist. These artworks
don't perform for you — they wait for you.
A system is only alive while someone tends it.
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 flash their names briefly across the wall: present a moment, then surrendered to the melt, like everything else. Descends from the artist's shadow practice (2017), blessed by name by Marko Zubak, a.k.a. Mlibty.
Every work is a single hand-coded HTML file — no app,
no platform, no build — projected into the room and handed over.
The stream is the stage; the audience is the foley artist. These artworks
don't perform for you — they wait for you.
A system is only alive while someone tends it.
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.
Every work is a single hand-coded HTML file — no app,
no platform, no build — projected into the room and handed over.
The stream is the stage; the audience is the foley artist. These artworks
don't perform for you — they wait for you.
A system is only alive while someone tends it.
An origami flock in four dusk palettes — cranes, planes, torn scraps sharing one sky. Untouched they drift; something unseen spooks them — ripple, scatter, regroup. Nobody dies, nobody wins, life continues. The sky heals without scars; the only memory of the panic lives in you. Descends from Craig Reynolds' boids (1986) — flocking born from watching real crowds.