winding

l'edizione 2. gen art 🔊 [ ON ] this piece feels like a quiet pulse in the dark—a loop that holds its own rhythm, soft yet unrelenting. the glow is gentle, almost tender, but there’s a weight to it, like it’s carrying something unspoken. it’s inspired by the digital age, where connection and isolation blur, where beauty and fragility coexist. the knot isn’t just a form; it’s a feeling—of being held, of being caught, of finding meaning in the spaces in between.

pp and passage. self tribute

l'edizione 13. persona there was and is something about the west—lonely figures on the edge of time, chasing horizons they’ll never quite reach.it grew out of a quiet ache, a longing for the good old days that feel so close yet so far. each pixel holds a memory—some sharp, some blurred, all bittersweet. the face stares back, caught between a smile and a sigh, like it’s remembering something it can’t quite touch anymore. it’s about time slipping through your fingers, about the weight of nostalgia, and the beauty of what’s been lost. maybe it’s sad, but there’s comfort in the remembering, don’t you think? it’s a quiet reflection, a pause to remember, and maybe to mourn, just a little.

monobloc

l’edizione 11. places visited (and not yet) 🔊 [ ON ] the quiet moments we don’t talk about—the ones where everything feels heavy, but the world around you keeps glowing. the monobloc becomes a witness to it all. the weight of being human in a place that feels alive. it’s not flashy, just honest—like sitting with an old friend who doesn’t need to say a word.

pulsar

l'edizione 2. gen art 🔊 [ ON ] "pulsar" is like stepping into a living, breathing james turrell glow, but with the kinetic energy of es devlin’s stage designs. it’s a piece that doesn’t sit still—colors ripple, forms twist, and it feels like it’s caught mid-transformation. i wanted it to feel personal, like it’s whispering something only you can hear. it’s not about answers, but about the questions it stirs in you. maybe it’s light, maybe it’s life—either way, it’s yours to explore.

giving end-of-the-world-core

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the block and the dream all in one

l'edizione 13. persona. 🔊 [ ON ] this piece is also rhythm—like a freestyle session where every bar hits different. it’s the block and the dream all in one. the hoodie’s the armor—quiet, steady—but the world around it? that’s the noise we grew up in. toys, cartoons, and chaos, but also survival, hustle, and holding onto what made us. this is flowin’ through memories, remixing the past into something alive. it’s not just nostalgia; it’s a reminder that even in the madness, we find our calm and ourselves. so, what’s your verse in all this? wassup.

Mummy—The Undying Rivalry of the Doomed

l'edizione 9. warzone 🔊 [ ON ]

operation cut-off

l’edizione 12. new world magazine. 🔊 [ ON ] the nexus forge @ eon spire, new lagos. this isn’t the grand, world-saving quest you’d expect. it’s smaller, quieter, but no less important. a single task that could change everything for someone, somewhere. there’s a life at stake. she looks at you, her voice calm but firm. “it’s time to say goodbye, friend.” you feel the weight of her words. this isn’t about glory or recognition. it’s about doing what’s right, even when no one’s watching. her voice is calm, steady, but there’s something heavy in it. she turns, the glow of her suit lighting the path ahead. “follow me,” she says, already moving forward. “we’re on a mission now.” you don’t hesitate. you never do—not with her.

elemental domain (=9)

l’edizione 12. new world magazine. 🔊 [ ON ] the nine elements are all about finding ways to connect and get along, whether it’s with others or yourself. momentum is that push to start something, like reaching out first. dual domain is about balance—knowing when to speak and when to listen. sacred geometry? it’s the structure that keeps things steady, like the unspoken rules of a good friendship. illumination is those “aha” moments when you finally understand someone’s perspective. ecosystem reminds you that we’re all part of something bigger, like how every little action affects the group. synergy is teamwork at its best—when everyone’s strengths come together. foundation is what keeps things solid, like trust and honesty. core is about staying true to who you are, even when things get messy. and ascension? it’s the growth that happens when you learn from each other and come out stronger. these elements aren’t about being perfect—they’re about figuring out how to work together, one step at a time. which one feels like your vibe?

pp and passage. self tribute

l'edizione 13. persona there was and is something about the west—lonely figures on the edge of time, chasing horizons they’ll never quite reach.it grew out of a quiet ache, a longing for the good old days that feel so close yet so far. each pixel holds a memory—some sharp, some blurred, all bittersweet. the face stares back, caught between a smile and a sigh, like it’s remembering something it can’t quite touch anymore. it’s about time slipping through your fingers, about the weight of nostalgia, and the beauty of what’s been lost. maybe it’s sad, but there’s comfort in the remembering, don’t you think? it’s a quiet reflection, a pause to remember, and maybe to mourn, just a little.

trinity deities

l’edizione 12. new world magazine. 🔊 [ ON ] this piece feels like unlocking a mid-tier skin upgrade—sleek, detailed, and just enough to make you pause and appreciate the grind. "myth.exe" drops you into a world where gods are avatars, and every detail feels like it’s pulsing with lore. It’s not the final form, but it’s a solid flex. The energy here is all about progression: who you were, who you are, and who you’re about to become.

where tf are you??

l'edizione 14. darwin files. 🔊 [ ON ] she said she was meeting someone late near her office at byward market area in murray street—something about "settling it once and for all. you get this clip from your friend at 2 a.m., no text—just this. she’s in this parking garage, right? the camera’s kinda shaky, footsteps echoing, and the car’s headlights glare like they’re staring right at you. you hear their breathing, heavy and uneven, and then that scream—distant, sharp, like it’s coming from somewhere deep in the garage. the engine roars, but the car doesn’t move. your friend’s breathing gets faster, and then, just before the clip ends, there’s a click. unmistakable. a gun being loaded. you text back: “where tf are you??” you stare at the answer: “come over.” your stomach twists. the clip is still playing in your head—the scream, the engine, the click. you type back, “what’s going on??” but no reply. wyd?

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luna lagoon

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shatter me

voyage temporel introspectif. l’edizione 19. epoche this piece is personal—it’s about the moment you realize you’re both the one breaking and the one being broken. the figure is me, or maybe it’s you. i was thinking about how we all move through life, leaving cracks behind us, but also carrying them within. the forest is also a metaphor for the mind—dense, tangled, impossible to escape. the cracks are deliberate. i shattered a piece of glass and placed it in front of the lens because i wanted to capture that feeling of looking at yourself through damage. the handwriting? it’s fragments of thoughts i wrote down during a sleepless night, things i couldn’t say out loud. this is about the tension between control and surrender, about how we try to hold ourselves together even when everything is splintering. it’s inspired by jon rafman’s digital surrealism and the raw vulnerability of francesca woodman’s photography. shot deep in epping forest near the loughton camp, early morning on november 12, 2023. I used a sony a7r iv with a 24-70mm f/2.8 lens. post-processing in lightroom and photoshop to enhance the cracks and add depth to the shadows.

brick dreams, jet screams

l’edizione 15. installazione this piece is chaos and control colliding—literally. it’s like your childhood dreams got hijacked by your adult obsessions with speed and destruction. it’s not just a jet; it’s a metaphor for ambition crashing into the mess we build around ourselves. i wanted it to feel like a moment frozen mid-explosion, where you’re not sure if you should laugh, cry, or start digging through the rubble for something you lost. think tom sachs meets mike winkelmann, but with a little more existential dread. contemporary arts center (cac) cincinnati, april 2024

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one .tiff dollar

art is more than a transaction—it is intention, emotion, and connection. as an artist, i create to share meaning, not to reduce my work to commodities. zora, a platform i once trusted to honor this vision, has shifted its focus, turning images into "coins" and prioritizing trade / markets over the essence of creation. while i respect the evolution of platforms, this change does not align with my current values or vision. zora celebrates the idea that you can "discover the value" of a creation as a coin. while this may work for some, i believe it will not be the case for the majority of creators. art is not always about market value or tradeability—it is about resonance, storytelling, connection—and it's very personal. additionally, the current limitation that "coins" cannot be displayed outside the zora app feels restrictive, perhaps intentionally so, but it limits the reach and visibility of the art itself. this shift feels at odds with the open, decentralized spirit that drew me to this space in the first place. this will be my final creation as a "coin" on zora—for now. it is not a bitter farewell but a thoughtful pause, a moment to reflect on what this model represents. this last coin will stand as both a culmination of my journey here and a test of the platform’s direction. whether it succeeds or fails, it will serve as proof of the model’s potential, regardless of my current decision. i remain grateful for the opportunities zora has provided and optimistic for the future. if time, perspective, or the platform itself evolves, i am open to returning. for now, this final coin is my way of honoring the past while stepping forward into new possibilities. art will always find its place, and so will i. let this last coin be a testament to the power of creation, a marker of change, and a reminder that the story is never truly over.

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pp and passage. self tribute

l'edizione 13. persona there was and is something about the west—lonely figures on the edge of time, chasing horizons they’ll never quite reach.it grew out of a quiet ache, a longing for the good old days that feel so close yet so far. each pixel holds a memory—some sharp, some blurred, all bittersweet. the face stares back, caught between a smile and a sigh, like it’s remembering something it can’t quite touch anymore. it’s about time slipping through your fingers, about the weight of nostalgia, and the beauty of what’s been lost. maybe it’s sad, but there’s comfort in the remembering, don’t you think? it’s a quiet reflection, a pause to remember, and maybe to mourn, just a little.

the pied piper of hamelin

l'edizione 14. darwin files. 🔊 [ ON ] this is like laughing in the middle of a storm. but maybe that’s the point. playing piano here feels like defiance, like saying, “yeah, the world’s falling apart, but i’m still here.” the melody feels like a spell, pulling these strange, robotic forms closer. are they following out of awe? desperation? or something more sinister? maybe the music binds them, or maybe it’s their undoing.

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based (tres) - Rodeo

also available as coin... you know where @

based two - Rodeo

also available as coin... you know where @

based

l'edizione 3. rectangles

the pied piper of hamelin

l'edizione 14. darwin files. 🔊 [ ON ] this is like laughing in the middle of a storm. but maybe that’s the point. playing piano here feels like defiance, like saying, “yeah, the world’s falling apart, but i’m still here.” the melody feels like a spell, pulling these strange, robotic forms closer. are they following out of awe? desperation? or something more sinister? maybe the music binds them, or maybe it’s their undoing.

slice of paradise

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soft lies

voyage temporel introspectif. l’edizione 19. epoche this is a moment, a feeling, a whole world wrapped in soft light and handwritten words. the kind of memory that smells like summer air and sounds like laughter you can’t quite place. you hold it in your hand, but it holds you too, pulling you back to a time when everything felt golden, like the best days of your life were happening right then and there. but look closer. it’s not just the photo—it’s her, behind it, holding it, becoming part of it. the lines blur, and suddenly, you’re not sure where the memory ends and the present begins. it’s beautiful, but it aches, like all the best memories do. shot on a sony a7r iv with a 50mm f/1.4 lens for that dreamy depth and soft focus. post-processed in lightroom with warm tones, subtle grain, and delicate highlights to give it that timeless, nostalgic feel.

stormborn & zombie bw glitch - Rodeo

The creative social network.

armor and ash, fb self tribute

l’edizione 0. pixels this is about contradictions—the kind that live inside all of us. it’s a portrait, but it’s also a mask, a reflection of someone who lived between ambition and failure, brilliance and scandal. i wanted it to feel like a moment caught between pride and regret, like the weight of choices made and unmade. the gaze isn’t just looking out—it’s looking back, questioning, searching. it’s inspired by a life that was as layered as it was flawed. a man who rose to the heights of power, only to fall, who sought truth in science but lived in the chaos of politics and personal struggles. it’s not about judgment—it’s about humanity, raw and unfiltered.

den of light

l’edizione 10. surreal this is where i go when the world gets too loud. it’s not just a place—it’s a feeling, a breath i can finally take. the light here doesn’t just fall; it moves, it listens. the reflections shift like they’re alive, like they’re holding pieces of me i’ve left behind. it’s quiet, but not empty. it’s full of something i can’t name, something that feels like home but also like a secret i’m still learning to understand. this spot has seen me at my best and my worst. it doesn’t judge, doesn’t ask for anything. it just is. and when i’m here, i feel like i can just be too. it’s sacred to me and it feels like it belongs to something bigger, something i can’t quite name.

My Top 9 | Rodeo

soft lies

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My Top 9 | Rodeo

a digital migraine, but in the best way possible

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the platform

l’edizione 12. new world magazine it’s a bench, sure, but it’s also a question. a pause. a space carved out for the in-between. it’s not just for waiting for a train—it’s for waiting for anything: a decision, a sign, a moment to pass. it holds the weight of all the people who’ve sat there, carrying their hopes, their fears, their boredom, their silence. it’s a witness to transitions, to arrivals and departures, to the lives that brush past it without a second thought. its essence? it’s a threshold. a liminal space. it doesn’t belong to the past or the future—it’s the now, stretched thin. it’s a reminder that even in stillness, something is always moving, even if it’s just the thoughts in your head. it’s not just a bench—it’s a mirror, asking you what you’re waiting for.

pp and passage. self tribute

l'edizione 13. persona there was and is something about the west—lonely figures on the edge of time, chasing horizons they’ll never quite reach.it grew out of a quiet ache, a longing for the good old days that feel so close yet so far. each pixel holds a memory—some sharp, some blurred, all bittersweet. the face stares back, caught between a smile and a sigh, like it’s remembering something it can’t quite touch anymore. it’s about time slipping through your fingers, about the weight of nostalgia, and the beauty of what’s been lost. maybe it’s sad, but there’s comfort in the remembering, don’t you think? it’s a quiet reflection, a pause to remember, and maybe to mourn, just a little.

what the mist hides

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etched in time

l’edizione 12. new world magazine the stones are not just a monument—they are a mechanism, built with precision but meant to be used with chaos. dragged from distant lands, aligned to the stars, they were designed to impose order on the world. but their true power came from the markings, the human touch. every generation added its own layer, not to preserve the past but to keep the tool alive. it was a ritual as old as the stones themselves. the geometry of the formation was perfect, but the markings were wild, unpredictable—a reminder that humanity’s strength wasn’t in precision but in creativity. he added his own marks, not to deface but to contribute, to keep the tool working. the stones didn’t demand perfection; they demanded life, chaos, and the messy beauty of human hands. as his dogs barked, he stepped back, knowing the work was never truly done.

fractured bloom gk self tribute

l'edizione 13. persona so, this is the version that lives in the spaces between the gold and the grit. i wanted to capture that tension, you know? the rawness of being human but wrapped in something luminous, like you’re trying to shine through the chaos. yeah, the patterns are wild, but they’re not random. they’re the pieces of life that stick to you—memories, dreams, fears—all stitched together into something that almost makes sense. the colors are loud because life is loud. the gold? it’s not about wealth; it’s about fragility, like how something so beautiful can also be so breakable. the hat is a little ironic, a little defiant—like, i’m here, but i’m not playing by the rules. it’s about standing in the middle of the storm and still finding a way to glow. thanks for seeing it. maybe you’ll find a piece of yourself in it too.

the day after (late but real)

l'edizione 6. moments so, here’s the deal: one of you waited. all day. and the other one didn’t show. this is love that arrives late, but not too late—love doesn’t run on clocks. it’s the kind of love that stumbles, that forgets the date, that shows up messy and flawed, holding a heart that’s been through all the mess and chaos. it’s not wrapped in ribbons or dipped in sugar—it’s raw, rusted, real and stitched together with everything you’ve been through. and somehow, that makes it more beautiful. standing here, waiting, not for perfection but for truth. the heart isn’t perfect, but it’s honest. it’s built from the pieces of who you are, the parts you thought were too broken to matter. love isn’t about timing—it’s about seeing the beauty in the imperfections, the soul beneath the surface. love is not perfect, but it’s real.

the light we carry

l’edizione 11. places visited (and not yet) 🔊 [ ON ] she stands in the water deep within the sundarban near kalash island, where the ganges, brahmaputra, and meghna rivers meet the bay of bengal. still but not at peace. she ferries memories. the mangroves are her domain, a labyrinth where the past and present blur. the fish glows in her hands, its light rippling across the surface like a heartbeat. the glowing fish isn’t a creature; it’s a vessel, holding fragments of lives long forgotten. it’s not hers to keep—she knows that. the boys rise from the depths, their faces calm, their movements slow, like they’ve been waiting for her. they are the lost ones, innocent souls who wandered too far into the mangroves and became part of them. they rise from the water to remind her of what’s at stake. they are the memories she couldn’t save, the ones that slipped through her fingers. she doesn’t look at them. her gaze is heavy, focused inward, as if she’s carrying the weight of a decision. the fish carries something forgotten, something to remember. but taking it comes with a price. the mangroves don’t let anyone leave unchanged. she turns slightly, her hands shifting, as if she’s about to pass it on. not to you, but to someone who carries a burden of their own, someone who’s lost something or someone and needs to find their way back. it’s not a gift—it’s a responsibility. the glowing fish chooses its keeper, and she’s the intermediary, the one who ensures it goes to the right hands. the air is thick with questions, but she doesn’t answer.