Aesthetics & Creative Practices Series

an extended artist talk

This is the long essay version of a live — albeit remote — artist talk that I gave as part of my solo show at the Martin Art Gallery of Muhlenberg College. The show was based on my VJ loops and 2D digital art based on video still of those loops. Since my original talk was based on a slide deck — as most talks are these days — I will pepper throughout the writing some of the original slides.

Why Analog Matters

Analog signals hold a persistent relevance in artistic practices precisely because they maintain a direct relationship to the material world in ways that digital media cannot fully replicate. In the context of contemporary art, where digital technologies seem to dominate the new media landscape, working with Analog synthesis techniques might seem out of place or even obsolete. Yet, this perception overlooks the inherent richness of analog media, particularly in its unpredictability and continuous flow, which remains inseparable from natural processes.

Analog technologies, such as modular synthesis, introduce a kind of chaos — an element that invites both control and surrender on the part of the artist. Unlike digital systems, which are built on binary logic and can be programmed to deliver precise, repeatable outcomes, analog systems are rooted in continuous variation and subtle imperfection. This unpredictability aligns more closely with the organic flux of life itself, where no moment is ever exactly the same. In a world increasingly dominated by algorithmic precision, analog’s capacity to generate emergent, unexpected phenomena offers an aesthetic counterpoint that feels raw, immediate, and alive.

Furthermore, analog synthesis operates in the space between order and disorder, a threshold where chaos theory becomes a compelling framework for understanding the aesthetics of these signal flows. The complex, feedback-laden circuits of modular synths, for instance, evoke natural systems — weather patterns, neural networks, or even the movements of galaxies — where small changes in initial conditions lead to vast, intricate outcomes. By embracing analog systems, the artist is engaging directly with this fluid dynamism, tapping into a medium that mirrors the complex, fractal patterns of the universe itself.

In this sense, interest in making art with analog media is not a regression or a nostalgic return to the past. Rather, it is a recognition of the aesthetic and conceptual potential that analog holds in the present, especially in dialogue with digital media. Analog and digital are not oppositional; they exist in a continuum. The interplay between them — what I refer to as the ‘analogic detour,’ since analog is found at both the input and output ends of digital systems— reaffirms the importance of analog in shaping the sensory experience of the digital, and vice versa. Analog becomes a way to reveal what is often obscured in the precision of digital technology: the chaotic, tactile, and, ultimately, human dimensions of media.

As artists, working with analog technologies today can be seen as a deliberate choice to engage with the physical and the contingent, to remind ourselves that in a digital age, the foundational elements of the universe are still, irrevocably, analog.

Analog Technologies: Real and Emulated

The Sandin Image Processor, created in the early 1970s by Dan Sandin, was one of the pioneering modular video synthesis systems. It was designed to manipulate analog video signals in real-time, allowing artists to create complex Visual effects by modifying video input using voltage control. This system was built on the principle of open access and collaboration, with Sandin making the designs freely available to encourage experimentation.

The Image Processor works by taking a video signal and subjecting it to a series of modular transformations, such as colorization, feedback, and distortion, using analog circuits. The result is a continuous, fluid manipulation of images that can produce abstract visual patterns, color shifts, and textures that feel both organic and immediate. Its modular design allows artists to connect different components in various configurations, giving them full control over the video signal’s behavior and appearance.

The Chromagnon Video Synthesizer, developed by LZX Industries in the 21st century, builds on the legacy of systems like the Sandin Image Processor but with modern updates. Chromagnon is part of a broader ecosystem of modular video synthesis tools offered by LZX, which specializes in creating hardware for video artists. Like the Sandin system, Chromagnon operates on voltage control and allows users to manipulate video signals in real-time, but it incorporates more advanced capabilities suited to contemporary digital workflows, such as compatibility with high-definition video formats.

Chromagnon excels at producing vibrant, saturated colors, geometric shapes, and intricate pattern generation, making it ideal for real-time performance and live visuals. It offers expanded options for interfacing with other modular systems, both audio and video, and has more precise control over visual effects due to modern circuitry and components.

While both systems are based on the core principle of modular synthesis — where individual components can be connected and rearranged to produce various effects — there are key differences between the two. The Sandin Image Processor, with its roots in the analog experimentation of the 1970s, emphasizes the raw, hands-on manipulation of signals, often producing results that are less predictable and more fluid. It was designed during a time when video art was still in its formative stages, and its aesthetic tends to reflect the lo-fi, exploratory spirit of that era.

On the other hand, Chromagnon is designed for precision and integration with modern video technology. While still true to its analog roots, Chromagnon is capable of higher resolution and more detailed manipulation of color and form, thanks to the advancements in electronics since the 1970s. It also interfaces more easily with other digital tools, providing a bridge between analog video synthesis and digital media production. Despite these advancements, both systems share a dedication to real-time manipulation and signal flow, offering artists a tactile and intuitive way to engage with video as a dynamic, ever-changing medium.

The Lumen Video Synthesizer is a software application designed for Mac that emulates the techniques and aesthetics of analog video synthesis. It offers a user interface that mimics the workflow of hardware video synthesizers, allowing artists to modulate video signals in real time using a variety of digital modules. Like its hardware counterparts, Lumen is rooted in the continuous manipulation of video signals, and it emphasizes the organic, unpredictable qualities of analog video systems.

By using Lumen, artists can achieve visual effects that resemble those produced by modular systems like the Sandin Image Processor or Chromagnon, including color shifting, feedback loops, and abstract pattern generation. One of the strengths of Lumen is its accessibility, as it removes the need for physical hardware while still delivering the richness and textural depth of analog video synthesis. The software allows users to generate complex, evolving visuals and integrate them into live performance contexts, creating a seamless bridge between the analog aesthetics of video synthesis and the flexibility of digital workflows.

On the audio side, Slate Digital’s line of software plugins is designed with the specific goal of capturing the analog warmth that comes from the harmonic distortions and nonlinear signal behaviors inherent in analog technology. These plugins emulate the characteristics of classic analog equipment used in mixing and mastering, such as tape machines, tube compressors, and vintage EQs. What makes these emulations so compelling is the attention to detail in recreating the imperfections and subtle distortions that analog gear imparts to sound. In analog systems, the circuitry introduces slight variations and harmonic distortions that give recordings a sense of depth, warmth, and richness. These sonic artifacts, often seen as flaws in a purely technical sense, are prized by musicians and producers for the life they bring to a mix.

Slate Digital’s plugins replicate these behaviors by modeling the interactions between the various components of analog gear, such as tubes, transistors, and transformers. As a result, electronic music produced with these plugins can evoke the warmth and character of analog sound, even when the entire process is digital. This emulation of harmonic distortion, tape saturation, and dynamic nonlinearity allows for a sound that feels less sterile and more human. By incorporating these plugins into a creative workflow, one can achieve the subtle imperfections that analog systems naturally introduce — imperfections that are often key to the emotional and visceral impact of the music.

Both Lumen and Slate Digital’s plugins demonstrate how digital emulation of analog technologies can preserve the artistic value of analog workflows while providing the flexibility and convenience of modern digital environments. By merging the best of both worlds, these tools allow for a rich, nuanced exploration of signal flow, whether visual or auditory, and they bring an essential warmth and unpredictability that define analog art-making.

Technical Caveat

In my approach to working with analog signals, it’s important to clarify that I am not an engineer. While I deeply appreciate the technical intricacies involved in analog synthesis and signal processing, I don’t engage with these systems from a purely scientific or mathematical standpoint. For instance, when it comes to research that involves complex quantitative analysis, I typically hire stats experts to handle the math for me because, quite frankly, my quantitative skills are not my strongest suit.

When I explore scientific and technological discourses, I do so with a different intent. I read these materials not to strictly apply formulas or replicate precise theories, but to draw practical inspiration and analogy that can inform my creative practice. These technical ideas serve as intellectual engagements that spark my thinking about art, offering ways to frame my process without requiring direct adherence to scientific rigor.

It’s also worth noting that the video loops I create are not intended as faithful embodiments of specific theories or mathematical formulas. My work is driven more by the poetics and aesthetics of using analog tools, focusing on the forms of experience they produce. My interest lies in how these technologies allow for certain kinds of artistic expression and the ways in which their use generates rich, unpredictable visual artifacts. What I aim to explore is the beauty and experience of these processes, rather than any technical exactitude.

Nonlinear Systems and Behavior

Nonlinear behavior, as observed in mechanical systems, is not only common but can also serve as a powerful creative tool when working with chaotic analog signal flows in art. The idea that linear behavior is merely an idealized simplification of real-world dynamics resonates deeply with the artistic manipulation of analog signals. Linear systems are often convenient approximations that allow for predictable and repeatable outcomes. However, in the context of art, especially when working with analog synthesis, it is precisely the nonlinearities — the deviations from these idealized forms — that generate the most compelling, dynamic results.

In analog systems, these nonlinearities manifest as unpredictable shifts in signal behavior. Whether through feedback loops, saturation, or harmonic distortion, nonlinear behaviors introduce variability that can be harnessed to create complex, evolving visual or sonic patterns. This variability is not merely a byproduct of the system but becomes an integral part of the artistic process, allowing the artist to engage with the medium in a way that embraces uncertainty and flux. The nonlinear aspects of these systems often reveal themselves slowly, as signals modulate and shift over time, creating a kind of organic evolution that cannot be fully predicted or controlled.

One of the key distinctions in nonlinear behavior is the rate of variation relative to the system’s loop dynamics. When the variation is slow, nonlinearities might be perceived as part of a shifting system where parameters evolve gradually during operation. In my work, this slow unfolding of nonlinear behaviors is often central to the aesthetic. The gradual shifts in signal flow mimic natural processes, where change happens incrementally, often imperceptibly at first, before accumulating into significant transformations. This kind of slow variation allows for a more meditative, immersive experience in the artwork, as viewers or listeners become attuned to the subtleties of change over time.

Fast nonlinear behavior, on the other hand, introduces sudden, unexpected shifts in the system’s response, creating a more chaotic and frenetic experience. In analog video or audio synthesis, these rapid changes can result in abrupt shifts in texture, tone, or visual pattern, injecting a sense of immediacy and unpredictability into the work. Both slow and fast nonlinearities offer rich terrain for artistic exploration, and the interplay between these two modes can lead to dynamic contrasts within a single piece.

Ultimately, the significance of nonlinear behavior in these systems is not merely technical but deeply aesthetic. By allowing nonlinearities to influence the signal flow in significant ways, I embrace the unpredictability and emergent qualities of analog systems, turning these behaviors into core components of the artwork. These nonlinear phenomena offer a way to engage with the chaotic, the unpredictable, and the evolving, allowing for the creation of work that feels alive, responsive, and deeply tied to the natural world’s complex dynamics.

Lorenz Attractors are mathematical models that arise in the study of dynamical systems, particularly within chaos theory. They represent a set of chaotic solutions to differential equations, where seemingly random behavior can nonetheless exhibit a pattern of stability over time. The attractor itself is a structure that forms in phase space, where the trajectory of the system, although it never repeats, remains confined to a specific region, continuously spiraling in unpredictable yet bounded paths. This creates a delicate balance between chaos and order, where infinite complexity unfolds within a finite space.

In chaos theory, Lorenz Attractors embody the core principle that within chaotic systems, underlying patterns of stability can emerge. The system never settles into a simple, predictable state, but neither does it completely fly apart. Instead, it evolves within a set of constraints that allow for both fluctuation and coherence. The Lorenz Attractor illustrates how even the most chaotic of systems are governed by rules that give them form, even if that form is highly sensitive to initial conditions and constantly changing.

From an artistic perspective, Lorenz Attractors provide a powerful metaphor for the tension between fluctuation and form. In art, particularly in my work with chaotic analog signal flows, the attractor’s behavior mirrors the way in which a work can oscillate between disorder and structure. While the signals might fluctuate wildly, generating unexpected visual or sonic patterns, there remains an underlying coherence — a sense of form that persists despite the constant changes. This form is not rigid or predetermined but emerges organically from the fluctuations themselves.

The Lorenz Attractor’s ability to suggest stability amid great variability resonates with how artists working with chaotic systems seek to capture fleeting moments of order without eliminating the underlying unpredictability. It suggests that within the apparent randomness of creative processes, there is always a structure waiting to be revealed, a pattern that brings the work to life. This interplay between chaos and form is what makes the Lorenz Attractor such an evocative concept, both in mathematics and in art, where form is not imposed from above but discovered within the very processes of fluctuation and change.

Loops and Repetition

In classic media loops, whether analog or digital, the concept of repetition is tightly bound to the idea of exactness. A film loop or an audio tape loop, for instance, is based on a fixed sequence that repeats identically each time it reaches its end and starts over. Similarly, digital media, such as an audio or video file, defines a looping region with clear start and end points, ensuring that the same unchanging material is played over and over. This kind of loop relies on the predictability and precision of the media, where nothing within the looped material itself varies from one cycle to the next.

However, when working with analog signals that exhibit chaotic dynamics, this notion of exact repetition dissolves. A signal flow based on chaotic dynamics is nonlinear by nature, which means it never exactly repeats itself over time. Instead, while certain patterns or behaviors may emerge within the system, the variations within the signal ensure that the visual or auditory material is always evolving. This characteristic makes it possible for video loops derived from chaotic analog signals to obscure their start and end points, because the system’s unpredictability prevents any single moment from being an exact replica of another. Even though the loop structure exists, the content within it constantly shifts, creating an illusion of continuous motion and change.

In this way, loops made from chaotic analog signals defy the rigid boundaries of traditional loops. The material never fully settles into a repetitive pattern, allowing the flow of signals to generate visual or sonic textures that feel alive and dynamic. The chaotic movement within the loop not only masks its beginning and end — should we decide to make a video clip out of it — but also adds a layer of complexity that draws the viewer or listener deeper into the experience. The non-repeating nature of the loop (whether we record it or play it live) challenges the expectation of repetition and offers a fluid, ever-shifting aesthetic that is integral to the use of chaotic systems in art.

Non-Digital Thinking

Working with digital tools often feels like an exercise in pure logic — what I like to think of as “Spock-logical” reasoning. Digital systems demand precision, calculation, and an almost obsessive intentionality. Every output is meticulously planned and executed, and any misstep can be tracked down, debugged, and corrected within the rigid framework of code or software. The process is, in many ways, an engineering feat, where the focus is on eliminating uncertainty to achieve a flawless, repeatable result. The relationship between effort and outcome in the digital realm is often linear and predictable: the more logical your approach, the closer you get to your intended output.

By contrast, working with analog systems, particularly those that operate under chaotic, nonlinear conditions, introduces an entirely different way of thinking — a kind of non-digital thinking. The differences between analog and digital systems are familiar: in digital systems, we deal with bits, finite data, and exact copies that don’t degrade. Analog systems, on the other hand, are built on fluctuating signals, theoretically infinite resolution, and degradation over time or distance. This degradation itself becomes part of the work, giving it warmth, texture, and a sense of lived-in imperfection that digital tools lack. While digital media offers precision and control, analog tools are more forgiving, more intuitive, and more prone to producing unexpected outcomes that emerge organically.

In the context of my own work, I’m drawn less to the precision of digital thinking and more to the unpredictability and intentionality that come with driving a chaos machine — an analog system with nonlinear behavior. These systems introduce a form of creative unpredictability that isn’t simply random but is governed by the complex interaction of many variables, allowing for continuous discovery within the process. This is the opposite of a rigid, digital tool where intentionality dominates. With chaotic systems, you have to relinquish some degree of control and let the system itself participate in the creative act. The resulting artwork is not the product of meticulous pre-planning but rather a reflection of the interaction between the artist and the unpredictable behavior of the medium itself.

This non-digital thinking also lends itself to a contemplative approach to physical processes. In working with analog systems, I see art as a window onto the broader dynamics of the universe. The chaotic, nonlinear flows of energy or signal within these systems reflect the beauty of natural processes, from weather patterns to the orbits of celestial bodies. There is a resonance between the unpredictability of the analog signal and the mathematics underlying chaos theory — a resonance that makes the work feel alive. In this way, I often feel like I’m gazing out of a personal viewport on a Star Trek ship, observing the intricate dynamics of the cosmos through the medium of art.

There are also deeper philosophical reflections that arise when engaging with chaotic analog systems. These systems invite questions about difference and repetition, randomness and monotony. The work oscillates between stability and change, providing an opportunity to reflect on larger ideas about the nature of reality. What does it mean to work with a system that never repeats itself exactly but still follows discernible patterns? How do difference and repetition coexist in a single process? In working with these tools, I am thinking through art — allowing the processes of chaos and signal flow to suggest answers to these questions, rather than imposing my own preconceived solutions.

Yet, even in embracing these chaotic processes, I do not see analog and digital as oppositional. Rather, I find practical continuity between the two domains, often exploring hybrid forms that blend the best of both worlds. The precision of digital tools can complement the organic flow of analog systems, creating a balance between control and chaos — and of course, I often work with digital emulations of analog systems. In this way, non-digital thinking doesn’t reject the digital entirely, but instead opens up new possibilities for integrating both approaches. This exploration of hybrid forms is where some of the most exciting creative potential lies, as it allows for a richer, more nuanced engagement with the materials at hand.

Making Art, Thinking Science

When thinking about the nature of analog systems and chaotic signal flows, I often draw inspiration from broader scientific and theoretical frameworks, like information theory, complexity theory, and cosmology. These fields, while distinct in their subjects, resonate with the aesthetic concerns of my art, particularly in how they frame the relationship between order and randomness.

Information theory provides an analogy when considering the dynamics of pattern and randomness in chaotic systems. In this framework, low entropy is associated with high predictability and structure, while high entropy correlates with disorder and randomness. The aesthetic tension in my work, especially in nonlinear analog systems, mirrors this balance between order and entropy. Chaotic processes in analog systems are not entirely disordered; rather, they hover in a state of dynamic fluctuation, much like how language operates at 50% redundancy. Information theory posits that language is most efficient when it strikes a balance between predictability and surprise, and this same principle can be applied to the way chaotic analog signals create visual or auditory experiences that are neither entirely random nor fully predictable.

In complexity theory, we find that life itself can be understood as an increase in complexity — a system constantly evolving toward higher orders of structure through self-organization. This is a powerful metaphor for the way analog systems, when engaged with creatively, can give rise to emergent patterns. As signals move through chaotic processes, complexity unfolds in unexpected ways, allowing for artistic expressions that feel alive, organic, and evolving. Just as life forms navigate the edge of chaos, my artworks use analog synthesis to explore this boundary, where complexity emerges from simple, fluctuating inputs.

Cosmology and astrophysics also offer profound inspirational analogies, particularly in the debate between Supersymmetry and the Multiverse, as captured in the documentary film Particle Fever. These two competing theories about the fundamental nature of reality offer radically different views on order and chaos. Supersymmetry suggests an elegant and highly ordered universe, where particles exist in complementary pairs that complete the structure of known physics. The Multiverse, on the other hand, posits a far more disordered and chaotic reality, where our universe is just one of countless others, each with different physical laws. The detected mass of the Higgs Boson — approximately halfway between the two predictions — suggests that the universe itself may not conform entirely to either extreme, but instead exists in a dynamic balance between order and chaos.

This tension between the ordered elegance of Supersymmetry and the chaotic potential of the Multiverse resonates deeply with my artistic practice. It reflects the fundamental uncertainty and fluidity that I engage with when working with analog signals. In much the same way that the Higgs Boson was discovered to occupy a middle ground between two competing models, my work often dwells in the space between chaos and order, where neither fully dominates. This balance is reflected in the signals themselves — oscillating between randomness and structure, creating forms that are both stable and in flux.

When I work with analog signals as the foundation for my artworks, I often imagine it as if I’m gazing out of my own personal viewport on a Star Trek ship, witnessing primordial cosmic phenomena unfold in real time. Through my creative tools, I become a kind of observer, not just of the immediate visual effects on the screen, but of something deeper — an underlying, almost ancient energy that feels as though it comes from the very fabric of the universe. There’s a sense that I’m interacting with the same kinds of chaotic forces that shaped the cosmos itself, as if the analog signals I’m manipulating are distant echoes of those primordial flows.

It’s intriguing that our word for ‘cosmos’ comes from the Greek kosmos, which originally meant jewel. In a metaphorical sense, the visuals produced through video synthesis often appear jewel-like in their complexity of color and pattern, as though I am crafting miniature universes of shimmering detail. The layers of color, light, and form within these signal flows create visual textures that feel both intricate and boundless, much like the way the ancients must have seen the night sky — unblemished by artificial light, glowing with a clarity and brilliance that we can only imagine today. In those eras before cities and light pollution dulled the cosmic view, the night sky must have seemed like a vast, jeweled expanse, rich with meaning and mystery.

Through video synthesis, I tap into that same sense of wonder. The swirling, ever-evolving patterns that emerge from chaotic analog signals remind me of the infinite complexity of the cosmos, as though each piece of art becomes a window onto the universe, both vast and intimate. The jewel-like visuals aren’t just pleasing to the eye — they’re metaphors for the way chaos and order coexist, for the delicate, intricate balance that exists in both the cosmos and in the creative act itself. In a way, every analog signal I work with is like gazing into a tiny, shifting cosmos, alive with movement and color, inviting me to explore its depths, much like the ancients did when they looked up at the stars.

Philosophical Inputs

Philosophical thinking also informs the way I approach working with analog signals as the foundation of my artworks. Gregory Bateson’s idea of “the difference that makes a difference” in cybernetics theory resonates with the inherent variability within analog systems. Analog signals, by their very nature, produce differences — not just in the expected technical sense, but in the more profound way that Bateson points toward: small fluctuations in signal flow, feedback loops, and the chaotic dynamics of nonlinear systems continually introduce variation. These variations are not noise in the dismissive sense but rather the source of new patterns, new possibilities. This becomes the foundation of my aesthetic engagement with analog systems — embracing these differences as productive forces within the artwork itself.

In this way, I think of my practice as thinking through art, engaging with concepts as they unfold materially in the process of creation. Bateson’s notion that “all that is not information, not redundancy, not form, and not restraints — is noise, the only possible source of new patterns” feels particularly relevant here. Noise, in the context of analog signals, is not a disturbance to be corrected but a generative element that produces something new. It is within the noise, within the variability and unpredictability of the signal flow, that new patterns emerge, challenging the idea of repetition as sameness.

This also aligns with Gilles Deleuze’s philosophy of difference and repetition, where repetition does not imply a mere recurrence of the same but rather the production of new differences each time something repeats. In my work with analog media, this is made manifest: the signal may seem to repeat, but it never returns in exactly the same form. It repeats, but it’s different. It repeats, but it’s different. This perpetual renewal, where the same process generates new outcomes, becomes a core aesthetic principle, reflecting a deeper engagement with time and becoming. The non-repetition of the same is central to how I think about analog signals, where each iteration produces something distinct, a variation within continuity.

This heterogeneity in temporal flows also draws from Deleuze’s concept of time. Rather than being bound by clock time — where moments are sliced into regular, identical units — analog signals reflect a more fluid, heterogeneous temporality. The fluctuations and irregularities in the signal are temporal expressions that resist strict measurement, allowing for a richer engagement with time as something lived and felt, rather than calculated. This fluid temporality, where the artwork evolves unpredictably over time, mirrors a lived experience of duration, where every moment is unique despite appearing structurally similar.

The production of differences, rather than the mere reproduction of form, becomes the driving force in my aesthetic practice. By working with analog signals, I am not simply manipulating a medium to create fixed outcomes but engaging in a dynamic process where the work constantly shifts and transforms, embodying a philosophy of becoming rather than being. It is within this non-repetition, this continuous unfolding of new patterns through noise, that the artwork finds its vitality, its life force.

In this way, both Bateson and Deleuze provide conceptual tools for understanding the aesthetics of analog signals — not as a medium defined by its constraints but as a field of possibilities where new forms and experiences emerge through the interplay of chaos, noise, and difference. Working with analog signals becomes an act of embracing uncertainty and allowing the material itself to participate in the creation of meaning, leading to a practice that is as philosophical as it is artistic.

VJ Loops

VJ loops occupy a fascinating space within the broader culture of live visual performance, yet they are often overlooked in academic and cultural research. While there is a wealth of information on the role of VJs, live performances, and the surrounding culture, there is relatively little attention given to the actual video clips — the VJ loops themselves. This is somewhat analogous to encountering abundant literature on “film culture” without much discussion about the films themselves. The loops, as a core medium, deserve deeper consideration for their aesthetic and technical roles.

One of the most significant aspects of VJ loops is what I call their Double Lack. Firstly, they function as a live performance compensation for the context of electronic music, where manipulating controllers and digital instruments is less visually engaging than watching someone play a traditional musical instrument. The physicality of a guitar solo or drum performance is visually compelling in a way that twisting knobs on a controller isn’t, and VJ loops fill this visual gap, adding a dynamic element that compensates for the performer’s relative immobility. Secondly, VJ loops are silent by design. This silence is intentional so that the loops can be complemented by the audio of the live performance, allowing the music to take the auditory foreground while the visuals enhance the experience in a non-intrusive way.

VJ loops are typically extremely short, often just a few seconds in length, designed to loop seamlessly so that the audience doesn’t notice the transition points. Their silence, coupled with their brevity, makes them highly adaptable to live performance environments, where they can be sequenced, layered, and manipulated to synchronize with music. VJ loops often come in organized “packs,” which consist of related visuals or variations on a theme, making them easy to use in various combinations during live shows. These loops are easily accessible — they can be purchased, traded, downloaded, and used by anyone, creating a vast community of exchange and remixing.

Metadata plays a critical role in the organization and use of VJ loops. As VJs often work with large libraries of visual material, proper metadata tags are essential for organizing loops within software databases. This helps with storage, composition, playback, and processing, ensuring that loops are quickly searchable and ready to be deployed in a live performance. Additionally, VJ loops are preformatted for specific software applications, with particular file formats and codecs preferred by the VJ community. More recently, high-resolution formats such as 4K have become standard, as VJ loops need to render crisply when projected on large-scale surfaces during performances.

Despite the diversity of visual media available to VJs — ranging from live video feeds to generative or algorithmic video outputs, processed still images, and longer video files — VJ loops remain the dominant format for live performance. This is largely due to their flexibility and ease of synchronization with music. Their short duration allows for tight control in a live setting, and because the start and end frames are often identical, the audience rarely perceives where the loop begins or ends. This illusion can make short clips feel longer, creating temporal effects that extend the visual experience.

In many ways, VJ loops function as the grammatical units or building blocks of live visual improvisation. Their modular nature allows for infinite combinations, enabling VJs to create complex visual narratives or abstractions through a process of layering and remixing. Unlike traditional film, which follows a causal, narrative logic, VJ loops often operate on principles of synaesthesia with music, where the visuals respond to sound in ways that evoke emotional scripts or metaphors. Instead of temporal montage, they rely more on spatial arrangements, creating moments of poetic resonance rather than linear storytelling.

As a result, VJ loops open up a space for non-narrative visual experiences that are tightly integrated with music, offering a performative medium that is as much about emotional impact as it is about aesthetics. Their short, repetitive nature makes them ideal for live improvisation, allowing the VJ to craft a visual environment that evolves alongside the music, shaping the overall experience in real time.

Video Rhythmologies

The Video Rhythmologies series is an exploration of digital video stills taken from my VJ loops, arranged into large-scale canvases that evoke the compositional rigor of photographic typologies, embodying concepts similar to those found in the works of August Sander, Bernd and Hilla Becher, and Ed Ruscha. By employing a kind of visual classification system, I create compositions that systematically arrange video stills into spatial frameworks, each still representing a frozen moment from the dynamic flow of video synthesis. These individual frames are organized into intricate spatial tapestries that play with rhythm, repetition, and variation.

The source material for the first works in the series comes directly from my collections of VJ loops, further grounding the project in a lineage of time-based, live performance visuals. By translating these fleeting, ephemeral video moments into static images, the Video Rhythmologies attempt to capture and reflect upon the rhythmic structures inherent in the video loops. What is particularly exciting about this series is the opportunity to push the limits of resolution and scale. The works are produced at ultra-high resolutions, such as 16K and 32K, which allows them to be printed or projected at architectural scales.

This ability to scale the work means that these pieces can function as large wall-hung prints, architectural projections, or even media facades on buildings. The potential for them to be realized as ‘stained glass’ windows using ceramic ink technology offers an entirely different kind of material engagement with digital media. Digital art, and particularly video frames, is often limited by resolution when translated into fine art prints or large-scale installations. With the Video Rhythmologies, I’m exploring how experimental video can expand into larger formats for home, work, or public displays, particularly as UHD screens and other high-resolution display technologies become more prevalent. This series is a way of testing the boundaries of digital video in fine art contexts, merging the dynamic language of video with the materiality of large-scale visual presentation.

Typologies

WIth the Video Rhythmologies, many aspects resonate with the historical practice of photographic typologies, where formal similarities are studied and interpreted across a set of images. Typology, in its essence, is a method of organizing and interpreting types of things — an exercise in visual classification. In my work, the still frames extracted from video signal loops serve as the raw material for this typological approach, where each image is treated as a documentary record of a fleeting moment in the signal’s flow. These images are not imbued with specific meanings but are instead presented as objective “facts” of the signal, much like the cold, systematic documentation of architectural forms seen in earlier typologies.

The role of the grid becomes fundamental in organizing these images. By placing the stills into strict, consistent grids, the individual frames are brought into a structured relationship, allowing the viewer to compare and contrast the variations within the repetition of the signal. This grid organization echoes the minimalist and conceptual art influences seen in earlier typologies, where the grid is not just a tool of classification but a formal device that heightens and focuses attention on the subtle differences between similar forms. The systematic repetition of similar images, laid out in quantity and scale, forces a closer examination of the details, revealing both the homogeneity and heterogeneity of the signal.

Within this framework, the images become specimens or samples of the signal in time, presenting the viewer with a raw visual record of an ephemeral process. The objectivity of the presentation — the way the frames are displayed without additional commentary beyond their title — allows for an impersonal, almost clinical detachment. The images exist not as motifs but as objects, much like the subjects in earlier photographic typologies. They are “documentary” in that they capture the factual progression of the signal but, at the same time, invite a deeper engagement through their organized repetition and subtle variations.

This typological approach is also a way of engaging with pattern recognition. By arranging these frames into grids and sequences, the viewer is prompted to seek out codes or underlying structures, much like how one might interpret a periodic table, balancing order with entropy. There is a sense of repetition, cold and systematic, yet through that very process, the images become affective. The viewer begins to feel the rhythm and flow of the signal, despite the stark presentation, which heightens the attention paid to each individual frame.

Ultimately, much like the classic typologies that influenced this work, the Video Rhythmologies rely on the idea that the images must be viewed as a complete series to be fully understood. The repetition and consistency in the presentation are not merely formal exercises; they are a way of capturing the temporal and spatial rhythms of the signal in a way that is both systematic and deeply affective.

While the Video Rhythmologies draw inspiration from the typology tradition, they also deviate from it in key ways. One of the most significant deviations lies in how the grid, rather than being used solely for classification, becomes a tool for generating new patterns. By juxtaposing the frames of the signal loop in various configurations, new forms emerge that wouldn’t exist in isolation. The systematic arrangement of stills from a video signal allows for the creation of dynamic relationships between individual frames, where the grid itself becomes a generative space for visual experimentation rather than a mere classificatory tool.

Unlike the cold, deadpan detachment often associated with typologies, my work is not necessarily striving for emotional neutrality, even though it remains systematic in its approach. The visual rhythms and patterns that emerge from these grids can evoke emotional or aesthetic responses, depending on how the juxtaposed elements interact. The method is precise, but the result is not intended to be purely clinical; instead, the goal is to highlight the organic qualities that arise from the repetition and variation of the signal.

Another key difference is that the Video Rhythmologies are not photography. They do not classify objects in the world but rather document the fluctuating forms of a signal loop. Where traditional typologies often capture still objects to reveal patterns of sameness or difference within a category, this series captures the movement within a single video loop and presents that as the subject of classification. In this sense, I am documenting a moving object rather than movement among still objects, which shifts the focus from static forms to the dynamics of a process.

There is also a notable absence of narrative or conceptual context beyond the title, a departure from certain typologies that embed richer conceptual frameworks into the work. My focus is on the visual classification of form within the signal, rather than on creating a categorical or conceptual taxonomy. The work does not aim to define or categorize in the traditional sense but instead seeks to spatialize temporal flows — turning the temporal rhythm of the video signal into a visual, spatial object that can be analyzed and experienced all at once.

These deviations highlight how Video Rhythmologies reimagine the typology tradition, using it as a framework to explore new aesthetic and conceptual possibilities that are specific to the nature of video and signal-based media. The work plays with the systematic rigor of typology while opening up space for new forms and patterns that emerge from the unique properties of the medium itself.

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Chaos Theory and the Aesthetics of Analog Signal Flows was originally published in Sound & Design on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.