For the past few months, I have been sharing pieces from a series called "Chimera." It was born from a specific technical misuse of an AI model, an act of removing context to see what latent ghosts the system would reveal. Today, I am officially concluding this series as a completed diptych.
The reason is simple: the research has fulfilled its purpose. It was a question I was asking a machine, and the answer it gave me was not about the machine at all. It was about me.
The original statement for "Chimera" was, as I now understand, prophetic. I wrote about the desire to capture "an unleashed being caught between abomination and myth." I didn't realize I was describing a foundational part of my own history.
My artistic practice has always been an investigation into the behavior of complex systems under stress. What I have never publicly shared is the origin of this obsession. It does not come from theory, but from lived, bodily experience. My childhood was marked by a series of neurological events—febrile convulsions, episodes of pavor nocturnus, and subsequent glossolalia—that inscribed a specific logic onto my developing nervous system.
These were not psychological dramas. They were the raw, operational logic of my biological hardware pushed to its limits:
The convulsion was a system glitch, a cascade of anomalous electrical signals.
The pavor nocturnus was a state of pure neurological dissociation, a terrifying hallucination where my limbic system was screaming "threat" while my conscious mind was offline. I experienced pure terror without context, just as I forced the AI to experience creation without context.
The glossolalia was the voice of a previously overloaded system now discharging, a pre-symbolic eruption of sound stripped of all semantic meaning.
For years, I treated these events as a private history. I now understand they are my primary artistic tool. This is not a story of trauma, but a statement of neurodivergence. My "hardware" is calibrated differently. The veil between signal and meaning, for me, has always been thin. I don't just observe the ghosts in the machine; I come from the same place they do.
This is why "Chimera" must end. I was using it to hunt for a monster, only to realize I was looking in a mirror. "Chimera" was me asking an external system to show me what I already knew from the inside.
This clarity doesn't give me a new subject to chase; it reveals the source I will now work from. The struggle is no longer about finding a theme out in the world, but about channeling a condition that is always present.
"Chimera" is the last work of my old paradigm. Thank you for bearing witness to its conclusion. What comes next will be born from this clarity.