AGOSTON NAGY: THE AURA OF THE MACHINE

Agoston Nagy: Actually, I grew up with computers. Personal workstations were rarely available in Budapest in the early 1980s, where I spent my childhood. The first machine I could use was a Commodore 64. I remember when my brother brought it home as a tool to learn programming at the university. I was playing all sorts of games, and my sociocultural co-evolution began with computers.

At first, I was only gaming on the C64, but I soon discovered many interesting programs in the demo scene. I realized that there were many more things going on than just solving puzzles and completing game levels. These audiovisual artifacts shared on floppy disks marked an alien, very futuristic experience for the time.

To be honest, the demo scene was always a bit cringeworthy to me—not really artistic, but much more about technological and countercultural vibes, with a very strange taste. Today I appreciate it; back then, I didn’t really get it. Maybe because I wasn’t writing code at that time, which actually came much later.

AN: I started making images with Deluxe Paint, which gave me an understanding of digital colors, pixels, and operations, and I quickly became seduced by creating graphics. I also began making music with FastTracker II, an early tracker software, which led me to the world of electronic music.

Later, we performed with friends, combining computer graphics, analog slide projectors, and electronics. At that time, I saw a screenshot in a magazine of what the experimental band Autechre was using to create their music, and I knew I had to learn how to build those weird, custom interfaces to make music and visuals.

I started programming with visual languages first (Max/MSP, Pure Data, vvvv), then moved to text-based languages like Java (Processing) and C++ (OpenFrameworks). Today, I mostly use JavaScript and GLSL for creating web-based artwork, and Node.js for controlling plotters and robotic arms on the Raspberry Pi.

Based on my experience, I find it really important to tinker with machines, so I am a supporter and a part of the open-source software movement. Publishing my educational code in public repositories from my workshops and courses is an important aspect of my artistic and research activities.

AN: This quote has become more appropriate recently, especially since we interact with software on a daily basis. I see human-machine interaction as somewhat controversial lately. I create and teach interaction design, where we spend a lot of time on ergonomics, affordances, and the cognitive aspects of artificial systems.

Of course, there are opportunities thanks to automation, scalability, and the omnipresence of these tools, even though these advances radically transform our temporal conditions by keeping us online 24/7, merging free time with labor, and sacrificing irregularities like boredom or contemplation for productivity and growth. I can live with it, but I see that this transformation is happening on a much deeper level, where we are experiencing software mechanics altering our minds. Software cuts out everything that is not needed for its operation—there is no noise, friction, or struggle, just smooth, continuous virtual experiences within operating systems—and I see these principles unfolding in human relationships and mental conditions. Entering, quitting, or switching between mental states in the way we multitask with apps is something I find disappointing. When Steve Jobs referred to computers as "bicycles for the mind," I don’t think that was the original intention behind the whole concept.

Some people refer to big tech as a manifestation of PSYOP Capitalism, which was formulated in the 20th century after the Second World War, when some extremely bright and rational individuals defined that the next direction and future of computing should be artificial intelligence instead of cybernetics. I think what we call AI today is quite boring from this perspective, and I find the latest advances in cryptography, quantum computing, and distributed systems much closer to the original vision of computing.

AN: I was playing computer games, and some methodologies and properties became accessible through experiencing them. When the internet became more accessible, I started to explore early net art, Fluxus, CD-ROMs, and various multimedia releases. The Hungarian C3 Foundation and JODI, a net art duo, were important entry points; later, I discovered Lia, Dextro, Turux, and all the abstract early Macromedia Director artists and Flash intro sites that everyone wanted to create.

These trends drew my attention even more to the abstract, generative ways of creating audio-visual systems. When I was making live coding performances around Europe with the No Copy Paste collective, I met people who were into new media and experimental platforms, allowing me to delve deeply into the roots and histories of these cultural formations. I also read books on FLOSS Art, generative art, interface cultures, mathematics and procedural thinking, and the deep time of media. Many of these areas served as the foundation for my doctoral research on Visual Music Instruments.

AN: One great inspiration for me is ZKM, the Center for Media Art in Karlsruhe. Its former director, Peter Weibel, has made an incredible number of contributions to media art preservation and the maintenance of the cultural heritage of computational art. If anyone is interested in the origins of algorithmic thinking and generative art, their catalogs and book releases provide an extremely comprehensive overview of the topic, from the ancient Arabic automata of Al-Jazari through the multidimensional heuristic languages of Ramon Lull to contemporary artworks using artificial intelligence.

Although not directly related to generative art, MAKING SENSE by Simon Penny takes a great and radically interdisciplinary approach to artistic concepts, drawing on philosophy, biology, psychology, cognitive science, neuroscience, cybernetics, artificial intelligence, and critical theory. It also elaborates on why embodied approaches to cognition are better able to address the performative dimensions of art than the dualistic conceptions fundamental to theories of digital computing. I would advise exploring these fields among the available aesthetics and artistic approaches to grasp the heart and essence of the field.

On a more practical level, THE NATURE OF CODE by Dan Shiffman is one of my favorite introductions to the world of simulations, algorithms, and how to implement beautiful computational systems using the Processing language. Today, there are many high-quality articles on generative art. Right Click Save, for example, has a very extensive collection of articles for both less experienced and more advanced audiences.

AN: In general, I like artists who use their medium as complete representations of the world—in a way similar to what Marshall McLuhan said, that "the medium is the message"—including their limitations, constraints, and ontological errors. Cornelius Cardew once said that what you want to say determines your language. In this sense, I am primarily inspired by writers, philosophers, and practitioners from very different fields, such as the famous 20th-century composer John Cage, the critical engineer Julian Oliver, and the great interdisciplinary tinkerer Venkatesh Rao, just to name a few who first come to mind. Of course, I am also highly inspired by feedback from artist friends and even non-human companions like ecosystems, algorithmic agencies, animals, ritual heuristics, and physical environments. Within the local Hungarian artist scene, I really admire the early works of Attila Csörgő, Péter Türk, and, of course, Vera Molnár.

More specifically, the influences and traditions I follow originate from practices of reduction, language, audiovisual experiments, installations, autonomy, and temporality. I am mesmerized by the works of the minimalist label Raster Noton, especially the live sets of Ryoji Ikeda and Alva Noto and the sonic visual movement they defined. Early electronic music still plays a large role in my interpretations of repetition, digital signal processing, and temporality; there are many parallels between how generative sound and images are created. Apart from minimalism and constructivism, in a visual sense, early blogs like GeneratorX (Marius Watz), Data Is Nature (Paul Prudence), and PixelSumo (Chris O’Shea) were great resources for accessing interesting materials that emerged from the scene.

For me, it was never about one particular artist, but much more about the community or the hive mind surrounding a countercultural trend that integrated ancient concepts of generative and algorithmic procedures with cutting-edge technology and computers.

Today, I appreciate many things coming out of Aksioma (Ljubljana), ZKM (Karlsruhe), and the circles of decentralized communities around the web, such as the Metalabel collective. From the NFT scene, people like Andreas Gysyn and Kim Asendorf exemplify those working with the digital medium on an ontological level, and I find their works quite impressive.

Speaking of digital ontologies and conceptualism, I also love the works of 0xfff, Duane King, and some group exhibitions at Feral File. Things change very quickly in the scene, and I find that anything interesting enough to keep on my radar aligns well with the underlying structure of its particular media and its sociocultural contexts.

AN: The challenging part is something we mentioned earlier: being continuously present, pushing and releasing materials rapidly to stay visible amid the noise. Many artists experience different levels of burnout (myself included), and the catchphrase of the so-called “creator economy” can easily turn into an infinite productivity race for attention without much value. As an artist, I find this problematic. This effect is also caused by the nature of a software-driven society operating under hyper-capitalist mechanics. People need to address these mental health issues.

On a positive note, I find it great that, theoretically, there are no middlemen needed to publish your works using blockchains and decentralized networks; there are many opportunities to reach your audience directly. This approach requires new social structures and formations; I see some interesting models, and it seems this transformation is also exponential. It is fascinating to observe how they evolve, especially DAOs (Decentralized Autonomous Organizations), squads, and other post-capitalist collective approaches. Ruth Catlow’s RADICAL FRIENDS is a fantastic book on the history and possible futures of decentralized communities and the arts.

AN: Digital networks and communities have their own "platform physics," and of course, this affects the conceptual and aesthetic decisions within an artwork. For me, one of the most important changes in working with online, long-term generative media is consistency—in terms of the elements used, shapes, and the overall language of the works.

Through my experiments with these platforms, daily practice has helped me find my voice, and now I have a better understanding of which components and aspects are interesting to work with. In many cases, I work with probability, sound, and procedural animations that are unique to the digital medium, running in real time in the browser on different devices within various social contexts.

The workflow of creating generative NFTs reminds me of when I was releasing visual music applications on the App Store—deploying, testing, optimizing for performance, etc. It is a mixture of software development, image creation, writing, and interaction design all at once. Another tricky part is designing the service itself: pricing, token gating, social mechanics, and all the interactive conditions that can be built into smart contracts using the most recent platforms.

This is something I would call social computing, if there can be such a term, where you design and implement automated, adaptive life cycles for works that can exist backed by the immutable structures of blockchain technology.

AN: This part is definitely one of the hardest for me. Usually, the size of an edition depends on the variance of the algorithms involved in the piece. If there are interesting derivations, I try to keep the edition size higher. However, this is not easy, as the aesthetics and visual content start to affect the size, which is directly correlated with how many pieces can be sold.

To be honest, I do not really like pricing digital tokens; I feel that it is often unrelated to the underlying concepts and receives way too much attention from the audience. Since the introduction of open editions, the idea behind digital distribution has become a bit confusing and incoherent.

With limited series, there was scarcity, exclusivity, and uniqueness, but with open series, the whole scene reminds me of a large pool of files where users can save infinite instances, and there is no artistic value incorporated in the work—only ever-increasing growth metrics and expanding quantities.

AN: In my experience, I have learned that I need to earn money from the clients I work with—developing software, creating apps, and making installations for specific requests and events—while also allowing myself to experiment with my own artistic practice outside of the financial realm. Festivals can cover travel, documentation, and material costs, but this is not where I earn my living.

It is truly a new experience to explore the financial opportunities of selling artwork within the Web3 era. I am working on transcending my own preconceptions and reconfiguring my relationship with money and the financial system.

AN: At the time fxhash started, I had already released some experimental interactive NFTs on hic-et-nunc, the first decentralized platform for digital assets on the Tezos blockchain. I was really excited to create and publish real-time art running in the browser, distributed in a digital context. I was fascinated when we injected JavaScript into SVGAs, turning static content into generative art on the platform. I also heard about ArtBlocks around that time, but accessing those highly curated tools felt light years away from our grassroots underground communities and indie dev circles. There were rapid and deep experiments happening on the Tezos chain; Mario Klingeman, Mr. Doob, and others were such inspirational figures who helped push forward Tezos art communities in the early days.

I first heard about fxhash during that period and immediately tried out some simple ideas that might work in a real generative environment. The concept was similar to ArtBlocks in that it used deterministic randomness derived from the transaction hash, but the community, the rapid and dynamic feedback from like-minded people, and the influx of next-level ideas introduced week after week were astonishing. These opportunities helped deepen my experience in the generative domain.

At that time, Ethereum was slow, expensive, and even harmful to the environment, while Tezos art communities felt underground, fresh, and countercultural. We also released the pieces as part of the CleanNFT movement since the proof-of-work mechanism of the Ethereum blockchain was an ecological disaster. These conditions changed with the merger when the Ethereum blockchain successfully switched to proof of stake.

AN: There was a vibrant community of artists and tech-savvy creatives who shared common interests in understanding the medium. Since I had experience in publishing apps and developing microsites, I wanted to integrate some of these user experiences and explore new, experimental ways of interacting with digital platforms.

I was particularly interested in dynamic content, sound, and interactivity in the context of a browser—not as a host for traditional websites, but as a space for rapid, short ideas and unique worlds that users could engage with on a very short timescale. At that time, web technologies such as Web Audio, WebGL, and shaders became usable on phones, which sparked my interest in micro-interactions. With Hic-et-Nunc, there was the opportunity to mint static files like images and vector-based SVGs.

However, by adding JavaScript to the body of an SVG, the browser would execute those commands, allowing the creation of generative and interactive elements hidden within the structure of the SVG file. This was truly about the joy of hacking, finding new ways to publish ideas, and pushing the boundaries of the platforms.

AN: The role of autonomy is really interesting to navigate. You define your deadlines, partnerships, taste, and the level of quality within your work. This perspective is intriguing; previously, I always had to align my work with different contexts depending on the partner institutions, clients, or collaborators.

Additionally, my attitude toward communication has changed regarding showing my work during the development phase. There is an important difference between promoting your work and trying to convince people to pay attention to it versus seeking meaningful feedback from trusted sources, including yourself.

For me, sharing my work-in-progress art on various social media platforms is primarily about balancing my confidence regarding whether an idea or aesthetic decision will work. If the piece reaches a level that I can share, I can put it out there and move forward. Later on, you can further develop your own works by browsing public feeds, deciding which direction to take and what to leave behind.

AN: I would say this is a step inward. When making plotter graphics, I spend a long time with an idea, as opposed to merely generating shapes on a screen. The decision-making process regarding what to draw is fundamentally different, and I appreciate that deep relationship with the system. I experiment with the code, trying out different versions before drawing. Then, when the machine is drawing, it adds a contemplative component to the workflow, and I find it wonderful that it takes a long time for an image to be completed.

For me, the art lies in the process, and I try to share this journey in many ways beyond the final graphics: I build installations with different drawing machines using polargraphs and robotic hands, combined with sand, paper, and water as raw materials and components. The choreography of navigation, movements, and drawing brings forth deep ontological questions within me—about art, as well as labor, time, memories, and the cognitive representation of the world. Paper and its physicality cannot be experienced on a screen.

Additionally, the software is changing behind the scenes. There is an issue of conservation and media archaeology here; we can hardly play back early videotapes, DVDs, or computer programs today because our digital systems are built with obsolescence. A significant amount of software and information becomes outdated and unavailable; you can hardly access websites from a decade ago. This tendency worsens with generative AI and neural media. Ideas, art, and representations that exist on paper have been with us for thousands of years, and we can access their storage with virtually no friction.

Also, a fun fact regarding cutting-edge cryptography: one of the most secure digital encryptions today is storing your seed phrase on paper, separated from networks and untouched by any digital storage system. I love the benefits of preservation, accessibility, and transparency that paper provides for us.

AN: I was working with plotter graphics of different sizes before. In one of my former installations, called RANDOM FOREST, I made several meter-long graphics hanging from the ceiling. I also worked with small thermal heat printers, creating infinite shell pattern generators on very small scales. Scale is very important in relation to physical space.

With the PROCEDURAL DRAWINGS series, I was planning to create a set of consistent structures. Each piece is part of a larger cluster of works with similar image architecture, the same resolution and pen width, and varying colors from a predefined palette. Each piece is monochrome. The quality and density of the lines are the elements that create the dramaturgy over the scenes.

There are three color variants of paper. The gray resembles a more traditional appearance that might recall classical etching, mechanical sketches, typewriter drawings, or architectural plans. The black one is a bit more immersive and has a ritual vibe to it. When the bright silver lines fill the dark areas, it brings forward chalk drawings, ephemeral structures, kolams, rangolis, yantras, and sacral geometry, at least in my interpretation. The blue comes from the third channel of the RGB computer screen. This is the color of the in-between states in the digital bardo. You usually see blue when an operating system crashes or an imaging device has no input signal.

AN: There must be some common motivation for collecting vinyl and collecting plotter drawings, for sure. Both are analog media, which implies a special, much more intimate relationship with time as opposed to digital, streaming media. The analog qualities are similar in both; maybe it is a really adequate analogy.

One key difference I might find is that a plotter's drawing doesn't need any apparatus to be interpreted. Thinking in terms of media archaeology and archiving, a drawing will always stay accessible without any additional playback mechanisms. Thus, the interesting part lies in the conceptual system that is organizing the content.

The awareness of the fact that there is code and automation that was used during the composition of the structure, the aura of the machine that traced out all the lines—it has its own history, its own taxonomical canon. Many times, I feel computational thinking doesn't even need computers if we understand the context. It has principles that can be observed in the universe, in nature, and in physics without any interpretation device.

AN: Yes, today I find the generative scene often too streamlined and unified, where copy-and-paste algorithms are repeated over and over without raising any real questions, confrontations, or further elaboration on a subject. I guess the urge to shill and sell has some negative effects on the artistic quality and diversity of the whole scene.

AN: Where the joy of the process becomes tangible.

AN: Many people like to pretend that the machine is their partner, especially in the case of AI and highly complex algorithmic systems. For me, the "partner" is the distributed self, finding feedback in different modalities of reality.

My partner is the environment, chance, probabilities, and the acceptance of unintended events that all have their roles in the process. I feel that thinking of the machine primarily as the partner in the process can be limiting and anthropomorphic because it lies on the foundations of social engineering, psychology, and team building (especially with AI) and can miss the original vision of computation.

Chinese landscape painters say the mountain, the trees, the water, and other natural elements are living, active entities within their compositions. The environment is their extended mind, including spirits, deities, intuition, metaphysical processes, and supernatural components. For me, these are patterns, repetitions, and strange loops where interesting things happen, not the bits, hard drives, and stochastic echo-chambers of large language models.

AN: I guess blockchains will be integrated into many everyday solutions and become invisible, like SQL databases or today’s widely used server-side protocols. I would love to see distributed computing thrive. However, its success depends not only on the technology itself but also on the context: the people, communities, and social infrastructures that are using it.

I believe the viable future is decentralized. This is an effective way to combat growth and the ever-increasing challenges we are facing on a daily basis. Generative art, neural networks, and automated worlds will change the media landscape, both in how we create and how we consume visual content. We are now observing the inflation of creativity, with zero-cost energy investment from the user to create images and scale them up massively in end-to-end media pipelines.

Generative media combined with programmable blockchain mechanisms is changing our traditional concepts of aesthetics, the function of an image, our consensus on reality, and the very nature of networked interactions. At this point, I could hardly predict where this would lead.