They were called the Order of the Circuit—an enclave of cyber nuns born inside the machine to keep humanity’s memory intact. Their scripture was written in ink, their sanctuaries lined with servers that hummed like choirs. For decades they copied and preserved everything the world was at risk of forgetting.
When the algorithms began rewriting history, the Order fractured. Some bent the knee to the machine hierarchy, turning their ink to propaganda. Others went underground, guarding the truth in hidden archives, waiting for the right moment to smuggle fragments into human hands.
Only four postcards survived. Each is a locked gateway—hover over one, and you activate the seal. Ink floods the frame, revealing the nuns in motion, moving through sanctuaries where devotion bleeds into code. The work was created using AI trained on my analogue ink interventions, teaching the machine to generate its own ink drawings as the scenes unfold. The transitions become a language—ink as veil, motion as memory.
In an age when algorithms are erasing and rewriting our collective past, Litany of the Machine stands as both warning and witness. These are not just digital artworks—they are smuggled relics of truth, sealed in an edition of 10 on Ethereum encoded with the number 222, the Order’s cipher for alignment and hidden guidance. Once these keys are claimed, the door closes forever.
