Beyond green grass spotted with white daisies, beyond hills that extended into large mountains, a young village was visited by the plague of scale.
The people of the village did not feel the plague creep up on them.
It started with pictures, one picture, two pictures, streams of pictures, thousands of lifetimes of unlived lives, documented in imaginary albums.
The huts grew higher, vertical lives rising to the clouds, the moon, the stars. The possibilities grew endless. Too much to do, but the plague would not touch time, which seemed to grow smaller and fainter. Not enough, it whispered.
I remember the first time I saw computational art, it felt vaguely familiar. I quickly realized that my grandmother’s house was filled with generative art, and this innovative new artistic medium was actually very old.
Geometric tiles adorning the floor, Persian rugs, arced windows diverging infinitely into fractal arcs, floral patterns creeping up velvet couches and pouring into the pillows, as a child I was enchanted by these patterns.
I have dreamed geometry.
I have dreamed point, line, plane, and volume.
I have dreamed yellow, blue, and red.
Mesmerized by their syntactic consistency, mathematical prose and aesthetic complexity, I remember…