Noise is a force, a passion, a pulse. It shimmers, erodes, and drifts—never quite repeating itself. In nature, noise is the wind’s uneven push, the flicker of light on moving water, the static between stations. In code, it becomes a field of endless variation. In information science, Claude Shannon’s model shows noise as interference between sender and receiver—an unwanted distortion of the message. But artists can choose to become the noise source: deliberately introducing disruptions, bends, and glitches that reshape meaning.

I think of my noise work as digital gesture painting. Where Abstract Expressionists mapped their bodies across canvas, I map invisible algorithms across the screen. The marks are algorithmic, but they’re also mine—shaped by choices about turbulence, rhythm, and grain.Noise resists perfection. It insists on irregularity, on motion that feels closer to weather than design. Sometimes it’s a whisper; sometimes it’s so turbulent it tears the image apart.

Here, noise isn’t the enemy of clarity. It’s the hand in the signal—massaging, warping, and coaxing new possibilities from distortion.