In the chaos of forms and colors, we find the purest expressions of desire, dreams, and the infinite potential of becoming.

Desire, Dreams And The Infinite

Tù.úk'z

Ethereal Petals of Light

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'Have You Recognized Your Madness?'  
Glitch Relics Collection,  
2025,  
Tù.úk'z.

Digital Art, Glitch Art, AI Art.  
Made in Touchdesigner, Midjourney and Suno.

Have You Recognized Your Madness?

'The Spoon' 
Rituel de la Haute Magie.

A collection of ai videos by Tù.úk'z.

Images and video: Midjourney.  
Audio / Sounds: Suno.

The Spoon

Carnelian Eclipse

"Unseen Presence",  
Hypnos,  
2025,  
Tù.úk'z,  
Digital + Artificial Intelligence. 

Unseen Presence

I found the lake by accident, on a morning that felt neither real nor fully awake. The hills were wrapped in a pale, peach-colored fog, and the silence was so deep it felt as if something had pressed a gentle finger against the world’s lips.

The water was an impossible shade of blue, as if it held a piece of the night that refused to fade. Above it floated small glowing circles—slow and deliberate—like wandering thoughts that had grown tired of the human mind and escaped into the air.

I stood there, breathing in the stillness. Something about the scene felt arranged—not by nature, but by an unseen hand. The colors, the fog, the spacing of the hills… everything appeared too precise, too intentional, as if someone had curated the morning for an audience of one.

I waited for the loneliness to settle in, the way it usually did when I found myself in quiet places. But instead, the air shifted. A soft vibration drifted across the lake, brushing against me the way a cat might brush a stranger’s leg before deciding whether to trust them.

One of the glowing orbs floated closer.

Not fast, not slow—just moving with the confidence of something that understood time differently, as if the world ran on its own private rhythm and it had no desire to match mine.

“Are you a spirit?” I asked, not expecting an answer.

The orb brightened, then dimmed, like a single syllable made of light.

Suddenly, I remembered an old story my grandmother once told me, about mountains that breathed and lakes that remembered every traveler who stood before them. She said the spirits who lived there were quiet beings, the kind that never interfered unless a person’s heart had grown unbearably heavy.

I wondered how heavy mine looked from the outside.

The orb circled me once, tracing a soft ring of color in the fog around my body. It wasn’t warm or cold—it simply existed, like a hand offered without a command.

“I’m tired,” I admitted.

The hills gave no reply. But the lake hummed again—low, resonant—as if something beneath the surface was acknowledging the truth out loud for me.

For a moment, I thought I saw figures in the mist—small, flickering shapes moving between the trees and the flowered hills. Not dangerous. Just present. Guardians of the shifting light.

I sat down on the damp ground and watched the orb return to the water. It hovered above the center of the lake, pulsing gently, as if inviting me to breathe in time with it.

And I did.

For the first time in months, my mind stopped wandering. The world felt still enough to hold me without folding in the wrong direction.

When I finally stood up, the lights retreated, drifting back into the fog like memories returning to sleep.

I knew I would come back. Not because I wanted answers—I doubted this place had any—but because something here recognized me in a way the real world never quite did.

As I walked away, the lake hummed again, faint and distant.

Like a promise.  
Or a reminder.  
That the spirits had seen me, and were not yet done.

The Lake That Listened

Unknown Forest

Under the blunt midday sun of an indifferent sky, 夢, 幻想, 影 drift across your face like passing clouds. A dream is not an escape but the echo of thirst, clear, urgent, fleeting, reminding you that even in sleep you hunger for a world that will never answer. Illusion is the makeup we apply to the absurd, a fragile coat of paint that flakes the moment the sun rises too high. And the shadow? It is proof that you are here, a dark twin stitched to sand and pavement, silent witness to every step you choose. Between these three you stand unarmored, knowing no god will decode their meaning. Yet the knowledge neither crushes nor consoles; it simply is. So you walk, eyes open, refusing consolation, shaping a tentative justice out of small acts, laughing when the horizon vanishes again. In that stubborn stride you confirm what matters: not the mirage ahead, nor the shade behind, but the steady heartbeat of revolt that keeps you moving across the blank page of the world.

Dream, Illusion And Shadow.

'My Soul, Where Are You?'  
Glitch Relics Collection,  
2025,  
Tù.úk'z.

Digital Art, Glitch Art, AI Art.  
Made in Touchdesigner, Midjourney and Suno

My Soul, Where Are You?

Glitch Relics

'Oceanus Procellarum' 
Rituel de la Haute Magie.

A collection of ai videos by Tù.úk'z.

Image and video: Midjourney.  
Audio and sound: Suno.

Oceanus Procellarum

Rituel de la Haute Magie

"The Memory Of Skin",  
Hypnos,  
2025,  
Tù.úk'z,  
Digital + Artificial Intelligence. 

The Memory Of Skin

Hypnos

He couldn’t remember why he had come to the lake. Maybe he had followed a dream, or maybe the dream had followed him. Either way, he found himself standing on a soft slope, watching the water hold the evening light as gently as a cat cupping warmth in its fur.

People wandered in the distance—alone, or in pairs, like punctuation marks scattered by someone rewriting their life. No one spoke. Their silence had a strange weight, as if every person carried an unnamed question inside them. He felt it too, resting somewhere between his ribs.

The circles began appearing shortly after he arrived. They floated above the hills, drifting with a slowness that seemed deliberate. Each one pulsed faintly, as though syncing with a rhythm far older than anything human. The colors—soft, impossible pastels—reminded him of the exact moment before waking from a dream, when everything is both clear and vanishing.

He tried to convince himself they were some kind of optical illusion: light catching particles, atmospheric conditions, the mind filling gaps. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that the circles were aware of him. Not watching him in a threatening way—just acknowledging him, like two strangers silently nodding in a grocery store aisle.

A woman stood near the shore, her figure small against the expanse. She looked at the circles with the calm curiosity of someone who had seen strange things before and learned not to ask too much. For a moment, he imagined walking over to her and asking if she knew what the circles were. Maybe she would say yes. Maybe she would say no. Maybe she would tell him something else entirely, something like:  
“They appear when the world is trying to remember you.”

A breeze moved through the valley, barely strong enough to disturb the grass. One of the circles drifted lower, hovering just above the surface of the lake. Ripples spread out from an unseen point, as if the water were quietly answering it.

He watched until the sun slipped behind the hills. The circles glowed a little brighter, as though illuminated from within by the fading remnants of the day. The people began walking away, returning to whatever they had left behind before arriving here.

He remained, listening to the lake breathe, waiting for something he couldn’t name. It wasn’t hope exactly, and it wasn’t fear. More like the sensation of standing on the threshold of a forgotten room in his own life.

When the last circle dissolved into the dim sky, he finally turned to leave. And although he hadn’t learned anything concrete, he felt a slight, inexplicable shift inside him—like a door nudging open somewhere deep, inviting him to step through whenever he was ready.

The Hills Where I Tried to Remember You

Solitude

"Glitch The Unknown: Figures and Creatures" is a thrilling series that delves into mysterious anomalies known as glitches, uncovering enigmatic figures and creatures that blur the line between reality and the unknown. 

Glitch The Unknown: Figures and Creatures

The outside of thought is not an object but a pure line of escape. It is the thought that gives itself as a possibility in the folding of spaces, where time unfolds as the horizon of all creation.

Horizon Of All Creation

An abstract art collection (generated with A.I.) that speaks to soul a conversation about the Spirit. An homage to W. Kandinsky.

Danse Esprit

At the sight of beauty, the soul grows wings and rises upwards, for it is reminded of the beauty that exists in the world of forms, the eternal and unchanging. 

Tù.úk'z ☓ Rarible

Tù.úk'z (Tuukzs)

Tù.úk'z (Tuukzs)

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