When I began Our Story, I didn’t start with a grand concept. It was simply a way to document something specific and real. Over time, the project grew into a broader investigation of emotional textures: love, pain, uncertainty, stillness, and memory. Rather than illustrating emotions, I aimed to hold and translate them through visual language.
I have always been aware that emotional relationships are impermanent. That awareness shaped the process. I wanted to record not only the joyful moments or the imagined futures, but also the fragments of reality, the quiet ruptures, the unresolved tension, and the spaces in between. Each image became a way to contain time, private and ambiguous.
Over the course of two years, I presented these works in various exhibitions. I observed how people responded. Some smiled. Some wept. Later, messages began arriving. Viewers told me that the images had evoked something in them, a blurred but vivid recollection, an unspoken goodbye, a silent embrace in the rain, a phrase that was never said.
These responses gradually shifted how I understood the work. What began as personal documentation started to function as a shared surface, open to projection and reinterpretation. The images became sites of connection where viewers brought their own narratives.
Throughout the process, I moved away from direct expression. I learned to work with restraint, to embed meaning in absence and rhythm. I no longer felt the need to explain each image. Their significance emerged through interaction, not prescription.
Our Story remains a collection of fragments. But more than that, it has become a structure that holds space for shared affect, quiet reflection, and emotional residue. It does not offer resolution. It invites return.
If the work provides a moment of recognition, stillness, or resonance, that is enough.
This is not a conclusion. It is a quiet continuation.
The images will keep circulating, interpreted, misunderstood, remembered.
And in that motion, they will persist.
I often carry a small sketchbook with me to capture sudden visual ideas and structural intuitions. These initial hand-drawn drafts are rarely complete, but they serve as the foundation for each work. From composition to color mapping, I prefer to work things out on paper before further refining the image on my tablet, allowing the visual logic to gradually emerge.
Before inscribing a piece onto the blockchain, I convert it into a pixel-based format. This transformation is not merely a technical necessity for reducing file size on Bitcoin, but also a deliberate act of recoding. I aim to preserve emotional density using minimal data, enabling the image to retain legibility and resonance even in its most reduced form.
I use recursive inscription to establish on-chain relationships between different moments in the work’s evolution. Through reinscription of sats, each visual fragment becomes part of a nested temporal structure. The image is no longer a static point, but a layered field of time embedded within itself.
This practice extends beyond the digital. In the interstices between inscriptions, I produce physical artifacts: handmade figures, toys, and crafted accessories. These objects are not secondary products, but outward extensions of the same visual world. Together with the inscribed images, they form a living structure that grows in both material and conceptual space.
To me, these works are not a collection of isolated images, but a system in development. They unfold across the blockchain and spill into physical form. They carry within them marks of structure, language, and constant calibration. They are as much about continuity and iteration as they are about resolution.
What you encounter is not a single image but a network. A system that writes itself. One that exists both in code and in matter. It is not a static expression, but a system with memory—open-ended and still unfolding.
I feel fortunate to have begun my on-chain artistic journey in a time of great possibility. When I first encountered Web3, I quickly came across Ordinals, and it felt natural to choose Bitcoin as my canvas. As I continued to explore, I became increasingly drawn to the way Ordinals expands the possibilities of artistic expression—not merely as a means of storage, but as a new visual language and structural paradigm.
In the early stages of the project, I released 13 works from Our Story as on-chain prints on the Gamma platform. These prints were constructed using recursive inscriptions, resulting in a total of 206 unique editions. It was an early experiment—my way of exploring the potential of printmaking on Bitcoin.
After completing all 99 original pieces of Our Story, I created a small on-chain gallery using P5 and recursive inscriptions. I then re-inscribed all 99 works using a parent-child inscription method, with each sat containing two inscriptions—one for the image, and one for the structure. This generated a symmetrical, linear logic across the collection, forming a meticulous and highly ordered system. Within this system, any individual work can serve as a point of entry, linking organically to any other. With this final step, the full on-chain version of Our Story was realized—a structure both complete and continually open.
My intention has always been to build more than a collection of images. I’ve sought to construct a blockchain-based system that carries memory, relationships, and a temporal logic. This system is not merely a visual archive, but an architectural framework. Each inscription exists as an individual node, but also participates in a recursive and interconnected whole. Through these nested relationships, each work becomes a reachable point within a broader network of meaning—one that can be navigated like memory itself, moving forward, backward, or pausing in between.
This network does more than present the works. It allows viewers to move through them—one image leading to another, echoing the way we recall lived experiences: not as a straight line, but as something fragmented, associative, and always alive.