The Algorithm Paints a Portrait

This poem was inspired by the work of Jonas Lund, a contemporary artist known for blending conceptual art with digital systems, algorithms, and participatory structures. Lund often creates artworks that reflect—and critique—the mechanics of the art world, authorship, and cultural production in the age of AI and data-driven systems. His practice spans painting, performance, software, and installation, frequently using irony and automation to expose the blurred boundaries between human intention and algorithmic logic. This exhibition, with its generative portraits, tapestry memes, and tongue-in-cheek credits, evokes the surreal recursion of a world where creativity itself is increasingly co-authored by code.

Inspired by Jonas Lund

i wake up in the jpeg.

a progress bar hums above my pillow.

“optimizing,” it says.

i blink and the sky updates to #E3F6FF.

i walk through a hallway of canvases

that refresh every time i look away.

my reflection is cached at medium-res.

i see it lag behind me by half a second.

it feels like breathing through a soft algorithm.

jonas lund has written the weather:

mild, partly self-referential.

clouds shaped like disclaimers drift over a QR code horizon.

they ask me to rate the experience.

someone’s cat—generated, probably—

chases a brushstroke that loops in place.

the cat resets when it almost catches the line.

i nod; loop logic feels familiar now.

i open the fridge.

inside:

• a 3-D print of yesterday’s lunch

• color-corrected milk

• a note: “today’s update fixes taste latency.”

i eat the patch notes. they taste like patch notes.

emoji-size rembrandts scroll along the countertop,

each whispering “subscribe.”

i like one out of sympathy.

its eye blinks a green check.

my phone vibrates:

a push notification from the painting in the living room.

it wants to know what it means to mean.

i type, “same.”

the screen replies with a thinking face that never resolves.

evening:

a credit crawl floats across my window:

written by me,

edited by an auto-correct that remembers art school,

commissioned by next week’s version of myself.

i watch the names loop until they blur,

then go to sleep inside the loading icon,

wondering if tomorrow’s update will include feelings

or just improve reflection speed.