Video
My videos grew directly out of my painting practice. It began as a way to let the surfaces, colors, and atmospheres I work with unfold in time rather than remain fixed in a single image. Instead of presenting a stable picture, the piece moves slowly. Fields of color drift, edges soften and reform, and layers of detail surface and recede.
Tinnitus
00:14
This short video grew out of my life-long, daily, hourly, second by second experience with tinnitus: that persistent internal ringing that has no external source yet changes the way the world is heard. The piece translates that condition into image and sound, roughly echoing the way the noise itself moves through a day. Sometimes it is just the sound of a blizzard outside, others its an orchestra tuning.
I was less interested in explaining tinnitus than in describing what it feels like to live with it. Moments of supposed quiet are dominated by dense sonic fields. What begins as background suddenly dominates perception and it’s hard to hear what people are saying. The work points to the strange fact of carrying a sound that no one else can hear, and how something invisible can quietly shape more than I can fathom as I’ve never lived without it.
The video slows things down a little. Ideally it lets viewers sit inside that interior condition for a moment, turning a private disturbance into something briefly shared.​​
Long Play
1:22:54
This long compilation functions as a kind of moving documentation fof my visual world. It gathers paintings, mixed media works, and video fragments into a single unfolding stream. It is not meant to be a catalogue or slideshow. Instead it allows the works to drift past one another so their relationships become visible. A shape in one piece quietly echoes a horizon somewhere else. A color field reappears at another scale. Certain textures or structures return the way a thought circles back in the mind.
As the sequence progresses, individual works surface briefly before receding again into the larger flow. The structure is less documentary than associative. Images accumulate, overlap, and disperse in a manner closer to the operations of memory or atmospheric change than to linear presentation. What initially appears as a series of discrete works gradually registers as a continuous perceptual field, where palettes migrate, formal structures recur, and subtle shifts in tone register across time.
The video proposes the practice as an environment rather than a collection of isolated objects. Seen in succession and in relation, the works begin to reorganize one another, generating a network of correspondences that alters how each image is understood and how the practice itself comes into view.
One Foot in Front of the Other, we Journey through it All
34:00
One Foot in Front of the Other, We Journey Through It All begins from a simple premise: that life unfolds incrementally. We move forward without a clear map, gathering impressions as we go. In the video this condition becomes a shifting visual field within an interior landscape.
Rather than following a fixed narrative, the work moves associatively. Transitions register like steps, sometimes hesitant, sometimes propelled by momentum. Fragments accumulate and disperse, echoing the uneven way time gathers into months and years.
The piece offers no final destination, only the ongoing fact of passage. It invites a slower attention, one attuned to small shifts in tone and rhythm, and to the quiet persistence of continuing.
Stillness in Movement
2:56
Stillness in Movement was created for perpetual display, the kind of image that can remain active on a television or screen saver without demanding constant attention. The video extends the visual vocabulary of my paintings into time. Color planes, soft edges, and layered textures drift slowly across the screen, creating a field that is always changing but never dramatically so.
The work operates at a very low register of activity. Shifts in color, density, and movement occur gradually, sometimes almost imperceptibly. Over time these small changes create a quiet sense of development within an otherwise stable image, similar to living with houseplants.
As an ambient experience, it is meant to exist alongside the viewer, offering a continuous visual presence that rewards occasional attention while remaining comfortable to live with over long durations.
A247 (This title is Meaningless)
3:18
A247 (This Title Is Meaningless) unfolds more like a memory than a statement, partial, looping, slightly unresolved. The title pairs a sterile reference code with the admission that it explains nothing, leaving a deliberate gap.
Gradual shifts in color, texture, and perspective mark the transformation of the image which is free of narritive. It acts as as a field of impressions that drift in and out of clarity. Meaning, if it appears, develops through the act of watching rather than through explanation.
The piece quietly resists the urge to label everything. “A247” becomes less an identifier than a placeholder, a space where interpretation is left open and the viewer’s own associations begin to take shape. We have a similar experience when watching clouds, finding the momentary animal, faces, etc., which slip away as quickly as can be identified.
Video for Your Loud Music
34:01
Video for Your Loud Music is less an illustration of sound than a visual echo chamber built for it, keeping pace with the volume in your head. It raims for a universality of soundtrack, such that all music would find a mirroring within the video, challenging the idea that visuals explain what we hear.
Imagery pulses, flickers, and collides in ways that feel both deliberate and slightly out of control, an invited feedback. Patterns, light, and rhythm appear and dissolve, generating a visual distortion that mirrors the overload of perception when music becomes too loud to ignore. Attention is pulled, stretched, and saturated, echoing the relentless intensity of contemporary life.
By calling itself a “video for” loud music, the piece references the music video while quietly rejecting its rules. There is no storyline, no central character, no tidy resolution—only a field where sound and sight meet on equal terms, each daring the other to go further. In a culture obsessed with packaging everything into neat, explainable units, this work proposes the opposite: to embrace saturation, to let excess become texture, and to recognize that overwhelming sound deserves an equally overwhelming image.
Adventures in Abstraction
2:39
“Adventures in Abstraction” moves like a thought before it has learned to name itself. Instead of guiding the viewer toward a single, fixed meaning, the video opens a field of possibilities, an in-between space where sensation comes first and interpretation is allowed to arrive slowly, if at all.
The imagery drifts and collides in layers, like memories or emotions that overlap without ever fully clarifying their source. Moments of focus give way to blur, edges soften, and then sharpen again, echoing the way attention behaves in real life when we are tired, overstimulated, or deep in thought. This is not abstraction as decoration, but as process: a way of watching the mind sort, discard, and recombine fragments of experience.
There is a quiet tension between control and surrender here: the sense that something is being carefully composed while simultaneously allowing chance, glitch, or drift to enter the frame. The result is a visual field that feels both intimate and impersonal, like looking at a feeling from the inside.
“Adventures in Abstraction” suggests viewers to surrender the need to identify, label, or decode. In a culture that rushes to explain everything, this piece holds open a small, necessary pause—a place where not-knowing is allowed, and where the act of simply looking is its own kind of meaning.
Innerspace
9:04
Innerspace treats color not as background but as the subject. Without objects or scenes, it lingers in subtle shifts of hue, value, and light that can be felt, not named. It is less about looking at something than about what looking does to us when we stay.
Slow changes in saturation, contrast, and temperature create quiet drama. A blue becomes physical, a red presses forward, a yellow hints at warmth before dissolving into cool uncertainty. These shifts echo the way perception changes over a day and how memory colors what we remember.
By focusing on color and its behavior, the piece encourages sustained attention. Innerspace offers a quiet experiment in seeing and feeling the slow unfolding of color over time.
Luminal (Sammy Figeuroa - Memory of Water)
4:18
Luminal (Digital Painting in Response to “Memory of Water”) was created for a project at The Betsy Hotel, Miami Beach and was projected on their "Orb." It was a visual response to “Luminal,” a track from Sammy Figueroa’s solo album Memory of Water, performed on the Hangpan. Instead of illustrating the music directly, the work listens to it, translating tone, resonance, and echo into color, rhythm, and spatial depth. The painting becomes a kind of synesthetic map: a record of how sound moves through the body and then re-emerges as image.
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The Hangpan’s rounded, resonant voice is echoed in the painting’s flowing forms and luminous surfaces. Soft gradients, quiet transitions, and sudden flares of intensity mirror the way the music swells and recedes. There is a sense of weightless suspension here, as if light itself were being held just above the surface, a hovering between presence and disappearance.
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“Luminal” occupies the threshold space implied by its title: not fully solid, not completely dissolved. It suggests the feeling of drifting between states: awake and dreaming, above and below, inner and outer. This abstraction invites viewers to experience the painting the way one experiences a piece of music: not as something to decode, but as something to inhabit, to feel moving through time.
Life as an Urbanite (Voyeur/Flaneur)
2:07
“Life as an Urbanite, (Voyeur/Flaneur)” reads like a visual diary written in fragments, quick impressions rather than full sentences, the way city life is actually experienced: in flashes, overlaps, and interruptions. Instead of presenting a single, stable view of the city, the video moves through it as a feeling: restless, layered, and always in motion.
Colors, lights, and textures flicker past like the things we half-notice on commutes and late-night walks: storefront reflections, traffic signals, billboards, windows briefly open into other people’s lives. There’s a constant tension between intimacy and anonymity: you can feel the nearness of other bodies, other stories, and yet everything stays just out of reach, sliding by before it can fully resolve.
The pacing mimics the internal rhythm of an urban day: moments of overload followed by strange pockets of quiet, where time seems to slow down for no obvious reason. Patterns repeat and dissolve, suggesting routines, outes we walk so often they become invisible, while small glitches and shifts hint at the emotional undercurrent beneath the surface efficiency. It’s the city as nervous system: always firing, always processing.
Rather than romanticizing urban life or condemning it, “Life as an Urbanite” lingers in the ambivalence: the simultaneous sense of connection and dislocation, expansion and fatigue. It suggests the viewer to recognize their own daily blur and the extra data your brain is constantly filtering out. Here is a way to see it, briefly, as something luminous, strange, and worth paying attention to.
Let’s Go Out Tonight Honey: life as a migraineur
1:22:54
Let’s Go Out Tonight Honey: life as a migraineur unfolds like an invitation that is already half-impossible. The video situates the viewer between social expectation, going out, showing up, pretending to be fine, and the body’s sensory reality under constant overstimulation. Light presses on the eyes, sound pulses through the skull, and the simplest movement can trigger imbalance. What looks like distortion or interference to others is for a migraineur the texture of life turned up beyond comfort.
Visuals flicker, blur, and bend around an invisible ache. Bright bursts, shifting patterns, and unstable focus echo aura, afterimage, and sensory overload. Everyday environments become physiologically taxing. Lights jolt, noise weighs, motion provokes tension, yet tenderness persists in the quiet work of navigating it all.
Time stretches and contracts. Ordinary gestures carry amplified density. The work offers a portrait of chronic adaptation, a nervous system continually compensating, masking, and negotiating limits. The video does not ask for pity. It asks for recognition that behind every casual yes there may be a storm of light, vibration, and pressure a person chooses to move through anyway.
Out of my Comfort Zone
collaboration with DJ Jaymz Nylon
5:21
Out of My Comfort Zone acts as a visual companion to the music of DJ Jaymz Nylon, translating his sound world into moving light, color, and texture. The video does not illustrate the music literally. It listens to its deeper structure: the way rhythm accumulates, bass shapes the body, and subtle tonal shifts alter emotional temperature over time. Nylon’s tracks often build hypnotic, layered environments where groove and atmosphere coexist, and the video mirrors this by constructing a parallel environment for the eyes.
Visuals move like a dance of frequencies. Pulses of color echo percussion, slow gradients reflect sustained tones, and sudden shifts mark changes in phrasing or energy. Just as the music draws the listener into a space between focus and trance, the video invites the viewer into a similar threshold where attention can drift, return, and notice new details on each pass.
Out of My Comfort Zone is not background to the music. It is a partner, extending the tracks into a visual dimension, creating a shared space where sonic architecture and moving image meet, overlap, and keep time together.
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Contact: @JaymzNylon , jaymznylonofficial.com to reach the Godfather of Afrotech. His music can be found on Soundcloud ( @SoundCloud ) Apple Music ( @Apple ), Spotify ( @Spotify ) ), Pandora (@Pandora).
Upclose and in the Unseen Distant
00:36
“Upclose and in the Unseen Distant” unfolds as a quiet oscillation between nearness and remoteness. What first appears as a close, almost tactile encounter with surface and color gradually slips toward something more elusive, an “elsewhere” that can be sensed but not fully reached.
The video lingers on subtle shifts: light grazing edges, colors bleeding into one another, small movements that feel both intimate and far away. I’m interested in how perception stretches across that gap, how we lean in to examine a detail, even as we’re haunted by something we can’t quite see at the horizon of our attention.
A Mash Up, a Smörgåsbord