When I started Echoes of Light, I didn’t set out to make “a piece of art.” I wanted to make a living space — one that would respond to the people inside it like a body reacts to a pulse.
The commission came from the Nightshift: LA Digital Art Biennale. They asked for something “interactive,” but I didn’t want interaction to be a gimmick — a button you push or a screen you tap. I wanted the audience to feel the space paying attention to them.
Teaching a Wall to Listen
The concept began with motion capture. I trained an AI system to interpret human movement — not just as coordinates or skeletal maps, but as emotional cues. A slow arm sweep, a quick spin, a shuffle forward: each gesture triggered a cascade of generated visuals.
The visuals themselves came from a GAN (Generative Adversarial Network) I’d trained on thousands of photographs of city lights, cracked concrete, and rain-washed streets. It learned to blend these textures into something organic, luminous, and slightly surreal — as if the city itself was dreaming.
The First Time It Worked
The first night of testing, I walked into the projection space alone. The walls were blank until I stepped forward. Light spilled across them in fractured patterns, following me like a shadow made of stained glass. I waved my hand. The colors rippled. I stopped moving. The room went still, waiting.
It was the first time I’d felt like a piece of architecture was listening to me.
The Real Magic: The Crowd
Opening night, the room transformed again — not because of the tech, but because of the people. Strangers began “playing” with the space without instructions. They reached out to touch light that wasn’t there. They moved in slow motion to see what would happen. Two kids ran in circles just to make the walls swirl faster.
That’s when I realized Echoes of Light wasn’t mine anymore. It belonged to the audience. The AI was just a translator, helping them speak to the space in a new language.
What Stayed With Me
People kept asking me what the piece “meant.” The truth is, it meant something different for everyone. For some, it was like walking through a dream. For others, it felt like a mirror — showing them a version of themselves made from light.
For me, it was proof that architecture doesn’t have to be static. It can breathe back. It can listen.
And once you’ve seen a building listen, you start wondering why they ever stopped.