Assemblages emerge like alchemical puzzles — strange combinations of material and light. Foil, shot glasses, neon plastic, Perspex boxes, and the holographic shimmer of a CD collide in an uneasy harmony. A survival kit of technological confusion.

The eye hesitates. It knows these materials, yet not together. Their collision produces an electric excess — reflections colliding, colours leaking, edges trembling. The still life becomes restless, shimmering between object and apparition.

Participants move around the scene, choreographing glances, gestures, and scans. The devices hum and pulse, tracing data through the air. The act of capture becomes performative — a ritual of looking and being looked at, of seeing what the machine cannot.

As the scan unfolds, objects defy their weight. They appear to float, unanchored, dissolving into lattices of light. Sections disappear entirely; parts of the building fracture and melt into their reflections. Glass becomes molten, fabric ossifies into crystalline skins.

Yet the decay is generative. Out of error comes form. Surfaces twist into new geometries, fragile wireframes where tables and walls become paper-thin membranes, punctured with voids. Solidity becomes delicate — the world reassembled as a digital mirage.

In print, projection, or game-space, the scans mutate further. What was once solid is now fluid; what was familiar becomes alien. Each translation amplifies the fracture — a dialogue between precision and dissolution, between the human hand and the machine’s uncertainty.

Through these glitched visions, we witness the material dreaming of itself — distorted, refracted, haunted. The workshop becomes a site of transformation: where perception exceeds capture, and where the machine eye, in failing to see, teaches us how to look again.

Thank you to all the participants of the workshop. They have been annonimised but their results have been published with consent.