Ryoichi Kurokawa’s work is fascinating because it combines art, science, and technology in such a unique way. I was struck by how he takes something as vast as the universe or as small as a butterfly’s wing and transforms it into abstract sounds and visuals. His attention to detail, like using NASA data or recording waterfalls in Iceland, shows his dedication to capturing the essence of nature.

I also found it interesting how Kurokawa views his work as “time design.” His ability to create immersive experiences, whether through live performances or installations like Octfalls, makes his art feel alive and dynamic. The balance between chaos and order in his pieces reflects the natural world beautifully.

What stood out most was his use of synaesthesia—not literally but conceptually—to connect senses and emotions. It’s inspiring how he bridges science and creativity to reveal the hidden beauty of the world around us. Kurokawa’s work feels like an invitation to look closer at both the grand and the microscopic.

Ryoichi Kurokawa’s work is a powerful combination of sensory experiences and personal philosophy. One of the most striking aspects of his practice is his use of synaesthesia and the deconstruction of nature, as well as the duality between them within his projects. The way he merges sound and visuals into an interconnected experience is especially unique. Rather than treating these two elements as separate, Kurokawa creates compositions where sound influences visuals and vice versa, similar to what we have been exploring in class. Another compelling aspect of his work is how he takes fragmented representations of nature and reconstructs them digitally in a way that feels both familiar and transformed.

There is a strong duality between synaesthesia and nature; on one hand, his work is deeply inspired by organic patterns and natural phenomena, yet on the other, it is highly structured and manipulated through technology. This contrast between natural and artificial, order and chaos, reality and abstraction makes his work particularly thought-provoking, pushing us to question what is “real” versus what has been digitally reimagined.

Kurokawa also pushes the boundaries of live coding, going beyond traditional text-based programming and into real-time audiovisual compositions. Unlike conventional live coding, where the focus is on writing and executing code in the moment, Kurokawa creates intricate environments that blend pre-structured elements with real-time transformations. His approach combines live performance with generative art, making his work feel both organic and digital, structured yet fluid. By deconstructing and reconstructing natural elements like water ripples and geological formations, he builds immersive audiovisual ecosystems where the line between pre-composed and real-time elements becomes blurred. His work redefines live coding not just as a technical process but as a deeply immersive and evolving digital experience that bridges the natural and the computational.

Beyond his art, I also found Kurokawa’s personal approach to creativity intriguing, especially the fact that he does not have internet access in his home studio. In a world where digital connectivity is almost inescapable, this choice reflects his deliberate method of working by eliminating distractions to fully immerse himself in his creative process. It also highlights his deep dedication to his craft, which is evident in the intensity and focus of his work.

Ryoichi Kurokawa’s art dissects and abstracts elements from vastly different scales to evoke a sense of majesty. His work involves dissecting, “de-naturing,” and distilling phenomena into abstract sounds and images to reveal the wonders contained within.

While Kurokawa’s synaesthetic approach is intriguing, I wonder if the emphasis on uniting hearing and seeing is more about overcoming the limitations of traditional art forms than a genuine exploration of sensory experience. Perhaps the “mechanical separation” he refers to is not a flaw to be corrected, but a characteristic that allows each sense to be appreciated independently.

Kurokawa embraces technological advancements while maintaining an appreciation for older forms. He is interested in romancing both old and new technologies. His installations often feature multiple screens, creating immersive environments that explore the interplay between figuration and abstraction. However, I question whether the sheer scale and technological complexity of his installations risk overshadowing the subtleties of the natural phenomena they are meant to represent. The sublime, as Kurokawa seems to define it, may be lost in translation if technology becomes an end in itself rather than a means of enhancing our understanding of nature.

I used to believe there are real humans and not-real humans. I am slowly coming around to the assertion that there is no such thing as one right way to be alive, and that everyone, in their own way, converses with the divine. But in every respect, Kurokawa seems to be a real one––and what I mean by that is:

Obviously, he is interested. Just no bullshit, point-blank interested. You can tell by how he talks about Charles and Ray Eames (I liked their chairs but until recently, I didn’t know they made videos) and films and space music. I have really come to despise spaces that reek of “people who like art trying to one-up each other about how much they like art,” but maybe what I got from this article was a sense of belonging. The mediums and spaces that Kurokawa saw growing up, and felt he belonged in, and that explain why he did what he did, and why he was being interviewed that day.


Watching that Eames video, I was thinking isn’t that how we all have felt for forever? Isn’t that what my Christian forefathers meant when they said we are made in God’s image? Quantum explosion meets hydrogen bomb. This connection between macro and micro. You just have to cut things up and put seemingly-dissimilar-but-actually-similar-things together. A blown out shot of Chicago and the quivering white of a proton. And what is art but adjusting things into your perspective, and hence, our perspective––we just hadn’t realized it was our perspective too, yet. There were a lot of perspectives in this article that stuck out to me.

The first being Kurokawa’s insistence on simultaneous sound and video. I am really coming to dislike categorizations. I think because of Plato and Descartes and a whole lot of other old white guys, we automatically and unconsciously think of things in fixed, Platonic essences. We forget to see things as actually changing and blurring, constantly arranging and rearranging co-constitutions. Like the senses, for example. There are five senses, or so we say. But no––we see sound and hear what we see. That’s why it is so important for performance to be simultaneous. There are senses and realities that exist in between our divisions. Maybe Kurokawa likes bringing people into these liminal spaces, more “real” because they are liminal? Or maybe, grounding people in what we have forgotten. Art is supposed to do that, too. But I think Live Coding is really attached to this––reminding us to return to pure experience, without preconceived notions or categories, the way we have to do in our day to day. To just witness your body and all its interactions for what they are.


That’s why Kurokawa’s performances are “in constant flux, with entities exploding into fragments and dynamically reassembling…” The journalist writes “Nothing is solid in Kurokawa’s universe.” That’s because nothing is solid in our universe. But through live performance, Kurokawa helps us remember that. Or, I think that’s one part that goes into why he does what he does. At least, that’s the part that speaks to me.

I liked reading about how Kurokawa started doing what he was doing. He was just an interested, alive human who started playing around. Doing wacky projects with his friends. I think I often forget that life is just one big playground. Most of the photographers and videographers I admire, when you read their backstories, it’s like this. They were trying, but they weren’t really trying. They were, I guess, playing hard. The journalist said the artists around his time “cut their teeth in clubs and graduated to galleries.” F galleries. Keep it in the clubs, I say.

I also really liked Kurokawa’s observations about nature. I often feel really at odds with my world. I really hate the utilitarian nature of modernity. I just think it’s ugly. Sorry Mies van der Rohe, but I’ve always hated the obvious order of blocks and skinny skyscrapers. I, too, preferred the natural sprawl. How everything looks chaotic on the outside but is governed by a pristine, internal order. I think we have to totally bulldoze our modern notions of organization and cleanliness and Kurokawa is apart of that.

Through all of Kurokawa’s words, I do detect a real human. Or, just maybe what I recognize as real in myself. His indifference towards technological development. His choice of words: “he doesn’t show himself.” His draw towards nature. He says that nature changes gradually and I breathe a little, being reminded yet again that I am allowed to do the same, even if it doesn’t seem like it. I visited this exhibition by TaeZoo Park that was a bunch of glitching televisions but beneath the spectacle of it all, was a tribute to his lifelong love for Nam Jun Paik. I’ll never forget the first time I saw Riyoji Ikeda’s “Superposition.” Left me breathless. I’m still trying to figure out how I balance the real human spirit of things with it all. The journalist mentions that Kurokawa had a Ulysses butterfly in Yves Klein Blue. I saw that blue in a gallery. But what I thought about while looking at it was Maggie Nelson. She said it was too garishly blue for her. She preferred the sky.

Someday, I want to forget about showing myself. Kurokawa reminded me that all you need to stay a real human is to remain truly interested. To just play. Once I accept this, or as I accept this, hopefully it helps me with how I approach live coding, too.

Ryoichi Kurokawa’s work is centered around trying to bring out two concepts: synesthesia and deconstruction of nature. This is very evident in most of Kurokawa’s work – watching ad/ab Atom on fullscreen is an astronomically more fulfilling experience than having it play on a different tab. The structures used, images, colors and the flow of Kurokawa’s work exhibit the sense of randomness that we see in nature, its almost as if Kurokawa holds the reins to this randomness as his pieces don’t necessarily succumb to entropy but hold a meaningful flow. 

For example in ad/ab Atom, Kurokawa’s starts off with the microscopic particles and then descends into smaller and smaller scales into subatomic particles. This can be visually seen as the particle patterns get more and more chaotic and sometimes wave like but stays controlled when visually presented. We also hear the main audio backbone for the piece getting more and more sharper and more intentional compositions being presented.

What intrigues me most about Kurokawa’s work is the control of the flow to explore the themes that he has in mind. Using nature and the environment around you is very hard to control and express motifs. Kurokawa himself states he intentionally does this when he calls his work time design. Field recordings themselves have proven to be unpredictable in nature, laying graphics on top of these and animation help Kurokawa to control what the viewer experiences, in my opinion in most of his work, be it a visual representing a snake shedding skin or a highway or even a goldfish, we are looking a metaphysical (like chaos) or conversely a material (like an atom) artifact in different viewpoints or lenses. Kurokawa’s work demonstrates how flow can be used as a tool for artistic expression in a audio-visual piece.

Ryoichi Kurokawa’s work is impactful because of his unique melding and play with seemingly binary elements to create a hyperreality that transcends conventional sensory experiences. The intermixing of music and visuals through “synaesthesia” creates a transformative experience that works to challenge our traditional perceptions of art and reality. By blending auditory and visual stimuli, Kurokawa encouranges viewers to explore a new dimension of sensory perception which we are typically not used to. This interplay of opposites is also evident in Kurokawa’s exploration of the intersection between technology and nature, as well as the use of computer tech to express artistic intent. In this way, a new genre is created that showcases “unique digital naturalism” whereby Ryoichi essentially creates a new visual language to bridge gaps between the organic and synthetic. The reason why I found this so intriguing and impactful was because it redefines the boundaries of artistic expression, demonstrating how digital technology can be used not just as a tool for creative expression but as an extension of nature itself. I interpreted his work to challenge the notion that technology and nature exist in opposition and instead reveal their potential to exist in harmony which in and of itself engenders new immersive aesthetic experiences.

After reading this article, I took a look at the documentation of Ryoichi Kurokawa’s artworks.

His combination of natural landscapes and digital visuals is incredible: in his work Rheo, he used a lot of binding and shaking lines to form a bunch of waves that might suddenly turn into the landscape of a river and then shake and flow with the audio. In syn_, he also utilized this technology to create a smooth transition from digital patterns to natural objects, which demonstrates how technology has brought more possibilities to the art industry.

From my point of view, multi-sensory stimulation and transition is the core of his art. It’s not only the transition between digital effects and natural images but also the transition between simple and complicated content, which brings a strong sensation to the audience when combined with the immersive experience of visuals, audio, and vibrations. It seems that the sensations can resonate.

I also really enjoy how he shows his teenage passion in his artwork: in his work Unfold, he presents nebulas and planets in the universe. The canvas is quite simple and clean, as it only contains the main object on display and a completely black background, which resembles what Kubrick had done in 2001: A Space Odyssey, and this artwork is as immersive and attractive as that film.

Interestingly, according to the article, Kurokawa’s studio is not connected to the Internet, while his artwork seems to be the product of cutting-edge technology. This can be a reflection of how we might utilize technology in our lives, as it might be useful but distractive.