Cathartic Glitch covers work from pop culture to New Media Art, sharing essays, short reviews, quick recommendations, and deeper breakdowns of what is worth your time and what is worth revisiting. It focuses on how each piece is built and what it is trying to do, whether it is a major release, a small project, or a gallery show. It links ideas across formats, looking at how different spaces shape each other, how a style can move from the internet into museums, how music, sound design, pacing, and structure can reshape a moment in a film or a game, and how interactive design can shift storytelling by changing how the audience can interact and shape what happens, not just what they can watch. When the art uses technology as the main material, built from screens, software, and systems, that is treated as part of the work itself, not an extra detail. The goal is to take every format seriously without ranking them. If something is well made and has something to say, it belongs here.
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At The Wrong Biennale, the online exhibition Coded Feelings explores how digital systems shape emotional life from within. Across works about intimacy, consumption, control, and false promise, the exhibition shows that digital tools no longer simply carry emotion. They now influence how emotion is built, directed, and experienced in everyday life.
In Metatopia at The Wrong Biennale, artificial vision no longer promises clarity or objective truth, but becomes an unstable way of reading the world, producing fractured bodies, warped surfaces, and visual spaces shaped by glitches, hallucination, and the breakdown of systems meant to classify, decode, and make reality fully legible.
In the TV show Pluribus by Vince Gilligan, individuality stands at the center of a world tempted by total connection. The series turns selfhood into its deepest tension, asking whether peace is still worth wanting when it asks people to give up the boundaries that make them themselves.
In the film Sentimental Value by Joachim Trier, identity is shaped by grief, family memory, and the stories passed between generations. As old wounds return through the family home and the father’s artistic ambitions, the self appears less chosen than inherited, formed inside emotional structures that long outlive their origin.
In the online exhibition Artificial Lines of Flight at The Wrong Biennale, artists use AI to loosen the idea of the single creator, turning images into unstable spaces shaped by prompts, systems, environments, and machine response.
Formidiables, an online pavilion within The Wrong Biennale, treats AI horror as a force that pulls images back toward bodies. Instead of drifting into pattern or pure atmosphere, the work insists on faces, anatomy, and presence. The unease comes from distortion, but the main effect is figurative: the human and the creature return as the center of attention.
The online exhibition Dr!nk Water in The Wrong Biennale works like a collaborative archive that never settles. Chat fragments, recovered files, and AI remixes get absorbed, reshaped, and returned as new artifacts, so the exhibition behaves more like a living system than a finished collection.
In the animated series The Midnight Gospel by Pendleton Ward and Duncan Trussell, Clancy Gilroy travels through doomed worlds to record his “space podcast”, built from Duncan Trussell’s real podcast conversations. Sci fi quests and psychedelic comedy drive the chaos, but meditation, grief, and acceptance arrive quietly through listening, with each apocalypse fading into background noise.
A hole is not only “nothing.” In art, it pulls attention and reorganizes feeling. From the “everything bagel” in Everything Everywhere All at Once to the click-through rooms of The Doughnut (W)Hole, holes become images, interfaces, pauses, and traps. They make edges matter, turn silence into content, and ask what happens when the center refuses to be filled.
Art After AI proposes a simple recalibration: stop asking if the image is real, and start asking what it does. The exhibition treats images as social actors, shaping memory, politics, and desire. It invites viewers to practice skepticism without surrendering wonder.
The internet does not only connect people. It categorizes them, ranks them, and assigns value to their visibility. Constant Dullaart’s work exposes that pricing system by intervening in the mechanisms that turn profiles into products and attention into a market.
The album Virgin feels like pop recorded with the door left open, glitches intact and edges unpolished. When transplanted to concert, Ultrasound stages that rawness like a medical procedure, using fast cuts and big-screen close-ups to manufacture intimacy through magnification.
Auto-Tune is personified on Brat turning vocal processing into storytelling rather than polish. The mockumentary The Moment extends this onscreen, making pop persona the story itself.
At its best, Kojima’s work erases the line between watching and acting. You are not taken out of play to be told what matters. You are led into choices that already feel like scenes, beat by beat, until filmcraft and game design become the same language.
In the album Hit Me Hard and Soft by Billie Eilish, gentleness is staged at microphone distance, then snapped back by hard cuts and sudden low end. The production makes emotional duality audible, soft on the surface, heavy underneath.
