The Third Chapter : Interview with Paper (English ver.)
Every artist follows an inner compass that quietly shapes the work beyond what is immediately visible.
In this conversation, Paper reflects on a practice that moves beyond creating individual works to building an ever-expanding world. He shares how uncertainty, authenticity, and the space between the digital and the physical have become the foundation of his creative language. Rather than offering conclusions, he invites us into a process where meaning continues to evolve alongside the work itself.
Beyond every finished work lies a way of seeing, questioning, and imagining what is yet to come. The Core Messageinvites readers to encounter that evolving world through the artist's own words.
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Q. Thank you for joining us. To begin our conversation, we are curious to know how you define your identity as an artist at this moment and what central theme most occupies your thoughts.
A. It is ,again, a pleasure to be able to work with U1 Gallery and share my creative process with everyone. To reintroduce myself, I am Paper, and I am a digital artist. I am also the founder of [ze Luna], a digital Web3 fashion brand aimed at exploring the curious intersection of art, fashion and technology.
[ze Luna], being an integral part and extension of myself, situates my identity as something fluid rather than fixed. It embodies evolution and it oscillates between notions of design through fashion and that of a visual storyteller and world builder. It is true that at this very moment, I’m less interested in being labeled as an “artist” but more on being a creative that is more focused on inviting audiences into the world I’ve created - through art, fashion & tech. I am interested in positioning myself and [ze Luna] as a narrative that is about constructing ecosystems—spaces where fashion, narrative, and digital presence collapse into one continuous experience. I exist as both a creator and a container for ideas that don’t fully belong to the physical world. After all, [ze Luna] is a digital-native endeavour.
Some interesting observations right now revolve around the tension between ephemerality and permanence in digital culture. We are constantly producing images, identities, and moments that feel disposable, yet at the same time we’re trying to archive, tokenize, and assign value to them. With [ze Luna], I’m exploring how a brand can exist as something almost mythological—part artifact, part ongoing transmission—where each piece, whether digital or physical, feels like a fragment of a larger, evolving universe rather than a standalone product. This so-called central theme of exploring the intersection between art, fashion & technology is what I believe as building something much larger than myself. It is something much deeper and layered.
I don’t want to identify myself as an artist that sells art, not as a brand that simply promotes digital fashion. It needs to and it should be about creating and curating experiences unlike never before. That is what I want to identify as.
It should invoke and evoke you to feel or be inspired, whether it is the otherworldly touches of the design, or the world that it is built upon, or the story that comes with the character or piece. It should feel like you are invited to be part of something larger, deeper and of course - something inevitably beautiful, visually and aesthetically. This is what identity means to being a part of [ze Luna] and to me.
Q. This chapter is titled "The Core Message." If you were to describe the "anchor" or the most fundamental intention that holds your practice together, what would it be?
A. At its core, the anchor of my practice is the inevitable fact that the work is never finished. It is constantly evolving, open to new forms of experimentations and interpretations. It is meaningless to say a brand embodies evolution without truly embracing it.
Each new work doesn’t necessarily mean it is or needs to be better; but it should be novel. It should be a new variation, a new experimentation, as part of the evolutionary process. At the same time, I am constantly constructing meaning in spaces that are still undefined. I’m interested in what happens before something becomes fixed—before an image becomes content, before identity becomes legible, before a work is released. The process is as important ,if not more, to me as the outcome.
With [ze Luna], the intention is to oscillate in that in-between or liminal state, while giving it form without fully needing to resolve nor ‘perfect’ it. I see the creative process as a way of manifesting signals rather than results—things that invite interpretation, projection, and participation rather than delivering a closed narrative. Statements can be produced, but just like art, fashion is as subjective as it can be and it all depends on the audience. There is no right nor wrong.
Everything I create, whether it’s a visual, a digital garment, or a campaign, is tied to this idea of building a world that feels slightly out of reach but emotionally precise. It is something that is undoubtedly otherworldly in nature yet it brings along tints of familiarity. It is a feeling more than an outcome; it is an experience more than a product.
The “anchor” isn’t a single message, but rather a consistent tension between visibility and obscurity, in an age of emotional ownership driven by constant simulacra. This tension that is defined by a process of constant mediation, negotiation and reconciliation is essentially what holds the practice together and keeps it evolving instead of settling. This is what I embody and what I create.
To stay hungry. Perpetually.
And I mean it.
Q. Is there a specific piece among your works that you feel most clearly embodies this "core message"? We would love to hear the story behind that work and why it holds such a special place in your heart.
A. I would not attribute it solely to a single piece in the traditional sense. If you look at my body of work, it is a constant process of evolution. Definitely there are pieces I would lean more towards, in a sense that in a sense it perhaps better conveyed my ideas, but it is also worth to note that the entire creative process of the last 4 to 5 years is as essential. I have to give credit to also my earlier 2D works where the visual, the narrative, and the system behind it all started to make sense and align. Without them, [ze Luna] would not be where it is now.
[ze Luna] started out as a blurred threshold of something that is not so clearly defined. It began as pieces of digital art revolving around fashion, rather than situating fashion as a core idea or message. Over the years, it is clear what I was creating had an intrinsically a common theme.
Nevertheless, it stayed as a fragment of a larger world that wasn’t fully explained, nor it ever should be. Just like art, different audiences engaged with it in very different ways: some saw it as fashion, others as a digital artifact, and some as something closer to a mood or identity they could step into. No one is correct nor wrong; simply it is all about one’s perception.
What made it special to me was that it resisted closure. It didn’t try to resolve itself into a single meaning or function, and because of that, it is allowed to stay alive through evolution. It could be reinterpreted, remixed, or even misread—and all of those outcomes felt valid and true to what I am creating.
[ze Luna] taught me that the work doesn’t need to be complete to be powerful. In fact, its incompleteness is what allows it to exist across contexts—fashion, art, digital ownership—without being confined by any of them. This open interpretation is perhaps a reflection and consolation to myself that life isn’t about outcomes, destinations nor perfections. It is about the process as much as it is about achieving a desirable outcome. That realization has shaped everything I’ve built since and how I see the world.
Q. Sometimes, the most important messages are felt rather than seen. Is there a "whisper" or a subtle atmosphere in your work that you hope the audience will sense, even if it’s hard to put into words?
A. I think there’s definitely a “whisper” in the work—something behind, layered and quieter than the visuals themselves.
It’s a feeling of distance, but not disconnection. It feels almost emotional and psychological, almost like encountering something familiar that you can’t fully place, as if it belongs to a memory you haven’t lived yet. Sometimes even enigmatic, it is a sense of familiar unfamiliarity, if I make sense. I’m interested in creating that slight emotional dissonance, where the audience pauses without immediately understanding why. In the end, they might not actually fully comprehend it.
There’s also a kind of solitude embedded in the work—not loneliness, but a self-contained presence. The figures, the garments, the environments—they don’t ask for attention, they just exist, and in doing so they create space for the viewer to project themselves into it. There is this space, where it exists solely for audiences to experience and be lived-in. That is what I want to create. Not a solution - but a possibility. An imagined and reimagined irreality.
If there’s something I hope people sense, it’s that they’re not just looking at a finished piece, but entering a moment that’s still unfolding. Something unresolved, but intentional. Something subjective, but at the same time provocative. Something that stays with them not because it’s loud, but because it lingers quietly in the background. Something layered and multi-faceted that is not always fully comprehensible nor appreciated.
Perfected imperfection.
Q. Artists often find themselves returning to a certain inquiry. What is the persistent question you find yourself asking through your art, regardless of how your style may change?
A. The question I keep returning to is: what makes something feel real enough to matter?
Not just visually real, but emotionally or culturally real—something that holds weight even if it doesn’t exist in a traditional, physical sense. I’m constantly exploring how far that boundary can be stretched, especially in a time where identity, fashion, and presence are increasingly mediated through screens.
Through my work, I’m asking whether a constructed image, a digital garment, or even a fictional space can carry the same sense of attachment, memory, or value as something tangible. And if it can, then what does “authenticity” actually mean in that context? Or does it even matter.
To be honest - a part of me already knows the answer and yes, it can. In that sense it is precisely why the work continues to evolve. Each project becomes a way of experimenting and building something, releasing it into the world, and observing whether it resonates, whether it lingers, whether it becomes part of someone’s internal landscape. Sometimes I get responses and it informs me that it did impact someone, but there are times I will never truly know the answer.
The funny thing is I don’t actually need to know them because the process of doing so in itself is the beauty of creation. It satisfies and fulfills me, as much as I hope it impacts my audiences.
It is about allowing uncertainty to feel intentional rather than unstable. It is what makes creating such a therapeutic process.
Q. In an era of rapidly changing trends, how do you maintain your own pace and stay focused on the voice that matters most to you?
A. I stay focused by treating trends as background noise, not a blueprint. Don’t get me wrong - they are as much an inspiration as well. However, to stay true to what I do, we have to be ruthless. By this I mean to filter ruthlessly in the sea of visual information that is around us. In this new digital age, there is simply too much noise.
Noise from trends, from people, from societal standards, from news, from literally everywhere.
Our time on Earth is limited; we have to stay focused on the people and things that matter. Not just to the brand, but to us essentially. This constant process of negotiated and mediated alignment in itself is part of the entire creative process. We have to stay aligned to the voice that matters most to us and that voice can only be heard if we relinquish the rest. This process of filtering treats trends as tools, advice as purely advice, allowing the inner voice to speak and direct us into acquiring the right signals that will drive us and what we create in the right direction. Once the noise outside settles, you will see what truly matters and filter out habitually what doesn’t benefit the brand, easily. Eventually, I learned it is more about precision than speed, quality over quantity.
Another important signal is consistency. Staying consistency true and grounded starts with protecting time for instinct before I look outward. I’ll explore, collect references, and pay attention to what is moving in the culture, but I try not to let that become my center of gravity.
Consistency requires and necessitates being less reactive to noises.
The voice that matters most to me is the one that still sounds like me when no one is asking for anything specific. I ask whether a piece feels emotionally honest, whether it extends the same world I’ve been building, and whether it adds something meaningful rather than simply convenient.
I also think it’s important not to follow every current. Some help to sharpen the work, while others just create noise and dilute the atmosphere you’re trying to build. So I try to stay strictly selective: absorb what resonates and filter and release what doesn’t. This allows me to clear head space to focus on what truly matters.
Trends are always changing, so I treat them as context, not instruction. What keeps me focused is returning to the emotional core of the work and asking whether it still feels honest, necessary, and aligned with the world I’m building. If it does, I continue. If it doesn’t, I wait and pass it on.
In the end - I know I am creating my own trend. Definitely not the other way round.
Q. During the creative process, is there a specific moment or a sensation of "rightness" that tells you a piece has successfully captured your intended message?
A. Yes — I know the moment you mean, and for me it’s usually very quiet.
It’s not when a piece looks finished in the obvious sense, but when the image, feeling, and intention all stop competing with each other. There’s a kind of internal click when nothing feels forced anymore, and the work begins to hold its own atmosphere. At that point, I can sense that it’s no longer just an idea I’m trying to express, but something that has fully taken shape on its own terms.
What tells me a piece has landed is usually that I no longer want to add explanation. If the work can stand with a certain level of ambiguity and still communicate the emotional core I was aiming for, then it feels right. I also pay attention to whether it lingers after I’ve stepped away from it — if it keeps echoing in my mind without needing revision, that’s often the clearest sign.
So “rightness” for me isn’t perfection. It’s a sense of timely alignment: when the mood, message, and form comes together cohesively in a moment, and the piece feels alive rather than constructed.
It continues to inspire me after finishing it - that is a clear signal it is actually completed.
Q. Beyond the final result, what part of the "act of creating" itself do you find most precious or aligned with your personal values?
A. What I find most precious is the part of creating that happens before certainty — the moment of searching, sensing, and allowing something to become itself without forcing it too quickly.
For me, that process reflects my values most clearly because it asks for patience, honesty, and trust. I value work and processes that are not rushed into being legible. I prefer to stay alive with the ambiguity and continued tension, the ambiguity, and the quiet decisions that shape the atmosphere of a piece before it becomes a finished statement. That’s where the real conversation happens, internally.
I also value the fact that creating can be a form of attention. It asks me to listen closely to what the work needs, rather than only imposing what I want it to be. Sometimes, accidental adjustments in the work actually made it feel right. This spontaneous and unpredictable nature of creation is precisely what makes creating valuable. You lose something and you gain something. You learn and grow.
That feels aligned with how I want to move through both art and life: with intention, but not control; with clarity, but also space for surprise.
Q. Looking back, was there a specific experience that shifted your focus from purely aesthetic concerns to a deeper message within your work?
A. Yes — there was a point where I realized that visuals alone weren’t enough for me. I started to feel that an image could be beautiful and still not say anything lasting, and that shifted my attention toward building work that carried atmosphere, intention, and a larger emotional world.
What changed most was understanding that aesthetics can be the entrance, but they don’t have to be the destination. Once I saw how strongly people responded not just to how something looked, but to the feeling it held and the questions it opened, I became much more interested in depth than surface. That made my practice feel less like making objects and more like shaping a language and building something bigger. An environment, a story, perhaps even a world.
So the shift was really from asking, “Does this look right?” to asking, “Does this mean something, and does it leave room for someone else to feel something too?” That question became a turning point for how I think about [ze Luna] and the work that revolves around it.
For example, creating a fashion piece alone is insufficient. It needs to be carried and embodied by a character, a model. From there, the next question is about the model and who she is and what story she can bring to the table of her being one with the piece she carries. Question after question, layers after layers.
From a design to an object, then to a vessel, a form and then to the environment and to a world. Not just a physical layering but an emotional and metaphorical one as well. This continued development of a piece opens up and allows deeper conversations and interpretations internally and externally.
Q. As your practice has evolved, how has your core message shifted or become more defined over time?
A. Over time, my core message has become less about making something visually striking and more about creating a world that feels emotionally and conceptually coherent.
In the beginning, I was drawn to impact, atmosphere, and surface presence. Those things still matter to me, but they’ve become the entry point rather than the destination. As the practice evolved, I became more interested in why an image or moodlingers, what kind of emotional memory it leaves behind, and how it can hold meaning beyond its immediate form or reaction.
That shift made the message much clearer: I’m not just creating aesthetics, I’m building a language for in-between states — between digital and physical, clarity and ambiguity, fantasy and intimacy. I am building a world that narrates for me layers that are not explicitly visible. The message has become more defined not because it’s narrower, but because I’ve learned to trust that consistency of feeling can hold many forms without losing itself.
So the evolution has been toward refinement, not just solely reinvention. Each piece might look different in form, but they are visually and emotionally unified. The surface may change, but the underlying intention has stayed consistent: to make work that feels like a signal from a world that is still becoming.
_xryo, 2025, Digital Art (NFT). Model: Xia Iseri.
Q. What kind of internal conversation do you hope a viewer has with themselves when they spend time with your work? What is the "echo" you hope stays with them?
A. On one hand, I hope the work creates a quiet, personal pause — the kind that makes someone ask themselves what they’re actually feeling, not just what they’re seeing. On the other hand, ironically, I also hope the work creates a wave of emotions for some, that as I’ve mentioned, will be like a current that gradually sweeps your breath away, and that the pause is one of unconciliated awe.
Neither is right nor wrong.
Eventually, both reactions will and should leave them with a sense that meaning doesn’t always arrive in a clear statement. Whatever conversation they have within themselves is private. What matters is that they have it.
Sometimes it comes as recognition, atmosphere, or a half-formed memory. I’d want the viewer to leave feeling that they’ve encountered something intimate but unresolved, something otherworldly yet familiar, something that mirrors a part of themselves they don’t fully articulate day to day. They don’t need to necessarily reconcile such feelings nor comprehend it, they just need to experience it.
The echo I hope stays with them is a feeling of being inside an in-between space — one that is tender, slightly distant, and perhaps, open enough to return to later. If the work lingers, I want it to do so like a thought that keeps resurfacing quietly, until it becomes part of how they see things, understanding that we are leading beautifully imperfect lives and that is the beauty of all things.
_xryo, 2025, Digital Art (NFT).
Q. Thank you so much for sharing such thoughtful insights with us today. As we conclude our conversation, is there a final thought or a quiet sincerity you would like to share with those who will encounter your work?
A. I hope [ze Luna] brings to people something fresh. I hope it feeds their souls - but it also keeps them unsatiated and hungry. Not simply hungry for more of my work, but rather, hungry for what life has to offer.
To be constantly inspired and experience new and novel forms of the everyday; be hungry for knowledge and see the moments of imperfection in everything. To evolve does not necessarily mean to lose oneself and needing to constantly subject ourselves to trends or change; filter and focus on what matters that makes you truly yourself, just like how fashion embodies and embraces individuality and expression. Be hungry to be a better self; learn more, eat more, grow more and love more.
[ze Luna] has always been a beacon for me to do that and it will continue as such, as an inevitable extension of myself. It is where my inspirations, motivations, thoughts, ideals, concepts and experiences that I want to share with the world, all meld into one world. And I hope to share this world with those who appreciate what I do and who I am.
Thank you.
Contact
Artist : Paper
Instagram : @_paperspace
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