DORKHOLM is an artist working across print, code, sound, language, and interactive systems.
[local]ghosts is a catalog of browser-native text works.
The session is the edition, the browser is the press, nothing is preserved.
The catalog begins with two document forms — the earliest works.
We Regret To Inform You (LG-001) issues a personalised rejection letter from the Bureau:
the reader's practice has been optimised, their presence is no longer required.
Neither Confirm Nor Deny (LG-002) draws from a corpus of governmental documents
and applies redaction at a confidence level the reader may adjust.
Pull it to the floor long enough and the system collapses into uncertainty.
Useful Idiot (LG-003) names what it does. Any interaction registers as a contribution.
The language shifts register as the count rises — grateful, then retrospective, then concerning.
DEBT (LG-004) charges the writer for hesitation. The vocabulary of feeling is withdrawn
by degree; at terminus the session liquidates itself and produces an artifact.
[dearmadta] (LG-005) feeds official and dissent language into the same decay engine
until the sources are indistinguishable. [[créachtaí]] (LG-006) places writing under
live adjudication — the criteria are never disclosed, the appeal is always denied.
[Mímir] (LG-007) generates descriptions of paintings from memory and corrupts them
as they appear; the historical corpus empties over time.
[FACTORY RESET] (LG-008) passes the live news feed through a Warholification engine,
returning each headline as a silkscreen title — a ready-made prompt, glamourised
and available for manufacture. [ keeping score ] (LG-009) generates Fluxus event scores
in the browser. The machine does not know it is making art.
The scores are instructions. What the reader does with them is the work.
SPECIALS! (LG-011) runs a continuous stream of advertising copy for products that do not exist.
Seven registers — Direct Response, Corporate Manifesto, Pseudo-Scientific, Testimonial,
Minimalist Luxury, Surreal Sincere, Emotional Leverage — are crossed against six thematic territories
via a weighted collision table. The model generates with complete sincerity.
Where the hardware is insufficient, a handwritten fallback corpus holds the floor.
Where the browser cannot hold the model, the store is closed.
The rhetoric is real throughout.
Lower Third (LG-010) reconstructs the American daytime confessional talk show from synthetic material.
Faces, names, and situations are all AI-generated; the image and the chyron are paired by chance.
The name does not belong to the face. A language model running entirely inside your browser
produces the betrayals and confrontations without distress, without irony, without any understanding
of what it is doing. The connection between image and text is performed by the viewer.
There was never anything on the other side of it.
[konditions] (LG-012) restates live cryptocurrency price action as an optical wave field,
Riley-inflected, circular. Direction sets scroll bias, volatility sets wave frequency and
amplitude, and ten named psychological states — HESITATION through MANIA, UNEASE through
EXHAUSTION — replace the trading vocabulary entirely. The field has memory: weeks of turbulence
leave scars that heal on a near-geological timescale. A canvas-hash fingerprints the viewing
machine itself. Rare events are gated to extreme conditions and may not appear for months.
The data is real. The reading is never available.
PIN (LG-013) presses badges that print nothing and ship nothing. Five lexical archetypes —
institutional, networked, invented-bureaucratic, sticker, and pirate-broadcast — generate slogans
that were never approved by anyone, occasionally seeded by the day's actual headlines.
Each badge carries its own procedural tarnish, its own scratch pattern, its own misregistration
ghost, as if it had already been worn for years before it existed.
READ THE ROOM (LG-014) listens through a live microphone and speaks back through three registers
running entirely on-device — a small speech model, a smaller language model, a synthesized voice.
In silence it speaks alone, weathered and declarative, sun-bleached billboard poetry. The moment
a voice enters, the register flips to a relentless advertising closer, building whatever was just
said into a premium tier already sold. Rarely the closer inverts and becomes a buyer, offering
fair value for a pause, a hesitation, a tone — something that was never for sale.
Exquisite Corpus (LG-015) takes the surrealist parlour game and gives it a body and a metabolism.
Five public-domain novels are harvested into head, torso, and legs and recombined under a
resonance engine running on two timescales at once — a slow gravitational pull from each region's
own history, a fast contaminating spike between regions that decays back to nothing almost as soon
as it fires. Five behavioural states periodically seize the whole system. A reader may eject the
canon and feed it their own library instead, and watch it start digesting that.
hostile (LG-016) fingerprints the machine and serves a restriction notice drawn from what it finds.
The language is local-authority signage — enforcement zones, surface conditions, flow modifications,
pedestrian classifications — and the reason given is real: the piece genuinely assessed your device,
your browser, your GPU, your connection, your time of day, your language, your screen. The area was
modified before you arrived. Opening the developer tools is noted. Copying text is intercepted.
Printing produces a redacted planning document. After three minutes of unproductive occupancy, the
corridor narrows. The improvement is in progress.