An interview with parus.work
"I trust the glitch more than the goal."
parus.work, you’re trained both as a visual artist and a professional clown. How did that combination lead you to Foolgorithm?
I got bored of pretending to be serious. I was making these clean, concept-heavy images —beautiful, polished, but dead. Then one day, I was coding a generative piece, and the system glitched. It started producing weird, broken, hilarious forms. And I thought: this mistake is smarter than me. That was the moment Foolgorithm started forming in my mind.
So Foolgorithm embraces failure?
Not failure. Misbehavior. It’s about systems that refuse to behave. Clowns do this all the time—they twist logic, flip hierarchies, derail expectations. Foolgorithm is just that, but in digital space. We build algorithms that lie, that laugh, that dream sideways.
Can you describe what a Foolgorithm artwork might look or feel like?
It might be a neural network trained on punchlines. A chatbot that flirts with itself. A glitch-loop that generates visual poetry. Or a performance where the audience becomes the bug in the system.
Foolgorithm doesn’t look like one thing. It feels like you’re being pranked by the machine—and loving it.
How do you respond to people who say it’s just chaos, or nonsense?
Oh, it is nonsense. But nonsense is ancient. It's sacred. Think of Tarot, Zen koans, or early internet memes. They disrupt linear logic and open new spaces. That’s what we’re doing.
Foolgorithm isn't about control. It’s about opening portals through confusion.
Do you see Foolgorithm as political?
Absolutely. In a world obsessed with productivity, optimization, and machine-like behavior, choosing to be a fool* is radical. The clown doesn’t compete. The clown derails. The clown disarms.
Foolgorithm is resistance through absurdity.
And finally: if Foolgorithm were an animal?
A raccoon on acid, hacking a vending machine at 3am. Wearing a tiny hat.