In 2022, SKVO developed one of the key early projects in his practice, dedicated to the exploration of the city as a system of lines, rhythms, structures, and accumulated human intention. The Isometric Cities series became an important stage in the formation of his artistic method, bringing together algorithmic thinking, the engineering of custom-built drawing machines, and the physical presence of the traditional graphic gesture.

The project is based on the depiction of iconic urban environments through isometric projection — not as documentary representations of architecture, but as an attempt to reveal the hidden logic of the city through a dense linear fabric. At the centre of the series are New York with the Empire State Building, One World Trade Center, and London’s financial district with its cluster of skyscrapers. These subjects were not chosen simply for their recognisable silhouettes. For SKVO, the city is not merely a collection of buildings, but a visible expression of will, ambition, memory, economy, power, and time.

The works were created using a plotter designed by the artist as a mediating instrument between idea, code, and physical material. The image was constructed from thousands and millions of sketch-like lines, gradually accumulating into a complex spatial structure. Unlike a printed image, the line here preserves its materiality and duration: every trajectory is the result of a real movement of a real instrument across a physical surface. The image does not appear instantly; it is built, layer by layer, through time, movement, resistance, and repetition.

For these works, SKVO used pens in up to nine colours, creating a complex rhythm of tone, depth, and visual vibration. The support was an aluminium surface, chosen both for its industrial aesthetic and for technical necessity. With such an extreme density of lines, paper would have inevitably warped, deformed, or torn under the pressure and repeated passage of the pen. Aluminium provided stability, endurance, and a surface capable of withstanding the intensity and duration of the process.

The most technically demanding work in the project was New York — Empire State Building, measuring 1260 × 726 mm. Its execution required 32.6 million lines of code, and the drawing process took 21 days of continuous machine operation. This work became not only an image of the city, but also a record of time, endurance, precision, and machine-human persistence. Here, the line ceases to be merely a graphic element. It becomes a trace of duration, a record of movement, tension, patience, and accumulated energy.

A further development of the series appeared in the work based on London’s financial district, where SKVO combined plotter-based drawing with painterly intervention. The background was executed in acrylic, while the architectural image was drawn over it with pen. This combination brought together two different modes of image-making: the free, atmospheric, and tactile presence of paint, and the precise, calculated, structural logic of the plotted line. In this work, the philosophy of SKVO becomes especially clear: technology does not suppress the artistic gesture, but enters into dialogue with it. The algorithm does not replace the artist; it expands the field in which the artist can act.

For SKVO, the city in this project becomes a form of collective consciousness translated into the language of lines. Architecture is deconstructed and then rebuilt as a network of directions, densities, intersections, and visual rhythms. The artist is interested not only in the external appearance of urban structures, but in how they can be re-read through mechanical drawing, through repetition, labour, density, and the extended duration of execution.

Isometric Cities is a project about the meeting point between art, architecture, and machine. It is about how code can become drawing, and how drawing can become a way of seeing the city anew. It is also one of the first projects in which the SKVO method appeared in its full force: as a study of the boundary between human intention and mechanical execution, between control and vibration, between digital structure and physical trace.

The second SKVO project is dedicated to the exploration of landscape through acrylic, point, line, and algorithmic image construction. If the Isometric Cities series approached the city as a system of architectural rhythms, coordinates, and structural memory, this project turns toward nature — not as a romantic motif, but as a living system of light, colour, distance, and inner movement.

At the centre of the project is the use of acrylic within the logic of pointillism and linear deconstruction. The series includes a landscape depicting rural terrain with small mountains, constructed from countless coloured points, as well as a work representing the Alps and a lake through vertical lines. In both cases, SKVO does not imitate the classical landscape. Instead, he translates it into the language of the mechanical gesture, where every point and every line becomes an independent unit of perception.

The project was created using the latest version of SKVO’s plotter, equipped with an automatic tool-changing system. This machine made it possible to use more than 60 colours in each painting, building a complex chromatic structure without constant manual intervention. Colour here does not function as a flat fill or decorative surface, but as a sequence of physical events: a tool is selected, moves across the surface, touches it, leaves a trace, returns to the system, and gives way to the next colour.

In the rural landscape, the point becomes a way of decomposing the visible world into elementary particles. Small mountains, fields, sky, and distant space are transformed into a vibrating structure of coloured traces. From a distance, the viewer perceives the landscape as a unified image; up close, it breaks apart into countless individual acrylic touches. This tension between the whole and the fragment, between the image and its physical construction, becomes one of the central themes of the project.

In the second work, dedicated to the Alps and the lake, SKVO uses a different principle of construction: vertical lines. Here, nature is no longer assembled from points, but translated into the rhythm of directed movement. Mountains, water, and reflections become not so much forms as states: ascent, descent, density, transparency, depth. The vertical line works as a trace of gravity, a record of time, a structural impulse passing through the entire image.

The reference to pointillism in this project is not a stylistic quotation. SKVO does not return to a historical method for the sake of its external effect; he rethinks it through contemporary technological practice. If classical pointillism was connected to optics, light, and the mixing of colour in the eye of the viewer, then in SKVO’s work the point is also the result of code, coordinate, mechanical motion, and a prolonged process of execution. Chromatic vibration appears at the boundary between painterly tradition and machine precision.

Acrylic is chosen in these works as a stable, dense, and physically expressive material. It preserves colour intensity, fixes the rhythm of contact, and emphasises the material presence of every trace. Unlike a digital image, where colour exists as a pixel value, here every colour passes through a tool, a surface, pressure, delay, and movement. Even under a high degree of algorithmic control, the work remains material, bodily, and irreversible.

The philosophy of the project reveals an important dimension of the SKVO method: the machine does not replace nature and does not copy it automatically. It becomes a way of seeing the landscape again — not as a finished picture, but as a system of relationships. Point, line, colour, pause, repetition, and error become elements of a new visual language. Nature is not represented directly; it is reconstructed through a sequence of physical actions.

This project continues the central idea of SKVO: art is born not from the opposition between human and machine, but in the space between them. The artist creates the system, defines the rules, chooses the material, the chromatic logic, and the compositional tension. The machine executes, but it does not cancel the gesture. The algorithm organises the process, but it does not deprive it of poetry. Technology becomes not a cold instrument of production, but an extension of the artistic body.

Algorithmic Pointillism / Acrylic Landscapes is a project about nature seen through code; about colour assembled from countless physical touches; about a landscape that does not appear instantly, but gradually, through duration, repetition, and accumulation. In these works, SKVO transfers the traditions of pointillism and linear drawing into a new territory — one where acrylic, algorithm, plotter, and human intention form a single system of artistic action.

In this project, I turn to Truchet tiles as a system in which strict geometry begins to behave almost organically. I am interested in the moment when a simple modular structure ceases to be mere repetition and becomes a living visual field — a space where order and chaos are not opposed to one another, but exist in a state of tense equilibrium.

The works are based on a tile containing 101 lines. Each line has its own position, direction, colour, and order of execution. Yet this sequence is not entirely predictable. I call it controlled chaos: the system establishes the rules, but within those rules a complex inner dynamic begins to emerge. Lines follow one another, intersect, accumulate, create rhythm, lose balance, return to order, and then move again into visual instability.

Each work is built on a limited palette of 7–8 colours. I do not treat these palettes as abstract colour schemes, but as traces of real environments. They echo the chromatic states of interiors, architectural objects, and fragments of nature: the tones of walls, floors, stone, wood, glass, concrete, plants, sky, earth, light, and shadow. I am not interested in the literal depiction of an object, but in its colour memory. Colour becomes a way of transferring the presence of a space into an abstract system of lines.

For me, the Truchet tile in this project is neither a decorative ornament nor a mathematical exercise. It is a model of a world in which a limited number of elements can generate an infinite number of states. A small change in rotation, sequence, colour, or density alters the entire perception of the image. The same module can become calm or tense, architectural or organic, strict or almost chaotic. In this, I see a direct connection with reality: the surrounding world is also built from repetitions, yet it never repeats itself completely.

The works are executed in acrylic on paper and canvas. It was important for me to preserve the physical presence of the line. This is not a digital pattern and not an image printed as a finished surface. Each line passes through an instrument, a material, pressure, delay, and movement. Acrylic fixes this process: it leaves a trace, has density, saturation, an edge, and sometimes a microscopic irregularity. Even when the image is built according to algorithmic logic, it remains material and irreversible.

In this project, the plotter becomes not a machine of copying, but an instrument of execution. I define the system, choose the palette, determine the tile structure, the logic of movement, and the degree of permitted chaos. The machine performs the work with precision, but within that precision the drama of the process appears: the change of colours, the sequence of lines, the accumulation of layers, and the tension between emptiness and saturation.

I am interested in the boundary between programme and living perception. When the viewer looks at the work from a distance, they see rhythm, field, vibration, an almost architectural surface. As they come closer, the image breaks down into individual lines, decisions, directions, and chromatic events. The work begins to exist simultaneously as a system and as a multitude of individual gestures.

This project continues my central artistic line: I do not investigate how a machine can replace the artist, but how it can extend the artistic body. In these works, the algorithm does not cancel intuition; it becomes its framework. Chaos does not destroy order; it makes it alive. Colour does not illustrate the external world; it preserves its emotional and spatial imprint.

Truchet Tiles / Controlled Chaos is a project about repetition that never becomes identical; about colour extracted from real spaces and transferred into an abstract structure; about the line existing between mathematics, architecture, nature, and physical gesture. Here, each tile becomes not a fragment of ornament, but a small system of the world, where order is born from chaos and chaos is held within form.

In this project, I continue my exploration of Truchet tiles, but I transfer them into a more dramatic, almost ritual visual space. If in previous works I was interested in the colour memory of interiors, architecture, and nature, here I turn to an extreme contrast: gold acrylic on a black support.

The black surface becomes not a background, but a space of silence, depth, and the unknown. Gold, applied over it, works as a line of light, as a trace of movement, as a visual impulse emerging from darkness. In this combination, a tension appears between the material and the symbolic: gold is perceived at once as physical paint, as an architectural accent, as a sign of value, and as energy moving across the surface of the image.

The project is based on various configurations of Truchet tiles. I use them not as ornament, but as a system capable of creating the illusion of movement, doubling, reflection, and inner depth. I am interested in the moment when a simple geometric structure begins to behave like a complex visual organism. The tile repeats, rotates, mirrors itself, shifts, enters into conflict with neighbouring elements, and suddenly begins to generate an image that did not exist in the individual module.

In these works, I consciously bring the logic of Truchet tiles closer to ideas that can be felt in the visual worlds of Escher: the transition from one form into another, the play between plane and space, the impossible logic of movement, and the duality of perception. The image can appear simultaneously as an abstract pattern, an architectural diagram, a labyrinth, a map of movement, and a living structure that changes depending on distance and viewing angle.

Another important layer of the project is connected with mirroring and with an association to Rorschach-like images. Symmetry here does not provide a direct answer. It provokes perception. One viewer may see an architectural portal, another a mask, wings, a spine, an insect, a mechanism, a ritual sign, or a reflection of an inner state. It is important to me that the work does not fix a single image, but opens a field of interpretations. It does not tell the viewer what exactly they should see; it returns their own perception to them.

A separate direction within the project is the layering of the convergence method. I use large tiles that gradually flow into tiles twice as small toward the centre. This transition of scale creates a sense of being drawn inward, of perspective and depth, even though the image remains constructed on a flat surface. A visual movement inward emerges — as if the surface were opening up, and the structure were beginning to recede into its own centre.

This method is important to me because it connects several levels of perception: mathematical, optical, architectural, and psychological. The large tile establishes the rhythm of the body, the smaller tiles intensify the density of the gaze, and the central zone becomes a point of tension, where order begins to compress, accelerate, and transform into an almost meditative depth.

In these works, the plotter once again acts not as a copying machine, but as an instrument for performing a complex visual score. I define the structure, scale, mirroring, direction of movement, and principle of convergence. The machine executes the sequence of lines with mechanical precision, but the final image does not appear cold or fully predictable. It retains a sense of breathing, flickering, and inner movement.

Gold acrylic intensifies this effect in a particular way. Depending on the lighting, the viewing angle, and the position of the viewer, the lines can become bright, almost luminous, or, on the contrary, withdraw into a muted metallic shimmer. The work changes not because its form changes, but because light activates the surface differently. The image begins to exist not only as a drawing, but also as an object in space.

This project continues my central artistic line: I investigate the boundary between algorithm and perception, between precision and symbol, between machine execution and human interpretation. Geometry here is not a cold system. It becomes a language of inner movement. Chaos does not destroy the structure; it hides within it. Symmetry does not simplify the image; it makes it psychologically multilayered.

Golden Truchet / Mirror Depth is a project about light emerging from black depth; about repetition that gives birth to an image; about mirroring that transforms abstraction into a space of projection; about a line existing between mathematics, architecture, optical illusion, and the inner state of the viewer.

In this project, I turn to the principle of the spectrum as a way of seeing the surrounding reality not through the depiction of an object, but through its chromatic structure. I am interested not in the literal reproduction of the world, but in how the world can be decomposed into lines, colours, sequences, and rhythms. Any space — an interior, architecture, nature, an urban environment, an object, or a state of light — can be read as a spectrum. Not as a photograph, but as a system of chromatic tensions.

Each work is based on a structure of 332 lines and 20 colours. These lines form not a classical gradient and not a decorative palette, but a spectrum of the surrounding reality — its compressed visual code. The colours enter into relationships with one another: they collide, support each other, disappear, return, intensify neighbouring tones, or create unexpected optical vibrations. For me, the spectrum here is not a physical colour scale, but a way of translating perceptual experience into a material composition.

The order of the lines exists in a state of controlled chaos. I define the system, limit the number of lines, choose the chromatic structure, and establish the rules of movement, but within those rules a complex internal dynamic begins to emerge. The lines do not follow one another mechanically or decoratively. They appear as events: one line disrupts balance, another restores it, a third creates tension, and a fourth changes the perception of the entire surface.

What interests me is precisely this moment — when order stops being static. The algorithm organises the process, but it does not turn it into a cold scheme. Chaos is present inside the structure, but it does not destroy it. It makes the image alive, forcing the eye to move, to search for repetitions, interruptions, hidden connections, and chromatic accents. As a result, the work does not exist as a fixed composition, but as a field of continuous visual movement.

The works are executed in acrylic on paper and canvas. It is important to me that colour here remains physical. This is not a digital spectrum and not a screen image in which colour exists as a pixel value. Each line passes through a tool, a surface, pressure, time, and movement. Acrylic fixes this sequence: it leaves a material trace, density, saturation, edge, and sometimes a barely perceptible irregularity. It is precisely this materiality that makes the algorithmic structure alive and irreversible.

In this project, the plotter once again becomes not a machine of production, but an instrument of execution. I use it as an extension of the artistic body — as a mechanism capable of sustaining duration, precision, and repetition beyond the limits of the ordinary hand-drawn gesture, while still preserving the authorial decision. I define the palette, the rhythm, the number of lines, the degree of chaos, and the internal dramaturgy of the work. The machine executes, but it does not think in my place. It translates the system into physical action.

Spectrum of Reality / Controlled Sequence continues my investigation into the boundary between digital code and the material line. Here, colour becomes not decoration, but a way of analysing the world. The line becomes not a contour, but a unit of time. Repetition becomes not a copy, but a process of accumulation. The spectrum becomes not a scientific diagram, but an emotional and spatial map of reality.

For me, this project is about how the surrounding world can be transformed into a chromatic score. About how 20 colours and 332 lines can hold the memory of space, light, and perception. About how controlled chaos can become a method not of destruction, but of construction. Here, reality is not depicted directly. It passes through algorithm, tool, acrylic, and surface — and returns to the viewer as rhythm, colour, tension, and physical trace.