Waiting To Be Signed · interviews on generative art, on-chain
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Interview // APR 2023

Lonliboy

Title: Rabbit-Hole of Passion
Role: Generative artist
Platform: fx(hash)
Duration: 1h 22m
Hosts: Will & Trinity
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#030 · Rabbit-Hole of Passion
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1h 22m
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Will: All right. Hello and welcome, everyone, to another episode of Waiting to Be Signed, a special interview episode. We are here with renowned collector Lonliboy. Trinity's here as well, back from vacation. It's her triumphant return. How's it going, everyone?

Lonliboy: Thank you for having me on Waiting to Be Signed. Thank you, Trinity. Thank you, Will. I'm doing well. Would love to hear how y'all are doing.

Trinity: I'm doing well, happy to be back on the show, reclaiming my rightful place on the throne. Is that the terminology we use here?

Lonliboy: Let's go. Yes.

Will: You've got the golden mic back. Though I don't think you ever lost your place.

Trinity: We had some great fill-in hosts, but no one can replace Trinity. I'm thrilled to be speaking to Lonliboy virtually — not in person, but we talk so much throughout the day on Discord that actually being able to verbalize a conversation is amazing.

Lonliboy: We're all fam here at this point, so it's very cozy.

Will: We've probably been talking about doing this episode for six, eight months now. It's always been a matter of figuring out the scheduling — we'd disappear, come back, disappear again. So thank you for your patience. But this feels like the perfect time, honestly, since so much is going on with you right now. Before we jump into that, for anyone who doesn't know who you are — give us your background. Who is Lonliboy? How did you get into art, NFTs, and generative art? How'd you find fx(hash)? Give us the whole story.

Lonliboy: I'm Lonliboy. My name is Ivan. The story starts with me making music on SoundCloud, roughly 2013, 2014. I found out about chillwave — artists like xxxyxx and Ground Is Lava — and the community was burgeoning at that time. Artists were releasing songs every day, copyright was open on a lot of the tracks, and there were tons of remixes going around. I started making music too and found a community very quickly of like-minded musicians who just wanted to try new things and experiment with new forms of music. That essence is incredibly important to me — I hold growing up on SoundCloud, growing up with that community of musicians, very dear to my heart.

Moving forward a bit, I became a film composer's assistant after meeting a composer named Brian Senti in China, and ended up working for him in LA. I did a year or two of that, then COVID happened and I had to move back home. I started doing TV editing, but realized I wasn't focusing on my solo identity as a musician, and felt like I was running out of time to gain any traction there. So I started trading crypto. I'd known about crypto since 2017, had bought Ethereum here and there, but never made any real financial gains from trading it.

I had a little bit of life savings, put it all into Dogecoin, and lost almost everything — it went down incredibly quickly, down to something like $1,000. Then I started trading coins on Uniswap, got it back up to $5,000, and thought, I can't deal with this stress. I'm unhappy, shaking every morning and night because I don't have my life savings anymore and I'm desperately trying to gamble it back.

So I looked on Twitter — I'd been following artists and musicians there for years — and saw NFTs gaining traction, saw a couple of friends making them. I found Rarible and used whatever crypto I had to buy things like Newman UK's Gumbos and Bitbirds — collectible-centered art. But honestly, collecting collectibles never made me happy either. I still felt like the main purpose was to gamble, to try to make back the money I'd lost.

Gumbos — Mathias Isaksen

That's how I found Hic Et Nunc, which is really where my passion for art started. Hic Et Nunc launched around March 2021, and I had been following John Carroll for years because an artist named Lund had used his work for album covers — that's how I discovered him, back around 2015, 2016. I saw he was releasing "clean" NFTs on Tezos for 5 tez, still on primary when I joined. I started buying them, started talking to collectors like Debussy early on, and we ended up doing a collaborative tweet about John Carroll's history. That set a lot in motion, because he had a group of friends around him on Twitter, and since I was just starting out and he knew I had some knowledge about artists, he wanted to help.

A day later I realized artists like Mario Klingemann, Helena Sarin, and Diane Drouyet were on Tezos, and I started researching why so many incredible artists were on this platform — kind of janky at the time — putting out art in low editions for 1 to 5 tez, when their physical pieces had sold at Christie's, Sotheby's, and top galleries for far more. Something clicked: even without a secondary market yet, even without a super active community, this was a community of mainly artists. All the tweets were about art, about process, about narrative. That's what got me hooked on collecting.

Then came early events like the Hickathon, and the HEN 1000 or HEN 10,000, where artists released big editions — 100, 1,000 pieces — for free, as a way to swap art with each other. I was in there collecting, talking about it daily on Twitter. It was a very special time. Then Hic Et Nunc went through tumultuous periods — the site would go down, sometimes for almost a month. Then OBJKT came into play and ported everything over, and I kept collecting heavily there because I loved the community and wasn't willing to let go of that sense of connectivity, much like I'd found on SoundCloud.

I started collecting a lot of generative art, even though I didn't know what generative art was at first — I just connected with it, liked the atmosphere, liked how linear certain things could be. Then when I learned it was art made with code, something clicked. As someone without an art-historical education, I hadn't known code-based art had existed for so long. That gap — experiencing it first, then learning what it was, then researching its history — sent me down a deep rabbit hole of passion, trying to understand how it all started.

During that period I was collecting thousands of pieces and selling a few here and there to keep collecting more. I'd be online 12, 14 hours a day watching the NFT Bíker live feed, looking at every piece that came through, doing quick research, buying immediately if something spoke to me, then digging deeper afterward to understand what the artist was about.

Because I'd amassed a collection of a lot of early generative art — the second-ever mint by Mathias Isakson, the second-ever mint by quibibi — I started doing paid work for collectors who didn't have time to research the Tezos community and the art coming out on a blockchain that wasn't Ethereum. That was exciting because it let me do a lot of research and curate based on what people were looking for. It eventually branched into consulting for hundreds of collectors. I love talking through what someone really wants from the art they're collecting, and why.

Gumbos — Mathias Isaksen

A lot of the funds I worked for never even listed pieces — that used to be a firm rule of mine: if I was collecting for your collection, there'd be a time span where you simply held the works. That mattered a lot to me. Running a fund, you notice dynamics like people copy-trading you the moment they recognize your account is quickly amassing culturally punchy work — it becomes almost a signal, which I found fascinating. I still remember buying Zancan's work — either the Genesis piece or the one right after — for 10 or 15 tez, and getting multiples across the various funds I was running. Sadly, because I was doing that fund work, I was never able to grab pieces in time to put them in the Lonely Garden, my personal collection.

It's interesting how everything has transpired over almost three years of collecting — lots of ups, lots of downs, but a beautiful exploration of watching awareness of digital art grow, not necessarily in an institutional sense but in a social one. Twitter's connectivity has accelerated how fast you can see a piece, how fast someone can share it, how fast their friends can see it and see if they relate to it. It's been a beautiful time.

Trinity: That's quite the story. I don't think we've spoken to anybody yet who's so deep on the fund side of things. Maybe it makes sense to talk about that for a bit — in our little fx(hash) community, it's mostly "here's what's coming out, here's what we like," long-to-medium-term speculation for people with mostly smaller wallets. What are some of the mentalities that come with the funds you work with? What are their motivations, their goals? Why are they really getting into the space?

Lonliboy: It's interesting, because when I started collecting for funds, I wanted to see if big collectors on Ethereum would be interested in the Tezos community. I figured if I could find the people who were buying Mananaloid pieces on Feral File — an edition of 80 for something like $24,000, $44,000 — I could explain to them: I know you like Mananaloid, and on Tezos there are highly more affordable pieces with smaller editions. So I did some research and deep diving to find collectors who were spending a lot but didn't have the time to really dig in and find art at "affordable" prices. That's how I personally got started with fund work.

I recognized that certain artists were very quickly gaining social traction, and I reached out to collectors who were interested in that work but also wanted to jump into Tezos and find value there. Back then there was a real division — people thought Tezos wouldn't last, that Tezos pieces don't go up in value, all that.

The mentality point is interesting, though. A lot of funds do want to sell eventually, but the goal is to sell for a higher price than they bought in for. When you have a collection of that size, it's almost immediately an act of stewardship — you hold these pieces without selling for a very long time, and in a way you signal that they shouldn't be up for sale. If they do come up for sale, there's a feeling of, "Wait a second, that hasn't been up in 3 or 4 years, and now finally they're interested in selling."

Gumbos — Mathias Isaksen

I'm not aware of any fund I've worked for that had a mentality of full liquidation. They very much print out the pieces I've acquired for them, display them beautifully. I love getting pictures back from where they're displaying the art — seeing it in their house, seeing them enjoy what's been collected. A lot of the funds I've worked for were very focused on generative art, code-based art, and abstract art, particularly on Tezos. I've never personally run a fund on Ethereum myself.

The only thing I noticed is that after Tezos crashed from $9 to $2, it threw off a lot of funds that were interested in spending higher amounts. When the token is that shaky and volatile, it makes them uncertain — will this blockchain even last?

Sometime around 2022, I'd pretty much finished all fund work and decided to focus primarily on my own collection. My focus was always to tweet about art, share about art, broaden awareness of digital art, but in 2022 that became more my own thing. Fund work isn't something I think I'd do again, necessarily. I'm just interested now in different ways to steward art and advocate for digital art in general.

Will: A lot of what you're saying mirrors the way the traditional art world, especially at the high end, thinks about collecting and placing pieces. It's like, "No, I don't want you to take one, I want you to take three — and one of these has to go to a museum, one has to be donated, and you have to commit to not selling this." If you get marked as a flipper in the traditional art world, people won't sell to you.

Lonliboy: That's very true.

Will: I'm curious whether you arrived at that same conclusion naturally, out of your own ethics or love for the art, or because you realized it's better for an artist — someone like quibibi or Zancan who has a lot of one-of-ones and older works — for those pieces not to come up on the market frequently, since that scarcity confers value onto their more liquid, higher-edition pieces.

Gumbos — Mathias Isaksen

Lonliboy: A hundred percent. I've always had this thought — even psychologically — that the ratio of listings tells you something about a community. If there are 100 one-of-ones listed from a series of 300, it shows the community is more interested in flipping and making money than actually enjoying the art in their hands.

I know this is incredibly divisive, and many people would say otherwise. Maybe we're just at a point where a lot of collectors and traders need to sell to keep collecting — because at this point we've bought so much art, honed our tastes, learned about art while doing it. There are only so many hours in a day you can spend collecting, being part of a community, researching the art and the history of the medium. As time goes on, we run into scenarios where collectors realize certain things about what they've collected. And when that listing ratio gets incredibly high, to me, it's always been a telling sign — I think it's important to pay attention to it.

In the traditional art market, scarcity and pacing have always been very important. There's a reason that market still exists to this day: it worked, to some extent, even though a lot of other things about it didn't — it made it hard for artists to find a living or find connection because of how galleries operate or how art connects in a physical sense.

For the funds I collected for, we'd often buy one to three editions, sometimes more. I had a skill set — without botting — for catching things on primary, mostly because I'd done it so many thousands of times for myself and others that I could catch pretty much any piece that was released, no matter who it was by or whether there were bots on it. I always caught what I wanted to catch, for a fund or for my personal collection. A lot of those editions have never come back up for sale from any fund I've worked for. It feels good to know that the work I've collected for others has been respected, admired, and loved. That really makes me happy.

Will: This sounds like a good transition point to talk about your personal collecting. But first — in case the story hasn't gotten out there, is there an origin to Lonliboy you want to share?

Lonliboy: It's a little embarrassing, but—

Gumbos — Mathias Isaksen

Will: Like an Xbox gamertag from way back in the day?

Lonliboy: A little different. I had a solo alias called Tulpa, which I think means "imaginary friend" in Tibetan. I never sang, never made music with my own voice — I was always a chillwave musician or pianist, leaning toward composition early on. One day I decided I wanted to try singing some indie songs, so I created an alias called Lonliboy and started releasing songs here and there. Please don't check out that SoundCloud — it's incredibly embarrassing, I honestly should delete it.

But it's been interesting: an alias that never really caught on as a musician has caught on in some way in the Web3 space — maybe the branding, I don't know. In general, I do feel a sense of loneliness pretty often, and that's spanned a lot of years. So it's very on-brand. Anyone who sees @Lonliboy might think it's just an alias, but it's something I actually go through — so why not use it as my Twitter handle? As relatable as I can be. There are no lies behind it. It's the full truth.

Trinity: You've talked a lot about how you collect on behalf of funds and the priorities that come with that, but you're also really well known in this space for getting excited about work — going really deep on artists, really deep on pieces. I think you're one of the top collectors of concrete art, of all things. Do you have any particular thesis on how and why you collect? What you like to collect, even down to the nuances of static versus animated work? Do you buy the artist, or do you just buy what you like? What's your take on all of it?

Lonliboy: I like to give the philosophy of collecting the freedom of ebbing and flowing. When I started, I was on Ethereum, and my primary focus at that point was profits. With Hic Et Nunc, there was no secondary market when I started — you couldn't even list things for sale. Having that history, being conditioned into it early on, I naturally gained the mentality of: if I'm collecting art here and I just want to be part of the community, I'm going to buy things that I like. That's a loaded statement in a way, because what does it mean to like something, and for what reason?

When I collected an early Mario Klingemann work, what swayed me was that the wallet address of each buyer was placed over an AI base painting. The concept was that, through time, if enough collectors purchased the piece, enough wallet addresses in black lettering would eventually cover it entirely, and it would become fully black — leading into quote-unquote nothingness. I found that concept incredibly interesting. I was collecting digital art, and I don't think I'd ever encountered something that made as much perfect sense to me. Works like that gave me a passion for realizing how many artists were trying out different ways of making art, with different concepts and narratives — like, what does it really mean that so many people bought a piece that now there's just a black layer over everything?

Gumbos — Mathias Isaksen

A lot of my early history as a collector was really just about supporting the community. I'd buy pieces of every genre, form, medium, narrative — thousands of pieces, because it was so affordable at the time. One to five Tez a piece is something I'm not sure we'll ever see again at that kind of mass scale — that was a very special moment on Hic Et Nunc and early OBJKT. You can still buy pieces for one to five Tez now, and I still do, but back then there was a whole culture of giving works away freely, and then watching artists who'd released work at those prices go absolutely supersonic — like Iskra. Iskra's one-of-ones were 50 Tez early on. Marcelo's one-of-ones were something like 100 Tez, and his editions were very affordable — he released work for HEN for practically nothing.

So to me, what matters about art is finding either a connection with a community, feeling like I'm part of something, or finding a connection with myself through the work. When I see a piece like Fields by Erik Swahn, it makes me remember things from my childhood — a dream I hadn't thought about in years — and I just sit there thinking, this can't be a coincidence. To have those sensations come back through art is such a special gift that artists freely give us through their expression. That's what matters to me, down to the bone, especially now. I need connectivity through the art I'm collecting. I'll always keep supporting the community and want to see artists grow and expand their narratives, their styles, their forms. But the art that really hits me, I will not stop talking about, because I love it. It truly means a lot to me.

I look through my collection every single day. There are thousands of pieces, and it's hard to see everything, but every day I smile, because I know I'm surrounded by pieces that remind me I'm human — that I've been through ups and downs in my personal life, that I have love around me, that I get angry at things. Being able to stay aware of what's happening in the world and see that mirrored in art is a beautiful feeling. So my mentality has always been: does this actually hit me at the core? Especially now, finding that connectivity through the art I collect is so important to me.

Will: But there's another side to it, right? When you have a collection that's so big, and you only have so much money and can't always bring new money in, at a certain point you have to sell. I know you've received some friction over it — maybe the most polite way to put it, though at times it's gone further than that — over the reality of managing a collection this large, where you've realized big returns on pieces you may not connect with as much anymore, and it's time to uproot them from the garden and make room for something new. I know, because we've talked about it, that this can feel very dissonant to people who only see the positivity with which you approach collecting — how much you champion an artist or a work, how involved you are all over the space. So given that reality — you're young, you've lost money before, you sometimes need to sell — what do you want people to know about what it means when you sell? Because we all do it, but for some reason, when you do it, it seems to be a tougher pill for people to swallow.

Lonliboy: Collecting sustainably, when your focus is to keep amassing, supporting, and broadening at a larger scale, is genuinely complex. I quit my job in TV editing — which paid me semi-decently — to collect art, and for almost three years now, the only money I've made has come from selling pieces here and there.

Here's the harder reality that often gets lost: a lot of what I've collected has gone up in value exponentially, and I'm 24. I don't really have savings anymore, because pretty much every penny I've had is in art. That's just how I live — collecting is an obsession for me. The big downside that comes with collecting this heavily, and realizing profits from exponential gains, is the tax bill. When you keep buying more work with those profits and never stop, your tax bill just keeps getting bigger. That's something I hadn't noticed or realized in 2021 — whether because I wasn't paying attention, or because I assumed things would keep going up forever. That was part of my immaturity, believing the space would be "up only."

Fields — Erik Swahn

The reality: a six-figure tax bill for 2021, a high five-figure tax bill for 2022. Tezos has gone from $9 down to almost $0.73, back up to around $1.20 now, and a lot of pieces across Tezos in general haven't sustained their value after three years. That puts a collector who spends this much time collecting, sharing, and researching work in a very precarious personal position. I rarely see this talked about on social media — maybe others have managed it more sustainably — but when I sell, a chunk of it has to go straight to taxes I've owed for two years now. That's hanging over my head. And at the same time, I can't stop myself from wanting to collect more. That's the position I'm in.

I don't want to be selling work. If I were rich enough to keep collecting with no other repercussions in my personal life, I would — constantly, every day, all day. But the only reason I've built a collection this size is because of selling here and there, and I try my hardest never to sell off an entire body of work by an artist that's in the Garden. That's nearly impossible anyway, especially in the current market. fx(hash) has had a pretty severe low point — way fewer public tweets even talking about art collected there. So for people who collect heavily and flip to keep collecting more, it's just hard.

I've gotten a considerable amount of flak in certain Discords over this, and honestly, I think it's a little unfair, because when I do sell, it's usually at much higher points — I've never viewed it as pumping and dumping. A good example: I started collecting Septembers by Tyler Boswell. We'd done a panel together at Bright Moments, and I was genuinely excited about the piece — I love how it looks, how it makes me feel, refreshed, like eating 5 Gum. I bought some on secondary, one or two on primary, and as soon as it went up three or four x and I sold, I was accused of dumping it. But Septembers kept going up in value after I sold — I wasn't trying to bomb the market. At that point the profits were high enough that I needed to sell one or two so I could keep collecting. Otherwise the Lonely Garden wouldn't keep growing, and I wouldn't be able to keep supporting artists with stake coming directly from me.

Septembers — Tyler Boswell

Some of the best curators in the world buy art by the artists they curate, and later sell those pieces once the value has gone up, because curators often aren't paid much — that's a common reality in the world of curation. Having a few pieces you truly believe in, that are culturally significant, that you can talk about meaningfully — that's how you make it work. I've definitely gotten hate for it, but nowadays I don't really pay attention when someone has something negative to say when I sell a piece, because they're not living my life. They don't have to deal with a tax bill that comes from supporting art and then selling to support more. That's my honest position on it. I don't think I've really talked about this publicly before.

Will: Well, it's transparent now, but—

Lonliboy: Yeah, it wasn't before.

Will: I think that's part of the problem. I'll tell you honestly — before this conversation, or really before I got to know you a few months ago, from the way you tweeted and collected, I assumed you were probably some early-ETH-buy-in millionaire type. You see that archetype everywhere — people who bought a bunch of ETH or Bitcoin early, got crypto rich, and now treat it as free money, splashing around, buying NFTs, talking about it, able to do things like spend a million dollars on a piece of animated art. That was my first impression of you, based on how you tweeted and behaved. So you're painting a very different picture here. I think it's good for you to talk about this — maybe even more off the show too — and paint a more human picture of who you are and what you're doing, because this space has a lot of cheerleaders who are bag-pumping, already rich, and here for pretty cynical reasons when they collect NFTs.

Lonliboy: There are definitely wealthy individuals with hundreds of thousands of followers pumping their bags. I was never lucky enough to be rich to begin with. This has been all I've done for the last three years: collect art, share about it, sell here and there, and collect much more. On the @Lonliboy Twitter account, I went through a period where I'd tweet about prices very often. Now that I've had time to think about it, I don't want to go down that road anymore. Bringing up prices doesn't really matter. Connecting with someone through personal stories, actually latching onto a community, is worth more than the hype-based factor of talking about prices. It took me a while to learn that. Some personal friends recently told me, "I like what you're doing now — it's more in line with how you started."

On Hic et Nunc, six or seven months ago, I was talking about prices all the time while they were going up, and I hadn't sold many pieces in that period. I could have made a lot of profit buying more art at that point, but I held back because I was scared of what people would think of me. Then I hit a critical point: the tax bill arrived, and there are legal repercussions since I filed. So I don't want to be talking about that on my account anymore — that's not what I'm interested in. I'm far more interested in talking specifically about art. I'll still tweet about big news here and there — when Zancan buys a pink Garden, Monoliths for 44,000 Tezos, that's a sentence you put into the world, and it sets a precedent, a way of thinking you can look at to understand an artist. Sharing things like that is interesting at times, but I'm trying to lean away from it and share more personal stories of connection — oral histories with artists, which is where my focus is now.

Garden, Monoliths — Zancan

Trinity: It's a hard line to straddle, especially in your shoes, doing so much collecting on behalf of yourself and others. My mind goes to Perpendicular Inhabitations, Studio Yorktown — September is dead to me, for now and forever, when it comes to that piece.

Lonliboy: I've still got three in my collection. I didn't dump anything. I'm still here.

Trinity: I know, I know. I'm coming at it from the point of view of disclosure. You can be excited about something, but how much of that bag are you holding? It's always a tricky game — what is the public sentiment, does that sentiment matter, what's your responsibility as a public figure? Going back to the early days of Hic Et Nunc, it's much easier to talk about community and culture in a less financialized space. When everything is between one and five Tez, people aren't selling things for exponential prices. Do you have any thoughts on how the community has changed as this world has gotten more traction, prices have gone up, and it's become less accessible to newcomers than it was two or three years ago?

Lonliboy: It's a lot less accessible. Primary prices are much higher these days, and output is much higher too. Looking back at the history certain artists have built in the last three years, there are now thousands of pieces from a single artist in that span — that's not the culmination of a life's work, that's three years. I think collectors are realizing that, and they're starting to analyze what's happened across other collections and understand the dynamics of what it means to put out a 400-edition series once a month.

fx(hash) ran into a serious problem with bot farms and insta-listing, and that burned out a lot of people — it burned me out for a period. I had to pay 10x on secondary for pieces I genuinely wanted. Take Perpendicular Inhabitations — I have one listed, but I own maybe 10 or 15, and the one I listed is for half of what I paid for most of mine. That's what I'm saying: I can be incredibly invested and love a piece, but what happens to you as a collector when the market doesn't sustain? You have to deal with that in your personal life.

Perpendicular Inhabitations — Studio Yorktown

A lot of collectors have realized collecting became obsessive for them — staying on chats every day, watching live feeds, checking explore pages constantly. Then they look back at their collection and realize very little is sustaining its value. We've been running into this problem for a while. I've tried to stay positive, focusing on the collections I really love and talking about them, because I've realized the lack of sustained commentary combined with the sheer volume of pieces coming out is a recipe for collectors to end up owning pieces worth 50% less than they paid — and if you factor in Tezos volatility, sometimes even more in USD terms.

I'm seeing a lot less collecting purely to support an artist's progression these days, which is sad, especially among new collectors. When I joined, it wasn't about flipping or profit. But when new collectors see pieces go up 5x, it conditions them to think they can make money while also collecting things they may or may not even like. That's a precarious position: a large community buying one-of-one outputs that go up in value, and new collectors coming in seeing that dynamic — it starts to feel more like a marketplace than a gallery. I don't know what can help or alleviate that.

I still bought Rev's fx(params) release. I collected a Lorna Mills piece the other day. I still want to actively support artists, but being able to buy a piece, eventually sell it, and buy more — that's just not really happening much these days. It'll be interesting to see how I can make collecting sustainable for myself going forward. Right now I have a lot of works listed because I need to pay off this tax bill, and it hurts. I've been here so long — for two years, a huge number of pieces were never listed from the Lonely Garden. On fx(hash) I have something like 600 pieces; on OBJKT and Hic Et Nunc I had almost nothing listed for two years. Having to let go of pieces that are now part of my life doesn't feel good. And knowing I have to do it because of taxes — because you're part of society and have to pay your dues — really hurts, because it has nothing to do with art.

A lot of people jumping in now want flips. They're not interested in actual art commentary, personal stories, connectivity — which is sad to see. Sustained commentary is what brings people to view an artist's work and fall in love with it. Without that, artists just keep releasing, caught in a cycle of "I need to keep up until the market burns out," and that's not sustainable. I've been saying this in a lot of chats for a long time: commentary is one of the anchors of art, and we just aren't seeing much of it these days. It makes me sad. I'd love to see more people talking about their personal connection to a piece, talking about art in digestible ways — that's how you reach people who maybe didn't even like art to begin with. When they see a friend on Twitter talking about why something means something to them, that's a connection, that's how you get people excited about the digital art movement. But we're seeing less of that because the profits are less these days, and I think that correlation is telling — the market is still a huge driving factor. It's not what Hic Et Nunc was about when I joined. I wish I had an answer.

Will: A lot of what you're saying speaks to the cohort of people actually collecting here. A lot of us — Trinity and I included — came into this accidentally through crypto. You were already into whatever was going on there and fell backwards into fx(hash) or HEN. So there are very few people who have any real art background to speak with confidence. On our show, I don't often feel like I'm speaking with confidence about a piece — we're kind of winging it. We don't have extensive art history backgrounds, and we can't talk about the content unless the artist has written a lot about it. Sometimes we genuinely don't know what to say beyond "this is a this" or "this is a that." It speaks to the greater issue of how unsuccessfully we've crossed non-crypto people into the space to provide that kind of depth.

And maybe it's also uncomfortable for artists to talk about other artists' work — a good portion of collectors here are also making art themselves. You'd think they'd have the background and knowledge to jump in and provide commentary, but for the most part they don't.

Perpendicular Inhabitations — Studio Yorktown

Trinity: Is that on the collector base, or on the artists themselves? We also have an influx of people creating and selling art for the very first time.

Will: I think there's just an unwillingness to rock the boat. There are a few OG artists out there — someone like Autoscope, who isn't really on Twitter anymore — who aren't afraid to say a lot of the art being made right now isn't great, or "we were doing this ten years ago, you're just retreading what we've already done." But vocal artists like that tend to get a lot of hate, because the collector base doesn't like it — they feel uneducated, and it's like, "hey, don't say that, those are my bags, don't tell me my bags suck." They didn't know it was a retread because they don't know the history.

So there's a lot of unwillingness to do anything other than say a piece is good, without going into any real depth. That's been my general observation — even we've held back sometimes on pieces where we thought, "this isn't really interesting, why do people like this?" All we can really bring ourselves to say is, "it's not for me." You can't just say "this is stupid" — it's not palatable.

Lonliboy: I'm not an art critic, so I don't feel it's my place to have a strong opinion when I dislike something personally. What I do feel confident speaking about is when I like a piece and I've researched the artist, looked into their career, seen what they've done. It's easier to speak with confidence about that. In general, I don't mind if people have opinions on the things I share about my life. When I share them, it's because it's genuinely me — that's as transparent as I can be. I think criticality is important, but if you truly like something, I say scream about it. Obviously, it's hard to tell anyone's intentions in Web3 — you can kind of tell after you see their wallet transactions, but not really otherwise.

It was sad when Toxy got attacked for being honest and transparent by an fx(hash) community that claims to be positive and art-centered. That was disrespectful to the fullest extent, especially considering Toxy's contributions to the entire code-based art space and to how digital art looks today when it comes to generative systems. It speaks to a real problem of toxic positivity in this space. Even I've contributed to that, and I want to be honest about it. I'm not an art historian. I fell in love with certain works that were, sure, a bit rudimentary, and I may have screamed very loud about them. So I think it's important to be transparent that we're learning — there's a generation of people who fell in love with art but never went to school to study it. I try to bring up pretty often that I don't know everything.

I like learning about art. I love when Elaut shares so much knowledge in the PD chat — they really put us on to a lot of history in general. It's interesting that kind of discussion isn't what latches on for most of the community. A few people get the conversation really rolling, but the whole community isn't necessarily paying attention. New pieces get way more attention and noise than simply learning the history that's foundational to where we are today.

Perpendicular Inhabitations — Studio Yorktown

I wish we could go back to when Toxy was being transparent about what was happening, because a lot of what he said was, one-to-one, the truth. I wish I'd known enough at the time to have been vocal about it myself. Recently I've gone back and said: let's not pretend this didn't happen, because it did. If we want communities to grow, we need to be humble about our past misgivings. I've messed up many times, and I try to be honest about that. I think that's partly why the Lonliboy brand has grown on Twitter — I made a lot of mistakes early on Hic Et Nunc, said things confidently that I didn't actually understand. But being honest when you're taught something and realize you were wrong creates a more human connection than just being confidently wrong. People love to see growth in someone, and I think communities can grow the same way.

This is a complex discussion, but I think it needs to be had, because too often it's like, "yeah, we see that, but we're not going to talk about it" — until someone tweets something that gains attention, and then suddenly everyone wants to talk about it. It's been interesting to watch criticality not be valued for a long time in Web3. But I think we're in a growing period. I think the hype cycle is over — genuinely done. I think the era of style over substance is coming to a close. There are thousands upon thousands of one-of-ones out there, and collectors are realizing the world of art is bigger than they'd initially thought. When that realization hits, that's how we grow — not in the sense of ROI, but in the sense of how art is culturally important to us. I'm excited for that period, and for growing and learning in that direction myself.

I've been trying my best to learn these last couple of months because I fully realize I don't know much. It's important to keep growing, to be willing to learn about what you're collecting — not just "oh, that's pretty, I'll buy it" without any research, just hyping it up within your own community. We need to grow out of that mentality.

Trinity: I think that is an excellent answer and also a great segue into your exciting news from the last couple of weeks — that you'll be working with Verse full-time. When you say the hype cycle is over and it's all about substance, about collecting and producing work responsibly, where do you see Verse fitting into that, especially as we move forward into potential bear markets, and into the broader solidification of generative art in this space? Also, congratulations.

Lonliboy: Thank you. I'm very excited to finally be part of a team on a digital art platform. I flew to London to meet with them, and in that first week I saw people who genuinely love art. They know a lot about traditional art and have a burning passion to connect it to the digital art space — that makes me really excited.

When I first flew out, I got to see the Imperfections show. I've been to a lot of NFT galleries that are mostly screens — poorly positioned, with no real atmosphere or elegance. It feels more like a techno rave than an art showcase. So to see a beautiful space like the one Imperfections was shown in, with art not on displays but printed and well-framed — there's a physicality to seeing generative, code-based art on paper that's almost powerful enough to taste. I saw Fields by Erik Swahn and just stood there for an hour. That was life-changing for me, having collected Erik's work since 2021, whether for myself or for funds. To see a platform that pays that much attention to atmosphere and exhibits work in a genuinely fine-art way — it's hard to put into words what it means to work with a platform with that kind of care for generative art.

Fields — Erik Swahn

We've all been collecting art on the internet for years now, sitting in our wallets, and displays are expensive — having prints shipped, framed, behind nice glass costs money. But to be able to walk into freely open public shows, no token gating, and see digital art represented physically — that feels special. That's what I love about Verse.

On my end, I'll be putting together exhibitions focused on celebrating artists who are historically foundational to code-based art. The first one is planned for around September or October, and I'm very excited about it, though I can't say too much yet. A lot of my work involves oral histories — talking with artists I've known for years, and others I've long respected but never spoken with, to learn each person's perspective on how the movement actually unfolded. There are major contributors, still alive, whose histories haven't been well documented. Getting to talk with artists like that is a joy — I wake up feeling blessed, because this is something I've wanted to do for over two years. As a collector, I always imagined putting together exhibitions or shows, or working with artists to think through how to format installations in physical spaces. Getting to do that with Verse is a joy, and I'm excited for this new chapter.

Another big focus for me is telling these histories in a digestible way. A lot of the ideas, philosophies, and narratives in this space are so technical and dense with value and knowledge that someone unfamiliar with code-based art would struggle to understand them. So I want to find ways to talk about this history that make clear why it matters to where digital art stands today. It's a massive mission, but I'm fully dedicated to it, and excited to see how it unfolds.

Will: At the same time, some of what you've been talking about — the growing pains, the lack of criticality from collectors — connects to something we've discussed a lot, including with Jamie: the general fracturing of the space. Artists releasing on all these different platforms, jumping to other chains. You've probably seen people deciding, for whatever reason, to release on Solana after putting all their work on Ethereum and Tezos. What do you make of that fracturing? Is it a short-term problem that resolves into consolidation? We're personally bullish on Verse, but every platform is fighting to cannibalize the same user base, and everyone needs fees to sustain. How do you view the ecosystem right now, and what happens over the next year, two years, three years? Is there going to be a reckoning?

Lonliboy: I think there's already a reckoning occurring. Since fx(hash) had a major downturn, a lot of artists got scared to release on Tezos and started moving on — maybe they'll come back and release there again once the market recovers. But artists are also genuinely looking for different opportunities: physical exhibitions, new communities they weren't part of before, like Solana. There's clearly liquidity there. I bought a Fract by Leander Herzog myself — I'm not going to stop following someone like Leander, who I've supported for a long time and even flew to Switzerland to spend time with, just because of the chain he's on. Maybe that's just my mentality as someone who loves art rather than someone interested in flipping pieces — I just wanted a Fract. But what I've noticed is that the Solana community is genuinely interested in learning the history of generative and code-based art.

Will: It was just an example, because personally, I don't really understand the strategy of an artist jumping chains like that. From a game-theory standpoint, it feels like you're always going to lose people who won't follow you. For someone like me, so much of my time already goes into the show and following fx(hash) and Tezos that I'm not going to go make a Solana wallet, figure out some new site, and work out whether there's even a community there worth engaging with. I have a job, I have a baby — you can probably hear them right now. I'm not going to manage more wallets, more platforms, more chains just because an artist thinks there's a bit more opportunity somewhere else and hopes to drag their current collector base along. It feels like it just creates more uncertainty. It seems like it'd be better to coalesce around a few platforms and chains and make sure those actually sustain and survive, rather than jumping ship every time a new platform comes along and offers you something. If I had more time, I'm sure I'd follow certain artists wherever they go — we love Leander, we had him on the show — but I just don't have the capacity for that.

Fields — Erik Swahn

Lonliboy: I think what Code has to offer is the Solana community. What they're doing isn't really that different from any other long-form platform, so I can see why artists would want to try it out, see if their art resonates with the Solana community, and see how the liquidity plays out. Verse, on the other hand, has a very clean UI, in my opinion. It feels good buying art there — it always has. It's not like seeing a Hic Et Nunc piece next to Smooth Steps by Andreas. When I see that, it makes me feel bad, honestly. The way you show art matters, especially when collectors are spending thousands of dollars and pieces start gaining a lot of secondary traction. It matters how that art is represented on a platform.

So I can see why artists are trying out new communities, new UIs, new platforms — we're still very early. Sure, I've spent a lot of money over the last few years, but I still feel like it's early days. I don't think any platform has perfected what it means to release art at this point. God, I love fx(hash), but I've never really been a fan of the UI, personally. I can't get into it, and I've been honest about that for a long time — it's not something I've hidden.

It just works. fx(hash) is simple, it works, and it opened up a completely revolutionary mechanism for inclusive minting of code-based systems. But I think artists are looking for different things now, especially the ones who've released and done well. They want to branch out further than just selling pieces — to do journals, have curators write about their work, be part of well-documented physical exhibitions. These things matter, because art isn't just about the marketplace community. It's easy to get sucked into that mentality, but in the end that's not all art is about — buying, flipping, watching it go up a bit in profit, selling, buying more. I like to experience art. I like to meet people in person and talk with them about it. When I go to a gallery, I'm not talking about the price of a piece — I never have. I talk about the art.

So yeah, I think artists are branching out, and honestly, I think it's wise. Sure, it sucks when an artist you've supported heavily on fx(hash) tries out new places, because you lose that sustained commentary until they put out a new piece that can affect the old ones — that's just market dynamics. We just went through an immense low point on fx(hash). I think it scared a lot of people, and it's confusing to know where to go from here. But $params is here, and hopefully things pick up again.

Trinity: It's such an interesting, interconnected conversation — the art, the story behind it, the history, the theory, the community, the liquidity, the returns. Those latter two are almost gauche to discuss in connection with art as a broader social movement, capital-A Art. But a lot of this community wouldn't exist without that financialized nature — people need to remain solvent to keep collecting. If everything just maintains price at the primary cost, how does that sustain the movement going forward? It requires additional liquidity coming in, unless artists are just exchanging art at cost. So there's an interesting balance to strike between pricing things appropriately and maintaining enough excitement and momentum to keep the space going. Otherwise we're not early — we're just late.

Will: To add to that — for every platform, not just fx(hash) but Verse, Code Canvas, and others — there's a new open long-form gen art platform on ETH that just launched too, which we don't need to get into — every single one of these relies on fees to sustain itself. That came up a lot in our interview with Jamie, basically him saying: what can we do to get more secondary, because I need to make money to run the platform. I agree in spirit with a lot of what you're saying, and I think what Verse does is awesome — I love how many of the pieces come with such extensive writing, and the site looks so premium. But they priced the In Professions exhibition really aggressively low for ETH — some of those pieces were like $40 — and they didn't get crazy flipped. I don't think they collected nearly the fees they were expecting on secondary by making a swing like that. So it's not just fx(hash) feeling this — the Marcelo piece on Verse hasn't even come close to minting out.

Smooth Steps — Andreas Gysin

Lonliboy: The Marcelo piece, at 3 ETH, is a very high price right now for a 1-of-1 — or a set of 1-of-1s. I don't think that's on Verse so much as the market dynamics tanking in general. It's bad everywhere. Secondary isn't really alive on fx(hash), so why would it be alive elsewhere? Even Art Blocks can't sell out pieces. It's not just Verse dealing with this — it's a market-wide issue. Which is why I personally appreciate that those prices were low: people who want to buy and collect art can get pieces at accessible price points. It gives me more of that Hic Et Nunc feeling. Look at the Sarah Ridgely piece — barely any listed. It didn't sell out all 444, but the people who bought it clearly want that piece, since there's barely any listed. That's true for a lot of collections on Verse — a good handful don't have anywhere near as many listings as on Art Blocks. Code Canvas already has a lot of listings. fx(hash) is absolutely stacked at this point — it seems like an avalanche of people trying to get liquidity out because they're scared of the market right now.

So even if secondary isn't booming, and I can't flip things to keep buying at the pace I'd like because it's just not possible right now, accessible price points are good to see. It feels good to buy art in uncertain times without it destroying your wallet. Though it is interesting — the Thomas Noya piece was about $40, the floor went to $100, and it's at $80 now. I'd assume that price point would create more pressure for flips on secondary. But are we going to see Zancan put out a $300 1-of-1 for $40?

Trinity: No.

Lonliboy: We're not going to see that. I think it's always artist-to-artist — a community has to gather around an artist, find connection, and sustain commentary. It's interesting to see how the dynamics play out across the board. Art Blocks pieces right now don't have sustained commentary, largely because when a piece is priced too high — and this is a major point for me — it doesn't get into enough collectors' hands. Who's going to be talking about it then? Will there be a network effect? No. We're seeing that happen in real time: if pieces aren't priced to match the ebb and flow of the market, collectors won't talk about them, because they don't own them — and collectors love talking about what they own. That's rule number one, almost. I very rarely see collectors talk about pieces they don't own. That's not the norm right now, and it makes sense — you bought something, you support an artist, you want to talk about it.

So more accessible pricing gets pieces into collectors' wallets, and they're excited to talk about them because they own them. It's a pricing issue. The market isn't like it was in '21 or '22. It's at an extreme low point, so for artists to work with the market right now seems like an easy way to kickstart commentary again — because when things start rolling, secondary starts booming. But right now the money's not there, the liquidity's not there. So why not work with the collectors who do want to support you, whether or not they're sitting on a massive stack of crypto? Accessible price points right now, I don't see as a bad thing.

Will: It wasn't a criticism — more just pointing out that the low price points were, I believe, designed to encourage more secondary market activity for fee accrual, which platforms need to sustain themselves. It didn't really play out that way. That was the observation. I loved the low-priced ones, personally — I collected a bunch from that exhibition.

Smooth Steps — Andreas Gysin

Lonliboy: But the secondary fees most platforms take aren't even that high. So that's another thing to add to the equation — how do you sustain off secondary when it's about volume?

Will: That's why it works for fx(hash) in theory — it's an open platform. Anyone can come in and mint, and it doesn't matter which projects take off, whether they're good or bad, whether they were zero test mints that flipped or a hundred test mints that flipped. But we've got to figure out how we're going to end this, Trinity. What do you think? I don't think we're doing rapid fire.

Trinity: What are your favorite music recomm— okay, no rapid fire.

Will: What do you think, Lonli? How should we wrap this up? Maybe we invite you to ask us a question, or make a suggestion for the show. I don't even know how often you listen.

Lonliboy: I've definitely listened to a few episodes. You've had people on that I absolutely adore and love, so hearing their perspectives is always amazing. I'd love to ask: who are the artists you're excited about right now? The ones you're truly connecting with, that move you internally. I love hearing that.

Trinity: I can take a stab at that first. I've always loved Jacek's work — I'm a huge fan of Unbuilt, of Hollow, these architectural pieces that speak to the soul and to the history of humanity. Those are works that transcend time. I'm less into the most recent project, the 5.136 Degrees — I forget what it was called — but the ones that speak to architecture and the history of the world are awesome. And I'll steal one from Will: Jeres, obviously. I love the story behind Glossolalia. He has such an interesting perspective in terms of brightness, color, all that great stuff.

Hollow — Jacek Markusiewicz

Will: And exposing their own personal story and how it connects — plug for the interview with Jeres that went live today. Looking at some recent stuff in my collection I really liked, that I don't know necessarily hit with everyone: the Luis Fraguata piece, Serendipity vs. Consequence.

Lonliboy: That's a great one.

Will: I thought that was a really interesting piece, and he did a great job explaining it, because it's a piece that needs explanation, even for people like us — which really helped me connect to it. That's the same reason I connect to a lot of the recent Jeres stuff too: the effort to handhold you into understanding where the emotion in the piece is, beyond just the fact that the colors are nicely composed. Hollow — I agree with Trinity, that's a piece I really personally connected with. I also really like — I talk about him a lot on the show, but — a lot of Alex Grasser's stuff.

Hollow — Jacek Markusiewicz

Lonliboy: Alex Grasser is amazing. Rausch is really a hitter right there.

Will: They both went hard on that one. I can't explain what about it feels so interesting to me — there's just something about it that makes me want to own ten of them. Every time I see one, I'm like, oh my God, that one's so cool. He's very good at designing pieces that make you want to investigate further. Same with Flynn, who I've talked about a lot on the show — I really liked his last release, 300. So many of those compositions felt like they couldn't possibly have been made by code. They felt so human-designed. You can obviously see it's made by code, but he did a really good job in that piece imbuing a human quality to them. That's just a few from this year.

Lonliboy: I love it. Every time I learn what pieces really hit someone, I feel like I know them so much better, honestly, almost immediately. That's an anchor for me with art in general — even if I don't connect with a piece the same way someone else does, it opens the door to understanding one another. That's the juice, in my opinion.

Will: We got the Lonliboy seal of approval there. Trinity, ask your usual question — great place to end it.

Trinity: Possibly last question: who do you think we should interview next? Who's on your wishlist for us?

Lonliboy: There's thousands of people.

Hollow — Jacek Markusiewicz

Trinity: Let's stick to three or less. Top three, let's go. No pressure.

Lonliboy: Have y'all talked with Sir Mad yet? No? I would love to hear him speak. I'd also love to hear Horn Dog speak. And have you had Anna up yet?

Will: Anna Lucia?

Lonliboy: Anna, the economist.

Will: The NFT economist. No, not yet.

Lonliboy: I'd love to hear her, and Grace B on the artist side. I would absolutely love a podcast with Erik Swahn. I'd love to hear Bruce Yorktown. And honestly, one with Luis too.

Hollow — Jacek Markusiewicz

Will: Frank Guada?

Lonliboy: Yeah, 100%. They've been putting out incredible codebase art and animations for so long — it'd be awesome to hear their perspective on everything going on.

Will: Lots of good recommendations there. All right, I think I'll try to haphazardly wrap this up. Definitely one of our longer interviews, but so much to talk about and dig into.

Lonliboy: I talk way too much.

Will: It's perfect, we love that. Thank you very much, Lonli — it was awesome to finally get you on the show. Big congrats on the role at Verse, and it'll be very cool to see that show hopefully manifest toward the end of the year. I think we're all going to learn a lot from it if you can deliver on getting a lot of these historical artists together, hopefully with some cool audio or video components. All of us can stand to learn a lot more about this space. Much appreciated — hope you had fun coming on.

Lonliboy: I had a great time. A lot of these are questions I don't usually get to speak to people about, and they're more loaded than what I'd normally discuss in a public setting, so this has been a learning lesson for me. Thank you so much for having me on, and I hope y'all have a great day.

Hollow — Jacek Markusiewicz

Will: Thank you again. All right everyone, that was Lonli — huge props to him for coming on, it's been a long time in the works. That's it for this one. Hope y'all enjoyed it. We'll be back soon with another episode. Bye.

Lonliboy: See ya.

Change log

  • Initial transcript — auto-transcribed (AssemblyAI) and readability-edited.