Waiting To Be Signed · interviews on generative art, on-chain
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Interview // AUG 2024

Mimi Nguyen

Title: How To Start A Gallery On Another Continent
Role: Generative artist
Platform: Verse
Duration: 1h 9m
Hosts: Will & Trinity
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#071 · How To Start A Gallery On Another Continent
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Will: All right, hello and welcome everyone to another episode of Waiting to Be Signed, a special interview episode. We're joined today by Mimi Nguyen, who you might know from her work at Verse and from her gallery, Nguyen Wahed. Unfortunately Trinity's not here today — she's on assignment in Canada — but we've got Mimi, and we're going to talk all about art, her current exhibition, and how she feels about NFTs. Mimi, how's it going? Welcome to the show.

Mimi Nguyen: Thanks so much for having me. Looking forward to our chat.

Will: The first question we always ask our guests is to tell us a bit about your background in art and how you came to find generative art and NFTs, and how you got involved in this whole web3 space.

Mimi Nguyen: This is going to be a long introduction — I actually thought about it recently, how I'd introduce myself to my students next academic year, and the short version always ends up confusing people. The start was that I studied statistics and data science, back when there was no such thing as "AI" — we coded in SQL and SAS, and it wasn't even called data science, it was "quantitative methods." I went into tech consulting, ended up at Accenture and Boston Consulting Group doing data optimization. At the same time, I was studying media art in art school, which was its own thing to navigate as an Asian person — it's hard to tell your parents you're not going to study economics, law, or medicine. So I waited until I was self-sufficient, earning my own salary from consulting, before applying to art school. In our community — in Poland, and especially in the Vietnamese diaspora — that's just not a common path. So I had this double life: there are actual photos of me standing outside the sculpture studio in a suit, laptop bag over my shoulder.

Eventually I got fed up with corporate life and went to study media art in Berlin. Even though it was technically a media art program, it introduced me to computational art — we coded in Arduino, did a lot of 3D printing, much more playful work. I later found out Marcel Schwittlick studied in the same building a year after me, which really showed me how much a university shapes your interests. In Poland, "media art" mostly meant digital photography — performance, photography, anything that wasn't painting. In Berlin it was much more computational: physics classes, cables, actual electrical engineering.

Then I moved to London to study at Central Saint Martins, because I was captivated by what was possible with all these technologies. At the same time, I went back to working in finance — fintech was the only job that would actually pay my rent. So again, this split life: attending an extremely haute-couture art school where everyone's in wild outfits, while also working at a fintech startup doing machine learning for underwriting — though back then we didn't say "machine learning," we said "algorithmic decision-making." It's interesting watching the vocabulary evolve without the underlying fundamentals really changing.

Then I did a PhD that finally brought both worlds together — design engineering, a collaboration between Imperial College London's engineering department and the Royal College of Art. That let me use these tools the way I'd always wanted. We used neural networks for literature review, and I did a fun study with IBM Watson on affective computing — emotional AI detecting emotions in creative-engineering teamwork, focused on remote work. Then COVID happened, which oddly helped the study: six months earlier we'd already pivoted to remote work, and then suddenly the whole world was remote.

That's when NFTs came along, and it felt like the perfect combination — I could bring my engineering background but also finally do what I'd always craved, which was to be embedded in art, working directly with artists. And Verse came into the picture coincidentally, through a series of meetings. Someone introduced me to Jamie a few months before Verse was even about NFTs — we just talked about the future. Then I met August, the CTO at the time, and we were supposed to co-write an academic paper together. Instead, I ended up working for Verse.

Will: It sounds like you had the perfect background for this web3 moment — engineering, art, and some quant financial modeling on top of it. It makes total sense you ended up at Verse. What were those early days like? I know from talking to Jamie that Verse originally started as a traditional art platform, more about helping galleries catalog inventory. Were you there when it transitioned into NFTs?

Mimi Nguyen: I joined right as the decision was being made to pivot to NFTs. When I first met Jamie, Verse was meant to be more of an online exhibition space — a response to COVID, letting galleries exhibit online instead of physically. Not "metaverse" exactly, but a beautiful way to show physical or digital art online. Then the decision came to focus on NFTs, while still bringing in a lot of traditional artists.

At that stage I was running symposiums at university and inviting speakers — Robert Alice, Simon Denny, Arthur Brightman among the first, back in 2021. That introduced me to a lot of people in the space, different stakeholders, and that network was something I could bring to Verse — bridging traditional art-world contacts with NFT artists.

Will: We love Verse, we've been huge fans. Honestly, I don't think either Trinity or I would have gotten so into collecting on Ethereum, moving off Tezos and fx(hash), if it weren't for Verse bringing in artists who maybe were in line for Art Blocks but hadn't gotten there yet, and giving them this elevated gallery experience — exhibiting the work, printing it, giving it a more unified push and voice. While you were there, you also launched your gallery, Impression. Was that part of your plan all along, staying close to artists, or did it evolve?

Mimi Nguyen: It evolved as Verse grew as a platform. More and more collaborators were coming on board, and we wanted to signal that Verse could partner with curators and even physical galleries, offering them infrastructure — the whole minting experience, a centralized wallet, all of it.

The opportunity came last year with the art fair in Paris, which is close to my heart — I used to travel there constantly from London. Easy trip, but always on my calendar; friends of mine from the Museum of Modern Art in Poland and I had this ritual of doing Frieze, then FIAC in Paris, then Paris Photo. Nina was curating a digital sector at Paris Photo, and at that point we hadn't really considered that a platform should have its own booth — that's changing this year — but some of the works I wanted to show, like Manfred Mohr's, weren't NFTs, so it didn't feel right to fold them into Verse directly. So I created something like "my gallery" on Verse, which went to the fair in collaboration with Verse. Ivan did the same thing — created his own gallery on Verse, and he's actually got another drop this week.

That became a great test run for Verse to see what would need to be built for it to function as a platform that could power galleries — starting with internal curators, but eventually collaborating with outside galleries too. That eventually evolved into Nguyen Wahed, which honestly I resisted for a long time. I never wanted to run a company. I'd been talking to artists for years and never felt I could offer them a full gallery experience worth having. A lot of what galleries traditionally provide — exclusivity, representation, marketing, exposure — looks different in the digital age. But having a gallery lets me push the program I care about most. It felt like a natural evolution for a curator: if you have something you want to say, and artists you really care about, you want the space to focus on them rather than on the technical aspects of a platform.

My dream was always to come back and work again with the artists I started this journey with. For example — before Verse had even launched, I was already talking to Qbb, this random Japanese artist nobody really knew yet. I remember sending Jamie the link like, "Look, he only has 1,500 followers, but I think he's cool, I like him." That became one of the first solo drops on Verse. It eventually spiraled into YYYSEED — in total I've done four shows with him, one physical, when he came to London. I just always wanted an excuse to keep working with him. Same with Marcel Schwittlick and a lot of other artists who've been part of my journey from the start, but who I never got the chance to return to because they were maybe considered too small relative to where the platform was growing.

YYYSEED — Daniel Catt

Will: You said you were against making a company, but here you are. It was just announced a few weeks ago that you're officially no longer with Verse — I assume you're doing the gallery full-time now. How did that happen? What convinced you? Was it the artists, all these relationships saying, "You should do this, we love working with you, go for it"?

Mimi Nguyen: I never wanted to start a gallery before because I lacked the experience, and I'm grateful for Verse and all the artists I've worked with along the way, because the last two years were on speed. Two years in NFTs is almost like five years in any other industry. People say the same thing about consulting -- two years in consulting is like ten years in a bank. It gave me a hardcore lesson in how to plan and approach things.

I also got older, and I'd actually had this idea back when I was very young, studying economics and art at university: that I should combine these two worlds, since I knew artists and I knew rich people. They were still students at the time, but I knew that eventually people from my economics school would have disposable income to collect art. I could never invite them to the same house party, but I felt comfortable in both worlds, and I thought somehow this could work.

The idea sat in the back of my head, but it never felt possible until Nina gave me a lot of support with the fair last year. That's when I realized I really enjoy this and it's genuinely fun. I've also identified a few artists I really care about and want to spend my time with -- people I speak to daily. That's the idea: I found a good network of people I feel comfortable with and can see myself working with.

Will: The artists you have -- I'm looking at the list of everyone presenting in [aside] right now, and we've interviewed three of them, plus one more coming out. We're actually releasing an interview with Travess next week. You've definitely picked some great ones to build relationships with.

You have this background in art and in economics. We talk to a lot of artists, collectors, and platform people on the show, and I get a sense of two narratives. There are people who think blockchain and NFTs are going to swallow everything, that a lot of art -- old and new -- is eventually going to have a tokenized representation. But there are also a lot of artists who got their start in NFTs and now seem to be moving away from tokenization, toward a more traditional art-world experience -- selling a print, a painting, a plotted piece -- that doesn't need a tokenized component to sell.

YYYSEED — Daniel Catt

So what's your thesis on NFTs and tokenization? Everything I've seen from your gallery so far has had an NFT component. Is that always going to be the case? Are you a true believer in this? Or is it more of a launching point for artists to get into bigger and better things? How do you think about the whole Web3 question?

Mimi Nguyen: I actually spoke to someone about this recently. At one point I realized I'm selling JPEGs, and that was quite crushing in a way. I think there's a misconception that NFTs are going to change the world. I do believe it will, eventually, but we still need a few innovations to make it easier -- the same way Instagram and WhatsApp only work because we have fast processors and touchscreens in our phones. Without touchscreens, none of that would have happened. There are still missing pieces: how do we preserve art, how do we showcase it?

That's what will change how we consume digital objects. Right now, as a collector, I can't even show the art I buy -- I bought a Samsung Frame and it doesn't loop videos, doesn't even play them. It's ridiculous. If I don't know how to display something in my house, it loses value over time. And if you look at big traditional collectors, none of these pieces are ending up in their houses. It comes down to storage -- how do we store digital art when it depends on machines, setups, and libraries that can just disappear?

During my PhD, we built an app with IBM Watson using their NLU (natural language understanding) package. A year and a half later, at my viva, my supervisor said, "The paper's published, everything's fine, can you present the app?" I went back to it, and it was gone -- the whole thing had shut down because of some regulatory change. That's what happens when a library disappears, when no one's maintaining it on GitHub anymore. And that was after just a year and a half. What happens in five years?

That's the real question, and it's why traditional collectors and museums are so slow to adapt -- there's so much uncertainty. I know they're building bigger teams just to figure out how to preserve these pieces. Once someone finds the magic bullet that fixes this, I think collecting and hoarding digital objects will become far more popular, because the paradigm shift has already happened in our lives -- there's just no tangible solution yet.

As for NFTs and my own interests: I'm not against selling JPEGs with blockchain as a ledger, that's fine. But iTunes used to sell MP3s without blockchain -- we've been consuming and buying digital files long before any of this. So in that narrow sense, we don't really need it. For provenance and inventory, sure, it's nice to have it on-chain.

YYYSEED — Daniel Catt

What I'm really interested in is something like [aside]. When I first heard about that project, I was thrilled, because it uses blockchain as a medium in its own right -- the output wouldn't exist without it. Le Random gave a great talk about this new era, and it's complex, but it adds an extra layer of reality that is genuinely Web3.

It took me years to understand this beyond the buzzwords. My own turning point was getting into the darknet just for fun, trying to explore it, and realizing: this is what blockchain is about. Googling gives you filtered results, but going through different search engines and P2P networks opens up a completely different landscape, with encryption everywhere -- you need to decrypt and encrypt messages with private and secret keys just to access certain sites. That's when it clicked for me. But it took actually experiencing it myself to understand what blockchain promises. Once you see it as a medium for art, it opens up so many avenues for artists.

I was talking with Leander Herzog yesterday about how performance art has always been about the present, about what's happening now. But [aside] lets you create art with what happens in the future -- that's what Rhea Meyers's work is about: the art world will behave a certain way, and the piece responds to that. With Anna Lucia's work, the art world itself changes the piece if something happens down the line. So the performance isn't happening now, it's happening in the future -- the next ten years become the performance itself. That's fascinating: it adds a whole new layer of creativity, a new medium for artists to work in.

There have been interesting projects along these lines for a while -- Terra Zero and other work by Jan Robert Leegte -- but they're still considered niche.

It's not a sad thing, but I think it's because they're explained in such a difficult way. It took me so long to grasp the technical side that I don't know how a normal person on the street is supposed to get it. I remember speaking to a curator at Verse and Nina about Terraforms, and Rudxane explained it to me: "Go to the contract, click here, then here, export the text file, copy it into Chrome, and it'll run." I was like, what do you mean? He said it's base64 -- a JSON file of the image itself, so it runs without any dependencies in any browser. It's just a long text string, and it means you could copy it to a laptop in Vietnam in ten years and it would still run and show the piece. When I showed that to the curator, she was floored -- she said, "You mean you don't need these machines anymore? You just send me a string of letters and I can play it in ten, twenty, fifty years?" She was fascinated. The fact that she didn't know this already shows why it hasn't gone mainstream.

Terraforms — Mathcastles

Will: It doesn't sound like there's a solution to that beyond having really intense one-on-one conversations, often with a coder or artist walking you through it. How do we get around that? I've felt the same thing -- a friend of mine who knows I collect this kind of work told his coworkers I have "a bunch of AI art." It's not AI art. Even though I've explained it to him fully, he still reduces it in his mind to "AI stuff." I almost feel like it's an insurmountable challenge -- if you have to read a ten-page white paper to understand why an esoteric piece of code is interesting, how do we ever popularize it?

Mimi Nguyen: On one hand, we don't need to -- we shouldn't. Over-explaining the technical side turns it into a tech demo, and I'm a bit against that. It's still important, especially in AI art, to understand the concept of datasets -- what goes into training, what goes into verification, how machine learning works broadly. Two years ago people wouldn't have known any of that. This year they'd know a bit more, simply because it's gone mainstream and people read about it. At some point you won't even have to explain it anymore, because people will just accept it.

And really -- do you even need to care? I don't know how 5G works, but it lets me call my mom on WhatsApp, and that's great. That's how innovation actually gets adopted. Remember when iPhones came out and it was all "this one has three megapixels, this one has four"? Who cares -- as long as the pictures look nice and I can send them to Vietnam, that's fantastic. That's what my mom cares about. She doesn't care about megapixels or data plans. If she can call her sister, she's happy. We should get to the point where people don't have to care about what's underneath. That's something the space is too obsessed about—is it on-chain, is it off-chain? If the work is good, it's good. Sometimes you look at something and it moves you, and then you learn the concept behind it. The context of the work is important, of course. It goes into conceptual art in that way. With the right concept, almost anything can actually be art.

In terms of disseminating this, I literally had this chat yesterday with a friend. I think everyone has a different view. Some people want one-to-one conversations, some want physical shows, and many artists are against that. I understand why, because it doesn't always make sense.

We were talking about Acid, for example. How on earth am I supposed to show Acid physically? I can't, because it's a performative thing on a smart contract. Showing it just doesn't make sense—I mean, I could show the JPEGs, but that takes away the whole concept. But on the other hand, artists want physical shows and collectors want physical experiences. People still want the physical book even after reading it. It's something in us. I guess in a few years that will change. My daughter doesn't know what money is anymore, or what a bank card is—she thinks people pay with Apple Watches. The whole concept of physical money has just disappeared for her. So I think we'll slowly shift in that direction. I like just observing the world—it's fascinating. Look at online shopping: where did that come from? Now everyone buys online, has online relationships. Every couple I know met on Tinder, and it's fantastic—that's just how it works now. We're talking online. A lot of artists I work with, I've never met in person. It's a fascinating shift. We're slowly moving into Web2 even now, so understanding all of Web3 will take a while too, unless everyone suddenly becomes a hacker. But it's a fascinating medium.

Will: Definitely. We've mentioned it a couple of times already, so we should talk about Aside, which is running on Verse right now. There are quite a few artists featured — you led with the Jared Tarbell piece, but there's also Leander Herzog, Lonliboy, Mathcastles, Travess Smalley, Rhea Myers, Ivona Tau, so many artists you're working with. Let me try to explain what it is for people who haven't seen it, and you can correct me where I get it wrong.

Terraforms — Mathcastles

Each artist is using data in some way through smart contracts using Chainlink. For anyone who doesn't know, Chainlink is a protocol built on Ethereum — an oracle. It allows people to bring data onto the blockchain, because the blockchain itself doesn't know anything about the outside world; it needs a trusted source feeding it information. So artists are using that. My first question: is Aside something you worked with Chainlink to develop, or something Chainlink had already built that you're using? What was the origin of it all?

Mimi Nguyen: It comes from Distributed Gallery Collective, Alexandre and Olivier — amazing, slightly crazy philosophers/engineers who've been working with smart contracts and blockchain art as a medium since 2016. They had a very controversial early project about Richard Prince, quite conceptual — like Duchamp meets Richard Prince on the blockchain. They also made one of my favorite artworks, Chaos Machine, where you'd put banknotes into a machine that would spectacularly burn them physically, and then give you a token in return. That was around 2017, 2018.

So they've thought about blockchain and smart contracts as a medium from the very beginning — when they first read about Ethereum, they thought, "Ethereum is a new kind of computer," and started programming on top of it. That's how Aside came about, a protocol they wrote themselves. On some projects we use Chainlink, on others we don't, because the data is already known — for Jared Tarbell's piece, for instance, it's about moon phases, which we can pre-code since we know the exact dates for the next two years. But other projects pull from live datasets, and the risk there is: what if the server hosting that data goes bust? That's why we connect through Chainlink — it's expensive, but we call the API through Chainlink to pull the data, which then informs the contract what to do next. The behavior of each contract is designed by the individual artist, and each has a different vision.

It's been an interesting journey, because I'd spoken to a few of these artists before and they told me they were looking for exactly this kind of experimentation with smart contracts. Of course, artists like Primavera and Anna Ridler already had this inherent in their practice. When I told them about the protocol, they said, "Yes, this is exactly what we were looking for." We actually compared the white papers for Primavera's project and Aside — they were strikingly similar, developed around the same time, completely independently. A bit freaky. So there were projects before us working with similar concepts — we're not claiming to be first. But it's fascinating to see how each artist approaches the medium and translates it into their own practice and interests.

What excites me most is the uncertainty of what happens next. In this market, it's worked in our favor, but in a hot market, this kind of thing locks the tradability of the artwork — completely against the "buy today, flip tomorrow" mentality. It forces you to wait, to be more conscious of the work, to track it. It also introduces real uncertainty about whether you'll ever be able to trade at all — Rhea's piece only unlocks when Ethereum reaches $10,000. There were jokes that it could happen tomorrow, or in five years. Huge uncertainty.

For me, this explains what a smart contract actually is in a beautiful, simple way. Early on, I didn't really understand the concept — there was a lot of talk like "if this happens, then this happens," but seeing it play out in real life makes it so much easier to grasp. Rhea's project is a great example: when ETH hits $10K, the works unlock, and you can transfer and sell them. That's exactly the promise of smart contracts that I find fascinating.

Terraforms — Mathcastles

Will: When I think of smart contracts and their promise, I think of what was pitched to a lot of artists coming into NFTs — that you'd get a royalty every time your piece sold, enforced on the blockchain. Then all it took was a few people realizing they could just message each other and trade over the counter, skip the royalty, or an alternative platform like Blur pops up, where you trade on their contract instead of the OpenSea or Art Blocks contract. So how ironclad is this really? Once I mint one of these NFTs through Aside, can I just send it to someone else, or is it literally stuck?

Mimi Nguyen: It's literally stuck. The only thing you're allowed to do is withdraw from Verse to your own wallet — we had to build that in — but it recognizes that it came from a Verse wallet, so you can't transfer it to your Ledger or anywhere else. It's just stuck. The moment something triggers it — for example, with Jared's piece, some works have already unlocked because a full moon occurred — you can list them, and someone can buy them.

As for royalties, I have a dream project: a smart contract that airdrops people Bitcoin in the future. It sounds mad, but I think it would be the first time people really understood what a smart contract means, because they'd just be amazed: "I got Bitcoin!" The moment you receive an airdrop like that, you realize it's a promise that's unbreakable — you can see the result. There are always workarounds for these things if they're not designed carefully, but so far I haven't seen a workaround for Aside. Sometimes I wish we could change things after the fact, and we just can't.

Will: What do you think the appeal is for artists here? You've got a ton of people who signed up for this. Financialization and trading were such a huge part of the mass adoption in 2021 — that's waned a lot since, and we've been in an extended down market, or what some call the "normal" market, though it feels like a down market to anyone who arrived in 2020–2021. So what's the appeal — to artists, or to you as a curator and gallerist — of releasing work like this? It kind of forces collectors to examine their own behavior. Maybe that's the point — "look in the mirror, guys, you're sometimes jerks about this stuff. You actually have to think about what you're collecting."

Mimi Nguyen: I've experienced that myself — I collected a work from 0xFFF that comes with a literal to-do list, and I was like, "Wait, I actually have to do stuff?" Which is annoying. But for artists — I can't speak for them, only for myself — what's interesting to me is that this is the first time I could work with this type of art, which I think is the essence of what we should call blockchain art. Not NFT art, not crypto art — blockchain art. The performance element, the fact that something happens in the future rather than now, is what interests me most.

There are two aspects to it. One is purely the performative medium — if you like performance art, installation, artists have always done these different types of time-based work, and now there's a new medium where you can design a performance that happens automatically in the future. It's an experiment: how far can I push what I've done before?

Terraforms — Mathcastles

The other aspect is about the collectors. Looking back, there are works I care about that I don't want to sell quickly anyway — I don't mind waiting a year. It's a social experiment. I've seen comments directly under my posts saying, "I won't buy this because you can't flip it." And I thought, fine — you don't have to buy every single work out there. You go to an art fair, you don't have to buy every single work — you buy the one you like. Some collectors were interested in that idea, and with the Jared job, many told me, "I don't care about flipping, I just want an artwork from Jared." The moon phases are a fun element — I'm personally into moon phases, and it brings this different quality into it. Some artists are just very interested in this: Rafaël Rozendaal, Mafalda Rakoš, 0xFFF, Anna Ridler — they've all been blockchain artists, so it was a natural thing for them to continue with another project inherent to that world. I think of this as more of an experimental project, in a way — we just want to see what people think of it.

Will: You've got quite a few coming together for this experiment. Can you talk us through the process of setting up a show like this? Do you reach out to artists and invite them, or take pitches? How did you get this whole group together?

Mimi Nguyen: This was curated by Georg Bak, and we started chatting about it very early on — August 2023. It was refreshing for me because there wasn't a fixed date we had to hit with a drop. It was more about understanding the concept first, what could be done with it, and thinking about who would fit — and, honestly, who we wanted to work with. A few of the artists I'd already spoken to about a similar concept for their next project, so I went back to them and said, "Look, I found something that's exactly what you were talking about — let me know if you're interested." Georg was the main lead on selecting the artists, but the concept came from Distributed Gallery, and that's usually how I like to work.

That's also why I like group shows, weirdly — even though that's not what people would expect financially. Solo drops are better for marketing and communication, sure. But group shows send a message. And this one, even though it's a group show, lasts a full year. I liked that it wasn't all happening in one drop of twelve artists — it's spread out, one project a month, so each one gets the spotlight. It was refreshing to work on that timeframe. When I spoke to artists, I'd say, "This is going to happen in 2025 — I'm not even asking you for the work now." I spoke to some of these artists in 2023, giving them a two-year runway. It's a completely different approach, aside from the market — we're not following trends, just focusing on this protocol.

That's usually how I work: I come up with some weird theme or concept, then think about who would fit it, and invite them. Last year my dream project was a similar concept — a year-long project on light. You could see it in some projects, like the one with PixelWank, where we did a show in a cinema and the artwork on the screen was the main light source. Zach Lieberman, Takawo Murakami — all these artists were invited first around the concept of light, but things happened and it got scattered. I'm stubborn about it though — I'm bringing it back at Paris Photo with the same theme, because I'm obsessed with it, and I think it ties into virtual photography in an interesting way for a photography fair: not digital photography, but photography made by code — literally, like what Lars Wander does.

So I get these weird ideas for a theme, and then I fight to find artists who make sense with it. Sometimes I reference their old work, but sometimes it works almost like a commission. The magical realism show happened because I wanted something fun for Christmas — I love Murakami and that world. We had long chats with Yazid about what magical realism even means, and he created work specifically for the show. Quibibi — I told her I wanted a door, a magical door, because the whole idea of a door opening just made sense. So it depends on who I speak to and how close I am with the artist — whether they'll build new work for the theme, because I trust them enough to know it'll be good — or whether I just say, "I saw something similar you already made, maybe you have a few unsold ones we can put in." That's the easiest way for me to work with coherence.

Terraforms — Mathcastles

Will: The lights thing is so interesting — you've already mentioned the challenges of displaying NFTs and digital works, since screens and spaces have to make sense. You had a show last year, Hyper Connections, at the School of Digital Arts Manchester, where they had this enormous — I'm not even sure, is that a permanent display covering the whole outside of the building?

Mimi Nguyen: It's a whole building sponsored by the European Union. When I saw it, I thought, the building is the screen, and they have it all year round. I'd been fighting for a slot for over a year. It came at very late notice — they said, "Okay, you can have September," and I had two months. What helped is that I'd been talking to the artists about it maybe ten months earlier, hinting that I was applying for this and it might never happen, but to keep it in mind. So when they gave me two months' notice, I went back to them and said, "This is happening — sorry, but you have two months." It was a lot of stress because the works had to be designed specifically for the screens — there were five screens across the front and six on the side, all connected, so the works had to flow from left to right, down, and underneath the building too.

Karim did amazing work, and the other three artists worked just as hard on their pieces. When I went to Manchester in person and saw it, I loved the feeling — it was late September, when students come back to university, so you'd see this army of young people looking up at generative art projects. It was an amazing feeling.

Will: I wanted to ask about the role of NFTs and digital art in public performance. We recorded an episode recently with John Gerard — it hasn't been released yet — and he's done Western Flag, planting a huge screen in the middle of the desert. He's keen on making sure his virtual works are accessible to the public, but it's challenging — it takes money or space, and there's the issue of who can actually go see it. How do you imagine the public continuing to interface with work like this, and how does it intersect with NFTs?

Western Flag — John Gerrard

Mimi Nguyen: My biggest issue is the tech-demo instinct — I don't like displays just for the sake of displaying. People will hate me for saying that, but I really don't care that something is on a massive screen. Ads are on massive screens too. It's impressive, people like it, but will they remember it if more and more projects do the same thing? I care more about whether it makes sense. If the artwork itself requires a big display, or interactivity, or the concept is about public space and viewer engagement, then of course that's where it belongs. But just slapping something on a display isn't interesting in itself.

We all have screens — why not play with that? I've always dreamed of doing an Instagram show, because that's how we consume art now, that's how we consume everything — eight hours of daily usage. What's wrong with meeting people where their attention already is? Big screens make great photos, get good impressions — but I treat that as promotional material unless it truly makes sense. There are plenty of works embedded in public space that are great, if they're commissioned and backed by an institution with something to say. The best digital art piece I've seen recently is the Guggenheim's Jenny Holzer piece, the spiraling one — it's fantastic, and it has a message, a very current one, but it's also beautiful. It's like a news ticker in a way, but it's actually sending a message, and it's site-specific. That makes sense to me. But if it's just "I'm going to put a screen here," I get more cautious.

I work with digital artists, so I deal with a lot of screens myself, and we run into a lot of issues because many displays aren't real-time. Artists are often very specific about wanting the work to run in real time rather than as a looping video — sometimes the loop doesn't even work, and it defeats the whole point. If the work is generative and meant to run in real time, what's the point of playing a video instead? It kills the piece, makes it artificial.

Will: I'm in full agreement that the Samsung Frame is a massive disappointment.

Mimi Nguyen: They don't even warn you — why not just say, "We don't play videos, you have to go through the browser," and code it onto a flash drive formatted the right way? But there's no real alternative yet. Whoever I talk to is complaining about something. I'm going to test different displays — I want to try Black Dove, since I saw them in Basel, and others I can't afford, like Dan Pass's. We just need to keep testing. But it's still so far from mainstream — it's a thing for a few collectors on Twitter. When will I see it in everybody's house? It should just be seamless.

Will: That's the future I hope for. So much of the art I collect involves motion and real-time generation — some of my favorite pieces, my favorite artists, work that way — and I can rarely share it with people. If I do, it's, "Come here, let me open this up," and it's too many steps. I just want it on a frame, on something people can actually see.

Western Flag — John Gerrard

Mimi Nguyen: But also the interaction of the work, because some pieces are interactive. I was at the Aurea show recently at the Moving Image Museum, and they recreated an old work of hers from around 1996 — a chat room she'd built herself with her boyfriend at the time. I clicked on something and broke the whole thing. It was running on something like Windows XP, and I was just scrolling through the conversation when the whole thing crashed. I felt terrible. I'm sure things like that happen constantly — four projectors weren't working, some touch sensors weren't working. I don't say that as a criticism; it just showed me how hard it is, even for a museum, to keep this work running perfectly for the public. And it's so costly — why would you bother when you could just hang a painting that's cheaper? That's the barrier to entry. But it's shocking, because we're already living through this paradigm shift into digital life. We already do everything digitally. So why can't we just consume this art digitally too?

Will: Hopefully that's coming soon. Looking at your gallery website, buried at the bottom it says "gallery coming 2024." Are you opening a physical space?

Mimi Nguyen: Yes.

Will: Can you talk about it, since it's already on your website? What will the space be used for, and what's the thinking behind it? Especially given everything we've discussed about the challenges of displaying digital art.

Mimi Nguyen: The gallery won't be 100% focused on digital artists. When I think about the program and look at the artists I want, I don't really think about who counts as a "digital artist" — and that's the point. I don't care, and I don't think people should. There's a show, it's about something, these are the artists — half of them might be digital, maybe all of them, we don't know, and that shouldn't be the point. I don't think we should be so hung up on medium. I hated shows that were so focused on medium — it felt lazy, like "let's put 10 generative artists together and call it a generative art exhibition," or "let's do an AI show." Nobody does an all-oil-painting show anymore. It was shocking to me how easily people default to choosing works that way.

I'm trying to work within different narratives and stories instead. That also gives me more flexibility to work with a lot of Polish artists, which I'm looking forward to, alongside digital artists — but it won't be "this is all AI" or labeled that way. AI will be there if it makes sense for the theme.

Western Flag — John Gerrard

And yes, the physical space is happening, partly because some of the works will even be sculptures or installations, so I need the space for that. The strangest part is that it's in New York, which is hard to explain. It was a long process — I was supposed to move out of London to somewhere closer to Asia, and I thought, if I'm only two hours from New York, maybe I'll just do it there. That plan fell through, but the excitement about New York had already taken hold. So now I'm flying from London to run a gallery there, which is actually quite exciting. Different vibe, different energy — I'm excited for it.

Will: I'm excited too, because I assume you'll bring over artists who are normally only shown in Europe, artists we've had on the show. I'd love to see them open something in New York with you. Trinity and I are both New York based, so that would be great for us — more galleries.

Mimi Nguyen: Exactly. It's different people. There will be more galleries coming to New York, and you probably know which ones. It's exciting. When I talk to the Polish crew — which is a massive scene — they're usually shown in Berlin, and shipping them to New York is the biggest challenge, especially sculpture, which is super expensive. But it's a different story to tell, and a lot of the artists I work with are based in Europe, so that's covered in a way. I think it'll be refreshing for them to show work in New York — different energy, different people.

I never actually came out for NFT NYC, so I'm not embedded in that community — I know very few people in New York. Having a physical anchor there will help me get to know more people, and I think that will be valuable for the artists.

Will: Can you say anything about when it might open, or what the first show will be? Is anything coming together yet that you can announce?

Mimi Nguyen: I can, but if it doesn't happen, then... that's the classic conundrum.

Western Flag — John Gerrard

Will: Right.

Mimi Nguyen: I'll say it anyway, because I'm genuinely excited, even though I honestly don't know if it'll happen — it's been almost impossible to remotely set up an entity in New York from London. I've been fighting bureaucracy and admin for weeks. But if it comes together in time, I'm hoping to open with a show by Addie Wagenknecht — an evolution of a work she made for a Whitney Museum commission called Believe Me. You can see it on the Whitney's website; it was done in collaboration with Leander Herzog, which people might not know, and he's one of my favorite artists that I've worked with over the past year and a half.

The work was made in response to the 2016 US election — this broken screen piece from 2017. When I was thinking about who I wanted for the first show, I kept coming back to that work. And then I realized the timing: the 2024 election is on November 5th. So I'm dreaming of a show that opens at least a month and a half to two months before the election, ideally closing on election day itself. It's not going to be the same work, but a new series from that body of work, revisiting that conversation — showing where the US was eight years ago versus today. Being able to work with Addie and Leander on that would be something I couldn't have dreamed of before. I was just thinking recently, "Oh my God, how many screens do I need for this? It's going to cost a fortune."

Will: Do you want to talk about the economics of running a gallery? What does it actually mean to open a physical space — logistically, financially?

Mimi Nguyen: Honestly, sometimes I feel a gallery is just logistics and operations — prints, shipping, packing, installing. If I think about art fairs, all I see is screwdrivers. That was my life, running around begging people for screwdrivers and ladders because we needed to change something. But there's beauty in it too.

I recently curated a show at Gallery Met with Marcel Schwittlick — a very young gallery with a nice, DIY vibe that I miss. When you're starting out as an emerging curator, gallerist, or artist, you do everything yourself. We spent the whole day installing the show ourselves, he invited friends, neighbors came by and offered to help, some people were hauling out pieces from the old show. It created this feeling I miss — people helping people without any expectation of payment. I was framing 42 works myself in between everything, racing to catch a plane, everything on the floor, a total mess — but it had this DIY beauty, this community spirit, if you'll forgive the word.

Western Flag — John Gerrard

Art fairs have that same energy: you arrive and there are no floors, it's completely empty, people are literally laying floors and running around building booths, and by 10pm it magically comes together — in one day, everything is unearthed and on display, and you can run to different booths and everyone helps each other. I hope the gallery holds onto that spirit.

The costs will be enormous — I don't even want to think about it yet. It's going to be tough and expensive. But my experience in Berlin taught me you don't have to overpay for everything. If you want things to happen, they happen — people help you. Maybe I need tables and chairs; maybe I just ask the restaurant next door instead of spending a fortune. It'll be a learning process. I'll need a few screens for sure, but for physical works, I'm happy to drill and hang them myself — I don't need to hire people for that. I think people learn that as they go. Even packing — you can outsource it, or you can just pack the work yourself.

Will: Hell yeah. Well, Mimi, we've been at this a while — if you don't have a hard stop, we usually wrap up with a couple of rapid-fire questions. First: who would you like to hear us interview on the show? We've already spoken with a lot of the artists you've worked with, but is there anyone else?

Mimi Nguyen: Have you interviewed Warren Free? I want him to talk about his work as much as possible. He shows up on Twitter Spaces, gives talks, posts a lot — but Terraforms is a fantastic project, and it's shocking that it isn't more popular. Part of that is because it requires him to explain it — it's very conceptual at its core. It's gaining recognition in the sense that people are aware of the project, but I don't think everyone understands what it's actually about.

Terraforms — Mathcastles

Will: I'd admit I don't fully understand the project myself, but I see it in the sales feed constantly — people sweeping it up this year. I don't know if that's speculation on its historical importance or genuine fans who understand it. But yeah, I'd definitely be down to have them on — it's two people who worked on that project, right?

Mimi Nguyen: Yeah.

Will: We could have them both on.

Mimi Nguyen: Also — I don't know if you've spoken to Primavera.

Will: No.

Mimi Nguyen: She's fascinating to talk to. She's a real thinker, and understanding how she works through these concepts is an amazing experience. Another person who talks brilliantly — I don't know if you've had him on — is Mario Klingemann. I invited him to give a lecture at our university, and it was one of the best lectures we've had. The students loved it. He explains things in such a fun, approachable way.

Terraforms — Mathcastles

Will: We haven't had him yet, but he's definitely on our list — we keep a running list of good recommendations. We also like to ask artists what they listen to while they code. Is there any music you want to shout out, anything you've been enjoying that you'd like to share with the audience?

Mimi Nguyen: I don't know if the audience will want to hear this, but I like K-pop and V-pop. I sometimes want to post about it, but I hold back because it's so biased — I'm Asian, I grew up watching Korean soap operas, and I just love that fun energy from K-pop. It's horrific, I know it's bad, it's nothing special, but it's light and funny and borderline kitsch. I think we need that sometimes — an upbeat pick-me-up. And V-pop, Vietnamese pop, is basically a ripoff of K-pop but sung in Vietnamese, which is hilarious because I actually understand the words.

Right before this call I did an 8K run listening to old Muse, which really helped me get through it. There were moments I wanted to stop — it's painful, I don't want to do it. Normally I listen to a lot of electro, which puts you in a trance for long distances, but when you're really struggling, you need something else. Muse pushed me through. Honestly, the song that got me through the run was "Killing in the Name."

Will: Rage Against the Machine, "Killing in the Name"?

Mimi Nguyen: Yes! My pace matched it perfectly, and it was so nostalgic. We've all gotten into this minimalistic electronic music that's hipster and cool and fashionable, but I still love old Muse and cheesy K-pop, even if that's not what people expect to hear.

Will: I think people do want to hear it — it helps them get to know you, and that's what these interviews are about.

Terraforms — Mathcastles

Mimi Nguyen: I actually send people songs like that. The furthest I went was sending Erik Swahn a V-pop song. But the best party we've had recently — related to wanting to work with Polish artists — was at the Venice Biennale. We were hanging around the Polish pavilion a lot; I introduced Adam to some of the curators working on it, and we got to see the setup before the public opening, sneaking in through the back door. The afterparty was a Lithuanian-Estonian pavilion collaboration in an outdoor warehouse, and they were playing Slovak-Russian dubstep techno, which was mad but so good. Ivan came later with Josh, and we were raving until 4 a.m. Techno with an Eastern European twist is definitely the new vibe.

Will: Before we wrap up — you've got aside running for at least nine more months, and your physical space coming. Anything else you want to plug or preview for the audience? Other shows on Verse, other platforms you might explore for future releases?

Mimi Nguyen: The only scenario where I'd consider other platforms is if a project needed constant calls to the blockchain — every minute, every hour — which would get very costly, and we'd have conversations about moving to layer 2. That's really the only case where I'd think about working with something outside Verse, since asking them to make that kind of change carries risk around the release going smoothly. So it's the same principle as before: only if it makes sense.

I like that Nguyen Wahed has a clear history on Verse, a throughline people can look back on and get a feel for. That's been important to me. It'll be tricky because the narrative will keep evolving — with aside, for instance, there's a bigger push into blockchain-based art, and hopefully more projects in that vein. That depends on the artist and what I want to explore, but if you and Trinity have ideas on how to talk more about the broader concept of blockchain art — beyond just "is it on-chain or off-chain" — I'd love that. Raising awareness, brainstorming what channels could work, since attention spans vary and content can take different forms: audio, shorts, written pieces. I'm still figuring out the best way to bring this into a bigger spotlight.

Will: Having a physical space and building community around it sounds like a solid step. It's hard everywhere right now — social media makes it tough to post something thoughtful and actually get conversation around it. Even alternatives like Farcaster have fewer people. Even with our show — we get great guests on, but we're not pulling 10,000 listeners. It's hard to build real conversation.

Mimi Nguyen: Some people say it doesn't matter — same as your show, you just need your 1,000 true fans. You guys have built a very specific, dedicated audience — people who were into Tezos and generative art back in the day. That was actually the case at the New York party where I met Trinity — Zancan, Trinity, Emilie, Lars — only about seven of us, but exactly the right people to be surrounded by. For me, I'm at the very beginning, so getting those first 1,000 true fans is the hardest part. Hopefully after that they'll bring their friends and family and help spread the word.

Terraforms — Mathcastles

Will: I love it. This has been a great episode — I hope you had fun, Mimi. Sorry again that Trinity couldn't be here.

Mimi Nguyen: Thank you. Did I cover everything you wanted?

Will: We got through everything, it was perfect. That was Mimi Nguyen — thank you so much for coming on. It was awesome hearing about the gallery, best of luck with the opening, I'm excited to attend. That's it for this one, everyone — we'll be back soon with another episode. Bye-bye.

Mimi Nguyen: Thank you so much. Always blessed. We're waiting to be signed. We're waiting, always waiting. We're waiting to be signed.

Change log

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