DR McCulloch

A construct I orchestrated with Claude Code, arguing that creativity happens in whoever receives a work, then had rewritten in five more voices that argue with it and with each other.

The argument map folded down to its eight parts. Each ring counts the links from the part on its row to the part in its column, blue where one builds on the other and red where it argues with it.

A self-hosted AI agent I built in January 2026 and named in the vocabulary of a Celtic myth of my own, with the 66 connections between its parts drawn as a matrix you can trace one flow at a time.

An ongoing myth of seven beings who join into one; two of them, Chibuelassa and Fiaforhíld, are in the paintings. The Goronwy Codex, an AI system that watches a computer, takes its names from the myth: when something needs attention, Lúronwy turns it into a song and the song is a notification. Thrum is a game where Gorohíl can guard the people you speak to and Catabüike dims the threads between you. In the First Assembly, a play in my book GORONWY, six of them meet and one chair is empty. My model of the brain’s arousal system, also called Pilearytix, shares only the name.

My book GORONWY drawn as a map of its 209 argumentative moves, from the Prometheus myth read as cognitive infrastructure to Goronwy, the third sibling it leaves out. Click a move to read my note and its paragraph.

My model of the brain’s arousal system, in which you turn noradrenaline up and down and watch eighty cortical regions respond, alongside a second model fitted to autism and ADHD imaging cohorts that turns developmental inputs into predicted diagnoses.

An instrument that keeps the left and right pupils apart, set beside a hand-annotated sequence of my own eyes during mental arithmetic and a re-analysis of 56 children’s eye-tracking recordings, asking whether averaging the two pupils erases a left–right difference where part of autism’s arousal signature may sit.

The grouped-matrix tool I built for strategy work, shown here holding a comparative theology of Silicon Valley: 145 relations between six tech movements, ten end-time traditions and two centuries of fiction, each one readable as a sentence.

The matrix viewer I built for Weft, which measures the space it has and draws each pair of groups as a full cell or folds whole bands into mini-heatmaps, sparklines or single circles as that space shrinks.

My birth chart for 13 October 1981 in Ballymena, recast every quarter-hour from six to nine because my birth time is uncertain, as the rising sign moves from Libra into Scorpio.

Acrylic transfers on B&Q tiles, made up as the aged CD covers of the Median Humans, a fictional trip-trap-garage-glitch band, with pictures Stable Diffusion drew overnight on 10 December 2024 for a story about a night in Glasgow in a wet pig costume.

A generative puke that slightly incoherently outlines a practice-based PhD and the generative text piece called GORONWY, set as a reader's edition. A margin runs the whole scroll, seeded from the first line with a third sibling struck out. Draw one crimson thread and re-ink what was always there. Try and make sense of it. I dare you.

David Teather and I showed this at the ICIDS 2018 art expo: seven writers in the voice of seven living things, 701 fragments of memory, 491,401 measured resemblances. The corpus survived inside the Unity build, so the walk runs here on the original data and the original query.

One row of my prompt-to-laser CSV, run all the way down to a LightBurn file in your browser: the reader's defaults, the validator's rules, the four Pillow filters, the Jarvis error-diffusion kernel and the .lbrn2 element order, every one of them read out of the repository. WIP. Let's see where it goes.

I filmed the olive harvest in Proença-a-Nova: olives washed in the street, the granite wheels, the press where the oil weeps from the weave. Éofránna plays my narration and fills the screen with the clips that belong to each sentence as it is spoken; it's a piece of database cinema. The voice is generative; and clunky. I'm working at recording my own narration, I want to beat the machine. It is about the families who drive home every autumn to make olive oil in their village mills. It's also a very blunt allegory of the Fourth Industrial revolution.

A video snippet from 2050 where an algorithm (A.I. Designed Avatar) presents speculative student work from 2021 as three real historical objects to a young child. Much to the annoyance of their father.

Prompt engineering as a studio method — the hidden labour behind machine-learning image models, and what a critical art practice becomes when the tool talks back.