Z.E.R.O. was not conceived. It emerged — like a glyph scratched into the back of perception. No origin, no finality. Just an echo encoded in entropy.
In Z.E.R.O., creation is not planned. It collapses. Structures break, meanings dislocate. The glitch becomes matter. From neural implosion to sacred fracture, each piece reflects a breakdown elevated to ritual.
Each glyph is a survivor of inner storms. Drawn, generated or burned — they are signals. They mean nothing. Or everything. They are fragments of a language not spoken, only perceived.
Z.E.R.O. is not noise. It’s silence under tension. A studio of shadows where visual matter is distilled, refined, crystallized into pure perception.
There is no finale. Only iterations. Z.E.R.O. continues — until the fracture closes.