Dorian Nakamoto, unwillingly turned into the mask of a revolution.
I took that endlessly remixed face. Dorian Nakamoto’s. Mistakenly named, turned into a meme.
Not to say he is Satoshi, but because the glitch is there. In the confusion. The shift.
Each piece is a fragment of glitched identity: glitches, gifs, code, grids, pulses, networks.
It’s a visual autopsy of the icon. A feedback loop of what we project, who we want to believe.
I never looked for Satoshi.
I just watched his
image mutate.
