It’s late in the evening in Portugal when White Koala (WK) finally sits down to talk. By day he manages a global business team of hundreds of people spread across the globe; by night, he creates generative artworks on FXHash, EditArt, and other platforms where collectors have come to recognize his style. That duality — between technical discipline and artistic exploration — defines much of his practice.

“It’s a stressful environment, and I think we all need to explore creativity… something very different from business,” he explains.

White Koala’s art isn’t shaped by market pressure but by curiosity, serendipitous mistakes, and a lifelong dialogue between analog and digital tools.

Growing up in the 1980s, WK first encountered code as a kid.

“One of my skills since I was relatively young was programming. I got into it in the ’80s on Spectrum machines. At that time, I was already starting to code trying to create games, then, professionally, also expanding on my skills to automate part of the work. Only a lot later did I start to experiment with  more creative ideas.”

But his formative creative practice wasn’t purely digital.

“Before generative art, I was practicing watercolors — usually urban sketches, cityscapes. That was probably the most extensive physical work I’ve done,” he recalls. “I also tried collage, but never oil painting.”

These urban sketches and experiments with collage built a sensitivity to texture and man-made lines that would later reappear in his digital works.

Like many in the current wave of generative artists, WK entered the scene through FXHash. He had been imagining an interactive application that could react to global news, translating events into visual shapes. That unfinished idea pushed him into research — and eventually into the thriving community of creative coders experimenting with generative art.

His first FXHash release, Thoughtscapes, remains a personal milestone. “I still love it because it was the first project, not necessarily because of the quality,” he says. The debut confirmed for him that code could be more than a technical skill; it could be a medium for creative expression.

While some generative works emphasize clean grids, smooth curves, or hyper-digital precision, White Koala’s pieces often resemble paper collage: layered, frayed, textured.

That was particularly deliberate with Gestalt, his latest series: “With EditArt my idea was to move a little bit out of the pure digital… to make it look more human-made. To include imperfection and texture, to feel less like perfect squares and more like paper.”

In works like Inner Workings, shapes overlap like torn cutouts, while delicate noise patterns evoke watercolor bleeding into paper fibers. In All That Noise, the outputs evoke  Action Painting in their materiality.

An important part of his craft is understanding that not all platforms are the same. WK adapts his approach depending on context, almost as if each site were a different gallery.

“I divide the type of project that goes in each platform. The more minimal work is on EditArt, the more abstract on FXHash, and Koda or Alba were more simple… each has its own space.”

On EditArt, where collectors actively choose outputs, he leans into minimalism and imperfection, offering a range that invites curatorial decision. On FXHash, he embraces complexity and abstraction, producing series with denser variation. On smaller platforms, the works could be more simple to fit the platform’s aesthetic.

One of the most compelling threads in his work is the tension between human imperfection and machine precision. A project that began with rigid Bauhaus-inspired geometry (Chromhaus, a previous EditArt series) evolved into something more organic (Gestalt).

“The first idea was just to create different sizes of shapes… then it evolved to making them look more human or hand-made. Not only the shapes being imperfect, but also the texture.”

Even when collectors select the “machine” setting, producing straighter, sharper outputs, the textures and placement of the shapes still betray a human touch.

The textured surfaces in WK’s work are sometimes the result of happy accidents. While chasing watercolor effects, he discovered that layering semi-transparent rectangles could create paper-like depth.

“It’s basically rectangles on top of each other, different sizes, different transparencies. I was searching for watercolor effects, but I preferred this version. It was almost an error — but I kept it.”

Color can sometimes follow a similar logic of discovery. Instead of preparing palettes beforehand, WK can generate thousands of random options and then select and refine from them.  Over time, this process has produced a personal library of 20–30 palettes that resurface across projects.

“I generate 1000 or 2000 editions with random colors… then I go through and select the ones I like.”

Together, these approaches give his work its recognizable tactility — colors that are a bit muted, recognizable across collections, and textures that feel fragile and hand-cut.

For now, none of White Koala’s online generative projects has a plotted counterpart, though the idea has been simmering in his mind. “It has been in my head for a long time — to convert the EditArt projects and create some specific plotting projects. I have some in the initial stages, and I already have a few plotted works for sale on Objkt.”

Plotting opens a completely different set of technical and creative challenges. “The way to approach both projects, until now, is completely different not only in the visual style — millions of colors and shadings versus simple line work — but also technically. There is probably a middle ground (more simple compositions and shapes) that I have not yet explored that could be thought of in both ways.”

He also warns newcomers about how addictive the process can be. “Trying papers and pens may become an addiction fast,” he laughs. “So far, I’ve tried different papers ranging from textured watercolor stock to black paper, and pens in black, red, silver and gold. I’m still not convinced about white ink, but there are never ending possibilities. Additionally, I am considering exploring various materials, such as metal sheets.”

For collectors, this expansion into physical media is exciting: it hints at a future where White Koala’s recognizable textures and compositions will exist not only on screens but also on paper and beyond.

Throughout our conversation, one theme keeps resurfacing: chance and flexibility. Many of White Koala’s most recognizable effects — from textures to palettes — emerged by accident.

For WK, these moments are not mistakes but opportunities. They shape his practice into something exploratory and open-ended: a dialogue between code, materials, platforms, and the collector’s hand.

It is this openness that defines White Koala’s art: digital collages that feel tactile, generative palettes that feel discovered rather than designed, and works that carry both the precision of algorithms and the warmth of human touch.

– interview date: Sept 11, 2025.

It’s late in the evening in Portugal when White Koala (WK) finally sits down to talk. By day he manages a global business team of hundreds of people spread across the globe; by night, he creates generative artworks on FXHash, EditArt, and other platforms where collectors have come to recognize his style. That duality — between technical discipline and artistic exploration — defines much of his practice.

“It’s a stressful environment, and I think we all need to explore creativity… something very different from business,” he explains.

White Koala’s art isn’t shaped by market pressure but by curiosity, serendipitous mistakes, and a lifelong dialogue between analog and digital tools.

Growing up in the 1980s, WK first encountered code as a kid.

“One of my skills since I was relatively young was programming. I got into it in the ’80s on Spectrum machines. At that time, I was already starting to code trying to create games, then, professionally, also expanding on my skills to automate part of the work. Only a lot later did I start to experiment with  more creative ideas.”

But his formative creative practice wasn’t purely digital.

“Before generative art, I was practicing watercolors — usually urban sketches, cityscapes. That was probably the most extensive physical work I’ve done,” he recalls. “I also tried collage, but never oil painting.”

These urban sketches and experiments with collage built a sensitivity to texture and man-made lines that would later reappear in his digital works.

Like many in the current wave of generative artists, WK entered the scene through FXHash. He had been imagining an interactive application that could react to global news, translating events into visual shapes. That unfinished idea pushed him into research — and eventually into the thriving community of creative coders experimenting with generative art.

His first FXHash release, Thoughtscapes, remains a personal milestone. “I still love it because it was the first project, not necessarily because of the quality,” he says. The debut confirmed for him that code could be more than a technical skill; it could be a medium for creative expression.

While some generative works emphasize clean grids, smooth curves, or hyper-digital precision, White Koala’s pieces often resemble paper collage: layered, frayed, textured.

That was particularly deliberate with Gestalt, his latest series: “With EditArt my idea was to move a little bit out of the pure digital… to make it look more human-made. To include imperfection and texture, to feel less like perfect squares and more like paper.”

In works like Inner Workings, shapes overlap like torn cutouts, while delicate noise patterns evoke watercolor bleeding into paper fibers. In All That Noise, the outputs evoke  Action Painting in their materiality.

An important part of his craft is understanding that not all platforms are the same. WK adapts his approach depending on context, almost as if each site were a different gallery.

“I divide the type of project that goes in each platform. The more minimal work is on EditArt, the more abstract on FXHash, and Koda or Alba were more simple… each has its own space.”

On EditArt, where collectors actively choose outputs, he leans into minimalism and imperfection, offering a range that invites curatorial decision. On FXHash, he embraces complexity and abstraction, producing series with denser variation. On smaller platforms, the works could be more simple to fit the platform’s aesthetic.

One of the most compelling threads in his work is the tension between human imperfection and machine precision. A project that began with rigid Bauhaus-inspired geometry (Chromhaus, a previous EditArt series) evolved into something more organic (Gestalt).

“The first idea was just to create different sizes of shapes… then it evolved to making them look more human or hand-made. Not only the shapes being imperfect, but also the texture.”

Even when collectors select the “machine” setting, producing straighter, sharper outputs, the textures and placement of the shapes still betray a human touch.

The textured surfaces in WK’s work are sometimes the result of happy accidents. While chasing watercolor effects, he discovered that layering semi-transparent rectangles could create paper-like depth.

“It’s basically rectangles on top of each other, different sizes, different transparencies. I was searching for watercolor effects, but I preferred this version. It was almost an error — but I kept it.”

Color can sometimes follow a similar logic of discovery. Instead of preparing palettes beforehand, WK can generate thousands of random options and then select and refine from them.  Over time, this process has produced a personal library of 20–30 palettes that resurface across projects.

“I generate 1000 or 2000 editions with random colors… then I go through and select the ones I like.”

Together, these approaches give his work its recognizable tactility — colors that are a bit muted, recognizable across collections, and textures that feel fragile and hand-cut.

For now, none of White Koala’s online generative projects has a plotted counterpart, though the idea has been simmering in his mind. “It has been in my head for a long time — to convert the EditArt projects and create some specific plotting projects. I have some in the initial stages, and I already have a few plotted works for sale on Objkt.”

Plotting opens a completely different set of technical and creative challenges. “The way to approach both projects, until now, is completely different not only in the visual style — millions of colors and shadings versus simple line work — but also technically. There is probably a middle ground (more simple compositions and shapes) that I have not yet explored that could be thought of in both ways.”

He also warns newcomers about how addictive the process can be. “Trying papers and pens may become an addiction fast,” he laughs. “So far, I’ve tried different papers ranging from textured watercolor stock to black paper, and pens in black, red, silver and gold. I’m still not convinced about white ink, but there are never ending possibilities. Additionally, I am considering exploring various materials, such as metal sheets.”

For collectors, this expansion into physical media is exciting: it hints at a future where White Koala’s recognizable textures and compositions will exist not only on screens but also on paper and beyond.

Throughout our conversation, one theme keeps resurfacing: chance and flexibility. Many of White Koala’s most recognizable effects — from textures to palettes — emerged by accident.

For WK, these moments are not mistakes but opportunities. They shape his practice into something exploratory and open-ended: a dialogue between code, materials, platforms, and the collector’s hand.

It is this openness that defines White Koala’s art: digital collages that feel tactile, generative palettes that feel discovered rather than designed, and works that carry both the precision of algorithms and the warmth of human touch.

– interview date: Sept 11, 2025.