Some artists create images. Others open doors. Encountering Treeskulltown’s work feels less like viewing art and more like stumbling into a hidden chamber of the psyche — a place where raw emotion, buried memory, and symbolic intensity rise to the surface without apology.

From the first moment I engaged with the Sub-Manifesto, it was clear that this practice isn’t driven by aesthetics alone, but by necessity. There is a depth here that resists polish and rejects façades, favoring truth over comfort and instinct over performance. Each work feels excavated rather than produced, as if unearthed from a subconscious terrain that insists on being seen, whether we are ready for it or not.

What makes Treeskulltown’s voice so compelling is not just the courage to descend into these inner layers, but the generosity in sharing them. The art holds space for darkness and contradiction while remaining profoundly human, never closed off or self-contained. Instead, it invites viewers to recognize fragments of their own inner landscapes reflected back at them — sometimes uncomfortably, often beautifully.

In this conversation, we explore the origins of Sub-Realism, the philosophy of reclaiming the “sub” as a site of power, the ritual of creative surrender, and the delicate balance between the deeply personal and the collective. We also touch on Web3 as a natural habitat for underground expression, and on gratitude not as currency, but as connective tissue — something that sustains both art and community.

This interview is an invitation to slow down, to listen beneath the surface, and to step into a creative world where depth is not optional — it is the foundation.

TGJ: The Sub-Real seems to come from the depths of your being, from a raw and subconscious space. When did you realize that your art was not merely a personal creation, but an emergence from the depths, a kind of creative rebirth stemming from the subconscious? Was there a moment when you thought, "Oh... this is bigger than me"?

TST: To be perfectly honest, this awareness is not a permanent state; it is, rather, a daily commitment. There are moments of doubt, periods of resistance where the ego tries to regain control. It is in these moments that I force myself to return to a kind of inner mantra: 'You do not have the right to give up. You must manifest this; it is imperative.'

The realization that the work is 'bigger than me' lies less in a single moment of epiphany than in the very nature of my creative process. When I digitally assemble and digest subjects, when I search for the canvas or the color, it is the act of digging, of finding solutions in the face of technical limitations, that becomes a real-time construction of the subconscious. Art is no longer mere production, but a visceral necessity, an imperative of the soul that must be fulfilled, regardless of the means. The heart guides the studio.

TGJ: Your Sub-Manifesto overturns the notion of "sub," transforming what is generally considered minor into something profound, powerful, and essential. What personal experiences or encounters led you toward this philosophy? Was there a moment in your life or creative journey when the underground, the hidden, or the neglected suddenly appeared to you as the most authentic place to create?

TST: If we were to give authenticity another name, it would be radical freedom. This is the guiding principle of my existence, a path that taught me that not pretending is the only way to create.

The true philosophical shift towards the 'sub'—not as minor, but as an essential foundation—happened twenty years ago, following a major accident. I fell from a castle rampart, breaking my spine and wrist. I experienced the thin line between life and death, followed by a year of immobility. I hit rock bottom, and it was in this physical and mental rupture that the notion of surface, of façade, became obsolete.

This event forced me to rebuild from the core, to develop new ambidexterity, and to seek life in the detail. For a decade, I explored the digital underground (electronic music, VJing, conceptual photography), creating avatars that offered me total freedom of being. I even achieved a degree of success, but media exposure frightened me; the brilliance of the surface threatened the integrity of the depth.

I naturally returned to the underground, but this time, with the certainty that this work transcends me. The true catalyst for this renaissance was my son, who 're-taught' me the raw freedom of drawing. It was this rediscovery, in March 2021, that gave birth to Treeskulltown, an avatar in total alignment with my values. Today, with over 1,300 pieces created continuously, the pace of one work per day is not a challenge, it is the necessary balance for what is hidden to continue expressing itself.

TGJ: Your work draws upon the logic of dreams, buried memories, raw impulses, and symbolic forms, yet it touches people on a deeply human level. How do you manage to balance this inner, subconscious world with the outer, collective world? Do you sometimes feel like you are translating messages from elsewhere, or does the process feel more like an archaeological excavation?

TST: The balance between subconscious interiority and collective resonance is the cornerstone of my approach. This comes through an exacerbated sensitivity that I have developed and fully embrace, particularly following my personal journey.

I have no pretense of translating messages or being a bearer of transcendent truth. The process is far more instinctive and visceral. It is a reception, a reading of frequencies: I perceive moments, situations, or artworks that overwhelm me with emotion or, conversely, definitively repel me. When a work of art 'speaks' to me, I should say that I feel it to the point of being completely submerged. I have cried in front of master paintings, so powerful was the raw emotion. These emotions do not frighten me; they are my raw material. They create a creative tension: I must externalize them. I always have a notebook with me, because the idea or the drawing must come out; I only find peace when that impulse is materialized.

To answer your question, the process clearly resembles an archaeological excavation. I believe that this creative instinct is a constant, inscribed in us since the dawn of time, since the first cave painting. Sub-Realism, in this sense, is an introspection that seeks to rediscover and manifest this primary, raw, and parietal creative act. It is this universal echo, stemming from our shared depths, that allows the most intimate work to touch the collective. This is the greatest honor.

"I always begin with surrender. It’s a form of ritual between the support, the material, and myself. The work only takes shape when I allow myself to be carried by the sensation or emotion that initially overwhelmed me.

But, and this is fundamental, once the work is drawn out of my mind, it belongs to the spectator. My notes of intent or the accompanying texts are philosophical conversations to encourage introspection, by no means established facts. It is in the spectator's gaze and interpretation that Sub-Realism is completed, as they project their own subconscious onto the work, thereby making it introspective in more ways than one."

TGJ: Sub-Realism embraces complexity, darkness, contradictions, and unexpected beauty. When you start a new work, where do you usually begin within this whole? With a sensation? A fragment of an image? A dream? Or does the work only take shape when you surrender to what the subconscious is trying to bring forth?

TST: I always begin with surrender. It’s a form of ritual between the support, the material, and myself. The work only takes shape when I allow myself to be carried by the sensation or emotion that initially overwhelmed me. This is a phase of raw reception, where the subconscious dictates its tempo.

Then comes the work of re-reading and rationalization:

* Technical Execution: I rationalize the emotion by giving it a visual and structural form.

* Conceptualization: In parallel, I conceptualize the context, the possible interpretation, and the philosophical subtext.

* Titling/Palimpsest: The title acts as a palimpsest imprint on the work—an underlying layer that one must scratch away to perceive the hidden meaning beneath. This is the anchor of the concept.

My approach to Sub-Realism is a form of visual synesthesia: I see and feel the idea before it has a clear figurative representation. I do not sit in judgment over Art History or the artists I reinterpret; I respect and feel every brushstroke of my predecessors.

But, and this is fundamental, once the work is drawn out of my mind, it belongs to the spectator. My notes of intent or the accompanying texts are philosophical conversations to encourage introspection, by no means established facts. It is in the spectator's gaze and interpretation that Sub-Realism is completed, as they project their own subconscious onto the work, thereby making it introspective in more ways than one. This is where the greatest gratification lies.

TGJ: You create within Web3, a space brimming with underground energy, counter-cultural spirit, and artists who, like you, work on the fringes of society. How has the diffusion of your works on the blockchain influenced your evolution? And as someone who embraces the Sub-Real, how does the Economy of Gratitude—this flow of recognition, appreciation, and creative inspiration—articulate with your philosophy? Do these small bursts of recognition make you feel like an engine, a source of disruption, or something entirely different?

TST: When I discovered the Blockchain, my first thought was: 'Finally!' After ten years of experimentation in the digital underground—from web galleries to experimental films blending electro-acoustic music and visual arts—this space was the freedom I had been waiting for.

Diffusion on the blockchain has not just influenced my evolution; it has been the logical materialization of the Sub-Real. It has enabled the building of unprecedented bridges and offered an infinite field of possibilities, all while retaining the pioneering and counter-cultural spirit that is dear to me. We are still early, and there is so much to build between art and the builders of Web3.

As for the Economy of Gratitude, it is the beating heart of my philosophy. It is the virtuous circle I have always sought: to move forward and grow together. I strive to fuel it daily, by supporting young artists and keeping their works as the privilege of a foundational era.

These 'bursts of recognition' do not make me a mere engine; they give me the feeling of being a privileged witness within a close-knit community. The intensity of Web3—where four years is equivalent to forty years of a traditional career—has allowed me to experience incredible emotions, forge friendships with legends, and exhibit over 40 times worldwide. My dominant feeling, facing this condensed and accomplished artist's life, is one of immense and sincere gratitude.

Connect with Treeskulltown on Farcaster 🔹 X 🔹 Website 🔹 Objkt 🔹 Foundation 🔹 Gamma

Read more about the Gratitude Economy and $TYSM

Some artists create images. Others open doors. Encountering Treeskulltown’s work feels less like viewing art and more like stumbling into a hidden chamber of the psyche — a place where raw emotion, buried memory, and symbolic intensity rise to the surface without apology.

From the first moment I engaged with the Sub-Manifesto, it was clear that this practice isn’t driven by aesthetics alone, but by necessity. There is a depth here that resists polish and rejects façades, favoring truth over comfort and instinct over performance. Each work feels excavated rather than produced, as if unearthed from a subconscious terrain that insists on being seen, whether we are ready for it or not.

What makes Treeskulltown’s voice so compelling is not just the courage to descend into these inner layers, but the generosity in sharing them. The art holds space for darkness and contradiction while remaining profoundly human, never closed off or self-contained. Instead, it invites viewers to recognize fragments of their own inner landscapes reflected back at them — sometimes uncomfortably, often beautifully.

In this conversation, we explore the origins of Sub-Realism, the philosophy of reclaiming the “sub” as a site of power, the ritual of creative surrender, and the delicate balance between the deeply personal and the collective. We also touch on Web3 as a natural habitat for underground expression, and on gratitude not as currency, but as connective tissue — something that sustains both art and community.

This interview is an invitation to slow down, to listen beneath the surface, and to step into a creative world where depth is not optional — it is the foundation.

TGJ: The Sub-Real seems to come from the depths of your being, from a raw and subconscious space. When did you realize that your art was not merely a personal creation, but an emergence from the depths, a kind of creative rebirth stemming from the subconscious? Was there a moment when you thought, "Oh... this is bigger than me"?

TST: To be perfectly honest, this awareness is not a permanent state; it is, rather, a daily commitment. There are moments of doubt, periods of resistance where the ego tries to regain control. It is in these moments that I force myself to return to a kind of inner mantra: 'You do not have the right to give up. You must manifest this; it is imperative.'

The realization that the work is 'bigger than me' lies less in a single moment of epiphany than in the very nature of my creative process. When I digitally assemble and digest subjects, when I search for the canvas or the color, it is the act of digging, of finding solutions in the face of technical limitations, that becomes a real-time construction of the subconscious. Art is no longer mere production, but a visceral necessity, an imperative of the soul that must be fulfilled, regardless of the means. The heart guides the studio.

TGJ: Your Sub-Manifesto overturns the notion of "sub," transforming what is generally considered minor into something profound, powerful, and essential. What personal experiences or encounters led you toward this philosophy? Was there a moment in your life or creative journey when the underground, the hidden, or the neglected suddenly appeared to you as the most authentic place to create?

TST: If we were to give authenticity another name, it would be radical freedom. This is the guiding principle of my existence, a path that taught me that not pretending is the only way to create.

The true philosophical shift towards the 'sub'—not as minor, but as an essential foundation—happened twenty years ago, following a major accident. I fell from a castle rampart, breaking my spine and wrist. I experienced the thin line between life and death, followed by a year of immobility. I hit rock bottom, and it was in this physical and mental rupture that the notion of surface, of façade, became obsolete.

This event forced me to rebuild from the core, to develop new ambidexterity, and to seek life in the detail. For a decade, I explored the digital underground (electronic music, VJing, conceptual photography), creating avatars that offered me total freedom of being. I even achieved a degree of success, but media exposure frightened me; the brilliance of the surface threatened the integrity of the depth.

I naturally returned to the underground, but this time, with the certainty that this work transcends me. The true catalyst for this renaissance was my son, who 're-taught' me the raw freedom of drawing. It was this rediscovery, in March 2021, that gave birth to Treeskulltown, an avatar in total alignment with my values. Today, with over 1,300 pieces created continuously, the pace of one work per day is not a challenge, it is the necessary balance for what is hidden to continue expressing itself.

TGJ: Your work draws upon the logic of dreams, buried memories, raw impulses, and symbolic forms, yet it touches people on a deeply human level. How do you manage to balance this inner, subconscious world with the outer, collective world? Do you sometimes feel like you are translating messages from elsewhere, or does the process feel more like an archaeological excavation?

TST: The balance between subconscious interiority and collective resonance is the cornerstone of my approach. This comes through an exacerbated sensitivity that I have developed and fully embrace, particularly following my personal journey.

I have no pretense of translating messages or being a bearer of transcendent truth. The process is far more instinctive and visceral. It is a reception, a reading of frequencies: I perceive moments, situations, or artworks that overwhelm me with emotion or, conversely, definitively repel me. When a work of art 'speaks' to me, I should say that I feel it to the point of being completely submerged. I have cried in front of master paintings, so powerful was the raw emotion. These emotions do not frighten me; they are my raw material. They create a creative tension: I must externalize them. I always have a notebook with me, because the idea or the drawing must come out; I only find peace when that impulse is materialized.

To answer your question, the process clearly resembles an archaeological excavation. I believe that this creative instinct is a constant, inscribed in us since the dawn of time, since the first cave painting. Sub-Realism, in this sense, is an introspection that seeks to rediscover and manifest this primary, raw, and parietal creative act. It is this universal echo, stemming from our shared depths, that allows the most intimate work to touch the collective. This is the greatest honor.

"I always begin with surrender. It’s a form of ritual between the support, the material, and myself. The work only takes shape when I allow myself to be carried by the sensation or emotion that initially overwhelmed me.

But, and this is fundamental, once the work is drawn out of my mind, it belongs to the spectator. My notes of intent or the accompanying texts are philosophical conversations to encourage introspection, by no means established facts. It is in the spectator's gaze and interpretation that Sub-Realism is completed, as they project their own subconscious onto the work, thereby making it introspective in more ways than one."

TGJ: Sub-Realism embraces complexity, darkness, contradictions, and unexpected beauty. When you start a new work, where do you usually begin within this whole? With a sensation? A fragment of an image? A dream? Or does the work only take shape when you surrender to what the subconscious is trying to bring forth?

TST: I always begin with surrender. It’s a form of ritual between the support, the material, and myself. The work only takes shape when I allow myself to be carried by the sensation or emotion that initially overwhelmed me. This is a phase of raw reception, where the subconscious dictates its tempo.

Then comes the work of re-reading and rationalization:

* Technical Execution: I rationalize the emotion by giving it a visual and structural form.

* Conceptualization: In parallel, I conceptualize the context, the possible interpretation, and the philosophical subtext.

* Titling/Palimpsest: The title acts as a palimpsest imprint on the work—an underlying layer that one must scratch away to perceive the hidden meaning beneath. This is the anchor of the concept.

My approach to Sub-Realism is a form of visual synesthesia: I see and feel the idea before it has a clear figurative representation. I do not sit in judgment over Art History or the artists I reinterpret; I respect and feel every brushstroke of my predecessors.

But, and this is fundamental, once the work is drawn out of my mind, it belongs to the spectator. My notes of intent or the accompanying texts are philosophical conversations to encourage introspection, by no means established facts. It is in the spectator's gaze and interpretation that Sub-Realism is completed, as they project their own subconscious onto the work, thereby making it introspective in more ways than one. This is where the greatest gratification lies.

TGJ: You create within Web3, a space brimming with underground energy, counter-cultural spirit, and artists who, like you, work on the fringes of society. How has the diffusion of your works on the blockchain influenced your evolution? And as someone who embraces the Sub-Real, how does the Economy of Gratitude—this flow of recognition, appreciation, and creative inspiration—articulate with your philosophy? Do these small bursts of recognition make you feel like an engine, a source of disruption, or something entirely different?

TST: When I discovered the Blockchain, my first thought was: 'Finally!' After ten years of experimentation in the digital underground—from web galleries to experimental films blending electro-acoustic music and visual arts—this space was the freedom I had been waiting for.

Diffusion on the blockchain has not just influenced my evolution; it has been the logical materialization of the Sub-Real. It has enabled the building of unprecedented bridges and offered an infinite field of possibilities, all while retaining the pioneering and counter-cultural spirit that is dear to me. We are still early, and there is so much to build between art and the builders of Web3.

As for the Economy of Gratitude, it is the beating heart of my philosophy. It is the virtuous circle I have always sought: to move forward and grow together. I strive to fuel it daily, by supporting young artists and keeping their works as the privilege of a foundational era.

These 'bursts of recognition' do not make me a mere engine; they give me the feeling of being a privileged witness within a close-knit community. The intensity of Web3—where four years is equivalent to forty years of a traditional career—has allowed me to experience incredible emotions, forge friendships with legends, and exhibit over 40 times worldwide. My dominant feeling, facing this condensed and accomplished artist's life, is one of immense and sincere gratitude.

Connect with Treeskulltown on Farcaster 🔹 X 🔹 Website 🔹 Objkt 🔹 Foundation 🔹 Gamma

Read more about the Gratitude Economy and $TYSM