_
/>observer: organizing data01
Miron
Tee
The Ritual of Glitch: Miron Tee and the Poetics of
Visual Entropy
S.C. Hickman
“the neural data mutant is breathing through the visual grammar of
error // we simulate the flesh interface as terminal poetry”
— Kenji Siratori, Blood
Electric
Miron Tee’s work—as curated in Var(2x)’s The Art of Miron Tee—presents an intensely corporeal and signal-based meditation on language, decay, and the limits of intelligibility. It is not a gallery of traditional artworks but a threshold into a mutating interface, where face, flesh, and form dissolve into machinic residue. His images appear as corrupted dreams: portraits unraveling in static, anatomical distortions overridden by wireframe scars, and characters submerged in digital liquefaction. The experience of viewing Tee’s work is not unlike stumbling upon a cache of sacred but damaged data—ritual documents that no longer align with any known iconography, yet feel charged with occulted urgency.
Rather than offering clarity or aesthetic resolution, Tee’s visual practice stages breakdown as form. The body, for Tee, is neither subject nor object, but a carrier of glitch: a site where visual language stutters, fractures, and reconstitutes itself as scar and blur. His compositions exude a sense of violent metamorphosis—not of becoming, but of being overwritten. Teeth sprout from foreheads; mouths stretch like coded anomalies; what might have once been human seems reprocessed into visual malware. These are not beings, but error states in a collapsing system—figures trapped mid-transformation, suffering the aesthetic consequence of data corruption.
Tee’s larger body of work, visible across experimental poetry platforms like GAMMM and sound-forward exhibitions such as Soundpedro, reveals a consistent commitment to asemic aesthetics. These are visual utterances stripped of semantic closure. The forms are dense with glyphs and gestural noise, often hand-scrawled or digitally mutilated to the point of cryptographic opacity. Here, the act of writing is inverted—not to communicate, but to record the fracture of communication itself. In Tee’s world, language is neither fixed nor divine; it is biological, decaying, and stitched together with failed syntax. This refusal to signify stabilizes a deeper resistance: not against one dominant code, but against the notion that coherence is desirable at all.
In this way, Tee joins a lineage of visual artists and poets who seek out the limits of expression—who render illegibility not as failure but as the very ground of new perception. Asemic writing, when filtered through Tee’s sensibility, becomes monstrous and devotional at once. His works do not whisper meanings; they vibrate with inaudible languages, swarming with fragments of what cannot be put back together. They feel exhumed rather than drawn. Something has gone wrong, or has always been wrong, and Tee’s works hold that dissonance up to the light without apology.
The digital corruption present in Tee’s visuals is not merely stylistic. It operates as ritual and method, a process of interference that enacts symbolic erosion. What remains are traces: hybrid scripts, degraded figures, mirrored anatomies. In each image, the viewer faces a semiotic threshold—a liminal surface where text dissolves into texture, and figure becomes fever. At times, the work feels liturgical, as if drawn from a lost techno-religion where bodies are recoded through glitch rather than grace. The pieces bear witness not to transcendence, but to a persistent collapse—one that is oddly reverent in its articulation of disorder.
There is something deeply spatial about Tee’s compositions, though they are often flattened or compressed. They suggest architectures of dysfunction—ruined temples of transmission, or interior psychic landscapes scoured by feedback. In this light, his figures resemble guardians or relics of broken systems: saints of static, martyrs of the failed interface. They do not look back at us; they bleed forward into us. This affective transgression—where the artwork exceeds its boundary and infects the viewer—is central to Tee’s practice. He does not create images to be consumed, but encounters to be endured.
Tee’s affinity for residue over representation also situates him within a broader ecology of experimental artists working at the intersection of media collapse, degraded semiotics, and speculative embodiment. Yet unlike many glitch or net artists who foreground their technical process, Tee’s method remains embedded within a poetic and private code. His distortions feel less like technical maneuvers and more like invocations—acts of visual necromancy where ruined images become hosts for invisible energies. This magical residue gives his work a mythic charge, as if each image were a failed miracle still humming with the ghost of its intention.
The notion of portraiture in Tee’s work is particularly fascinating. He returns again and again to the suggestion of the face, but it is never stable. Instead, it is stretched, scrambled, or split. Facial features blur into patterns of interference; eyes become pixels of static; mouths fragment into glyphs. If these are portraits, they are portraits of dissolution—of the self abandoned by symbolic structure. Tee’s visual mutations ask: what remains of identity when the codes that sustain it are ruptured? What does the face become when stripped of recognition?
This leads us to the emotional core of Tee’s work, which is often overlooked in discussions of the avant-garde. For all their formal experimentation, his images are not cold or aloof. They burn. They mourn. There is a pathos of distortion at play—a tenderness for that which is failing. These are not just corrupted bodies; they are wounded icons. Each image contains a moment of grief, suspended in the process of undoing. In this sense, Tee’s work is as emotional as it is experimental, as haunted as it is abstract.
What unifies Tee’s work is not medium but sensibility. Whether in animated works, zine contributions, or visual poems, Tee cultivates a visual atmosphere of entropy. His images are artifacts of transmission: haunted files rather than created objects, fragments rather than wholes. In this sense, his work might be considered a kind of post-human portraiture—depictions of entities no longer legible as selves, but still bearing the tremor of identity lost. This is not horror in the traditional sense, but something quieter, more intimate: a poetics of glitchborne vulnerability.
Miron Tee does not ask to be understood. His work offers no entry point for allegory or metaphor. Instead, it is encountered as sensory interruption, a poetics of noise and ritual scarring. The viewer is left not with meaning, but with a texture—a residue of visual excess that continues to echo in the nervous system long after viewing. This is art as interface failure, as feedback rite, as signal decaying in real time. In the void of interpretation, Tee’s images pulse with strange vitality—alive with what cannot be said, only endured.
Ultimately, Tee’s work resists categorical placement. It does not aim to innovate within a genre, nor to illustrate a theoretical claim. Instead, it performs a reversal of seeing—a pulling away from clarity into the fertile murk of failure. His practice suggests that the most truthful images are those that refuse coherence, that allow the image to die and be reborn as scar. In this lies the radical promise of Tee’s vision: that the breakdown of form is not the end of art, but its beginning.
Initially published in The Dark Forest: Literature,
Philosophy, and Digital Arts, August 5, 2025
