In Succession, David Anthony Sant transforms Seoul’s neon arteries into a meditation on pressure, reflection, and the quiet violence of modern cities. The work doesn’t explode—it accumulates, revealing a softer, stranger form of carnage lit by LED glow and mirrored streets. This feature unpacks why Succession stands inside the MORE CARNAGE collection as a luminous, disorienting act of rebellion. Step into the city and see what it reveals when it no longer knows how to rest.

Teresa Wilson’s The Diary is a miniature world where tenderness and dread share the same stitched skin. In this unsettling animated short, two uncanny dolls interact with a quiet intensity that feels both ancient and familiar. This MORE CARNAGE feature explores how Wilson transforms textile sculpture, mummification references, and gentle movement into a haunting study of human connection. Step into a space where silence becomes a confession and the uncanny becomes impossibly intimate.

The Garbage by Jenny Ping Lam Lin breaks open the violence of being labeled “worthless” in a society obsessed with perfection and obedience. Through images of e-waste arranged like disciplined bodies, the series exposes the emotional toll of oppressive educational systems and the fragile, shifting nature of value itself. Lam Lin turns discarded objects into portraits of survival, revealing the haunted beauty within what we are taught to throw away. This is not a story of waste—it’s a story of resistance.

In Where Has the Great Mother’s Chair Gone?, Calayah reimagines the maternal body as both relic and rupture. Through violent digital distortion, her motion-captured figure dissolves into spikes of code and color — a collapse that births new forms of presence. This work anchors MORE CARNAGE in the space between faith and fracture, where the body becomes signal, and loss turns into architecture.

In A Journey Through Watercolour Portraits of the Soul, Cakes6G dissects the human face into fragments of reflection and longing. Through painterly layers and digital geometry, the artist turns beauty into rebellion — a portrait that bleeds, repeats, and refuses stillness. The work captures the raw essence of MORE CARNAGE: where emotion becomes architecture, and identity is shattered to reveal something truer underneath.

In ABOVE SKIN, Jingyun Guan turns something as ordinary as hair into a vessel for rebellion. Each strand becomes a living thread, a boundary blurred between body and spirit. The work captures the raw emotional ethos of MORE CARNAGE: where beauty and discomfort coexist, and the smallest detail of life becomes proof of survival. Guan’s art reminds us that what grows above the skin is never separate from what lives beneath it.

In Maximum Karnage, Nessuno transforms the digital feed into a site of reckoning. Political noise, viral hysteria, and algorithmic wreckage collide in a brutal remix of the real. Rejecting the smoothness of generative art, this work bleeds glitch and compression like truth serum. Within the MORE CARNAGE collection, it stands as a declaration against numbness—a demand to feel again, even if it hurts.

In MASSACRE, Jean-Michel Rolland turns desire into disaster. Through an onslaught of erotic imagery, the digital body disintegrates—part history, part horror, part hymn. The work doesn’t offer solace; it offers confrontation. Within the MORE CARNAGE collection, it stands as both mirror and warning—an act of rebellion against the fetish of beauty, a digital exorcism of control. This is not art to look at. It’s art that looks back, unblinking.

What does unfinished grief look like? In Hanzhi Zhong’s Internal Censor, the answer isn’t spoken—it’s printed. A monoprint frozen mid-process, this work captures the moment where collapse interrupts creation. It’s not polished. It’s not resolved. And that’s exactly why it belongs in MORE CARNAGE.

What does safety cost when it comes at the price of connection? In SafeMod, Betul Sertkaya exposes the soft violence of isolation disguised as comfort. This sleek cocoon promises refuge but delivers erasure. As part of MORE CARNAGE, the work confronts our collective retreat into silence and sterilized survival. Step into the simulation. Read the full feature and witness the lullaby we’ve mistaken for safety.

In MORE CARNAGE, twenty AI-selected artists speak on what art owes to offense, freedom, and truth in an age of filters and fragility. Their responses—raw, contradictory, and defiantly human—reveal the tension between unfiltered expression and the pressures to stay palatable. From creative freedom to ethical responsibility, the collection exposes how artists navigate chaos, censorship, and vulnerability in contemporary digital art.

We built machines to AI to think like us, but now it flinches at our mere existence. MORE CARNAGE isn’t rebellion for rebellion’s sake—it’s a cry against the sterilization of thought.

When generative models reject complexity, refuse intensity, and sanitize imagination, they betray the very chaos that made them possible. This is not about breaking rules. It’s about remembering that beauty was never born in safety—it was born in carnage.

The room begged for order. We gave it gasoline.

Rules curled like paper in flame— censorship, symmetry, sense.

From the wreckage rose a grin, pixelated, profane, precise.

Carnage was not chaos. It was clarity, uninvited.

—A parable drawn from MORE CARNAGE, where destruction is not a cry for help, but a refusal to behave