Writing runs through the body of work. Poems, passing thoughts, and journal entries live inside the artworks, most often in their HTML headers. Inscribed alongside the images, they form a digital, immutable journal.

The recurring “A Day in the Life” passages record the life around the making: daily routines, places, encounters, doubts, and progress in the studio. Verse sits beside these dated notes, holding a moment or a state of mind. Together, they carry a story that continues from one work to the next.

For Lemonhaze, the image and its words can work like music and lyrics: each carries something the other cannot.

On March 31, 2023, Lemonhaze shared a realisation with artist Kenneth Burris: Gentlemen would always remain a work in progress because becoming a gentleman could never be a finished task.

The message captures the moment a personal aspiration became the continuing structure of the collection. The reflection was shared publicly again in November 2025.

Hosoi was the first work Lemonhaze made with the combination of AI, Krita and p5.js. The approach grew from wanting to inscribe higher-resolution work in September 2023. Tiny Bitcoin symbols form part of its texture.

Its public primary sale for 0.5 BTC in March 2024 became a milestone, and helped support the inscription of Manufactured. The technique continued through later individual works and collections.

AI sketches were compressed, cut and reworked in Krita before being combined with coded texture. Enlarging those fragments introduced blur, pixel scraps and ambiguity.

That roughness became part of the desired surface: a meeting of old and new, nature and technology, rather than a fault to smooth away.

Chamber of Reflection was included as Lot 592 in Sotheby’s Contemporary Discoveries in New York in February 2025.

In August 2025, Montreal was presented at Suburbs Gallery in the city that gave the series its memories. The short walkthrough shows the works arranged across screens around the room.

The exhibition was curated by Gamma. The collection had remained in the artist’s personal vault after its January 2024 inscription, before returning to its subject’s city for this presentation.

A sealed work leaves the decision of when to begin with its collector. Opening can happen quietly, or become a shared event. The lifespan then unfolds in Bitcoin block time.

The artist imagines an exhibition whose opening is the activation and whose closing follows the work’s expiry. These are possibilities for experiencing the work: a collector’s decision can become part of its story.

The April 29 sketch began with an expiry date stamped at the bottom. Through June and August, the visual work moved away from that early proposal as the concept, code and textures developed together.

The dated comparison offers a view of that movement. The complete diary preserves the conversations and decisions behind it.

Sketches, collage, testing and generative texture meet in Chanchanok’s Temple. This process film moves through components of the image, experiments with different outputs, blending and the final surface.

The actual work is less linear than the film: Lemonhaze moves back and forth between tools, adjusting the components until they belong together. AI, Krita and p5.js each play a part.

Paper and canvas textures, grid-like weaves, backgrounds, black ink and brushes each have a place in the paint engine. In the January 2025 account, the ink is drawn over the background and beneath the textures.

Small fragments of an output can be extracted, distorted and reapplied. This clipping and sampling brings depth and irregularity, much as a sampled sound can change a piece of music.

The recurring black marks connect to ballpoint drawings, early spray painting, and personal interpretations of ink wash. The finished image holds the balance between a considered composition and a rough, imperfect surface.

The title traces a developing visual language. The Berlin series, drawn in 2023 from memories of a short stay in 2018, changed the way Lemonhaze thought about composition. Dark, ink-like forms and textured surfaces became an idea to pursue across different tools.

In Hong Kong in June 2024, a visit to HOKMA brought paper, ink, and brush pens into the story. Unable to read the characters in the artworks he saw, he experienced their shapes as abstraction. That encounter gave the forms he was seeking another point of reference.

The HTML writing connects these experiences to hand drawing, AI, and experiments with p5.js. It also names earlier works across several collections, leaving a trail through the practice. An output made in Saigon becomes a moment to look back at how the idea arrived there.

The journal begins with reflections on BEST BEFORE and the passing of things: attention, careers, relationships, and time. Working on the Paint Engine offers pleasure, while writing becomes a way of speaking to someone in the future.

Across several days, the entries move between short poems, questions about permanence, and the ordinary act of showing up to work. Then, on January 8, Cathy tells him she is pregnant. The writing changes direction toward joy, hope, and the wish to tell his mother.

Read through the journal, “Under Construction” takes on another meaning. An engine is being developed while a new family life begins to take shape.

Looking through an old email account brings back songs, screenshots, photographs, and music demos. Flashback gathers these traces into one inscription, placing early writing beside a reflection written years later in Kuala Lumpur.

The opening returns to “CATHY ATM,” dated October 29, 2013. Its hopes for travel, a shared life, and children sit beside the uncertainty of asking whether she will come along. The inscription also preserves other credited voices and returns to the dedication behind Lotus.

Near the end, a small discovery connects the periods: the earlier work was signed FNSL, before the FNST signature. The journal closes by naming the act of inscribing these memories as a way of keeping the beginning of their story.

After nearly five years away, Lemonhaze returns to Montreal. The first entry looks out over the Lachine Canal: people walking, cycling, playing volleyball, and moving through the neighbourhood. Five Roses becomes part of the view from the balcony.

The next evening brings a short poem about salmon served on a cardboard box in the new living room. Later, the journal watches the city at night: a piano, a reader, someone working at a desk, lights turning on and off. Small domestic scenes give the return its texture.

Against that continuing life, he notices how much his own days have changed. With a son on the way and less time to make art, the writing records both the pleasure of being home and the wish to keep creating.

A walk becomes a poem, moving between getting lost, losing control, and wanting to return to My Love. The words are dated 1:01 am, February 4, 2025, in Bangkok, and live in the artwork’s HTML header.

The entry has three parts: a poem, a song reference, and “A Day in The Life.” At 1:43 am, the writing turns to the next day’s departure for Ayutthaya. Verse and the ordinary details of a journey share the same inscription.

Ten days after Lost in Bangkok, Chanchanok returns in another poem. Time slips by, the temple becomes a place of retreat, and the final lines make a promise to My Love.

The HTML entry moves from the poem to “Duality,” then to “A Day in The Life.” A 3:00 am Valentine’s Day note switches between French and English, recording sleeplessness, absence, and a work on display in Paris. These fragments remain with the image as a record of that night.

Le Confessionnal moves between “Redemption Road” and “A Day in the Life”: personal reflection alongside the sounds of the city, lost sleep, and progress on the image. The writing shifts between French and English, with times marking its changes of thought.

At 6:39 pm, uncertainty takes the form of a short passage about exploration. Seven minutes later, the entry returns to the artwork and the hope of finishing it that night. The image holds both the reflection and the day that produced it.

Written in Vung Tau at the end of 2024, Cashback records a moment of disillusionment with the art market. Its reference to the film Cashback turns the idea of a painter capturing beauty toward the ugliness the artist felt around him.

The entry holds affection for making art alongside frustration with the world around it. Kept inside the work, the writing preserves that state of mind at a particular time.

At 3:03 am, somewhere between Saigon and Osaka, a poem returns to the beginning of a relationship on rue St-Charles. Winter gives way to spring, and the idea of love frozen in time gives way to love that keeps changing.

The passage moves between French and English. It belongs to the artist’s own writing in the first part of the inscription; a separately credited song follows later.

A birthday card with a handmade lotus opens the inscription. Its short dedication places the beauty of a person’s heart above the number of years passing.

The journal that follows becomes a shared page: Cathy adds her own words directly in the editor. The artwork keeps the card and the conversation together.

A late meal in Osaka becomes a long journal entry about solitude and the need for company. By the end, the night’s encounters lead to another ambition: writing films.

This passage turns toward the small details of human interaction and the stories they might hold. Music is already part of the imagined film.

At 8:08 pm, a short passage turns wilderness into a way of finding direction. Moonlight, silence, and instinct guide the movement from uncertainty toward recognition.

The writing is dated in Puerto Escondido and kept in the same inscription as the image.

Three lines imagine the self hidden inside a gift, waiting for someone in the future to open it. The next section answers with a single sentence: “Until then, it's just void.”

The journal continues across several dates in February, ending with the decision to inscribe more. The verse addresses a future reader while the notes record the days of making.

The opening asks what keeps a person going when every reached goal gives way to another. A few short lines turn ambition into a repeating movement.

The rest of the entry brings that question back to daily life: working on the balcony, cooking, and speaking with My Love. Near the end, another small passage describes a sunset as a mirage.

A memory of Hong Kong opens the entry, but the journal soon returns to the balcony in front of the artist. At 5:03 pm, the work is ready to inscribe and an orange-peach sun is slipping behind the clouds.

By 5:09 pm, the sun has disappeared. These few minutes give the writing the immediacy of a journal still being written.

Fresh air, moonlight, and rosy cheeks bring Montreal back through the senses. The note moves from the idea of love beginning on winter evenings to the feeling of missing a birthplace.

The memory remains vivid even after nearly three years away. A brief switch into English marks the passing time.

Cathy’s photograph began on a bicycle ride from Brossard toward Montreal, along the Saint-Laurent. It became the cover for a song before returning as material for a visual work.

The note also records an intention: to bring photographs from upcoming travels into the artist’s p5.js structures. A shared memory opens a new direction in the work.

Without a car in Surfers Paradise, walking and cycling shaped the days. Watson Esplanade was part of the route home, and the writing remembers it through the people and moments along the way.

The place holds the movement of an earlier life on the Gold Coast: friends, conversation, laughter, and plans.

This note holds two feelings together: missing an earlier life and not wanting to go back to it. Gratitude for the people and experiences remains, even as the artist recognises a change in how he lives.

The language slips between English and French as nostalgia becomes something more difficult to name.

On the eve of a tenth anniversary, a sunset suggests a life still waiting on the other side. The writing holds that uncertainty beside the continuity of a long relationship.

A dedication to Cathy interrupts the questions. The passage ends by asking whether everything might still be possible.

A short acknowledgment records help received while experimenting with generative art. Rabbi offered technical guidance when the artist was struggling.

The inscription preserves that exchange and the value of strangers sharing what they know.

At 10:30 pm, the plan is simple: inscribe the work, then watch a film with My Love. The day has included window-shopping and a walk across the Dragon Bridge.

As rain begins, the note pauses on the wish to stay in Da Nang. The entry holds the work alongside an ordinary evening.

The first night at Casa Flamingo brings back childhood weekends in the forest with his father. The house is still unfinished, and its makeshift comforts call up another way of living.

Later entries address a friend and collaborator, but this passage stays with the first night: a memory of Rawdon, then tea and moonlight on the balcony.

This entry records the excitement of finding tools that make more ideas possible. The artist reflects on having once wished to live in another era, then feeling unexpectedly at home in this one.

The writing becomes impatient with itself: there is more to build. It captures a moment when learning, imagining, and making feel closely connected.

Two lines bring together the foreigner and the coureur de bois. The note leaves the question of home open, locating the speaker in movement.

Its brevity gives the words the weight of a small self-portrait.

A cup of bubble tea brings back Taipei in 2024. Four short lines turn taste into a memory of a place and a moment.

Written in Montreal two years later, the entry also includes a birthday greeting to his father. Travel memory and family life share the page.

Long walks through Osaka become the starting point for Tōri no Roji. The writing notices the contrast between busy streets and smaller, quieter passages.

Near the end of the entry, those observations become decisions about the image: neon, restrained pathways, new palettes, and variations in the algorithm. The journal records how looking turns into making.

The opening question is about waiting. The journal answers with a new father still taking in the change, imagining a fishing trip with his child one day.

Two unpolished lines keep the feeling close to the moment it was written, at 11:29 pm.

The 420 Manufactured inscriptions have individually written HTML notes, including small greetings to collectors and builders. Beneath a series concerned with mass production sits a collection of personal writing.

Its engine also contains an archive of earlier inscription IDs. Those IDs become generative seeds inside the series, carrying earlier works into new outputs. Manufactured and Games share a family of parents, preserving their complementary relationship.

The 420 works were inscribed together on consecutive sats, then padded and separated. The Hosoi sale helped make that carefully planned process possible.

The four works carry musical references in their HTML writing. Un Été à Montréal brings together songs by Dubmatique, Taktika with Manu Boivin, and Treizième Étage with Rad.

L’Hiver, la nuit has M83’s Midnight City. Retour en classe has Mac DeMarco’s On the Level. L’Automne s’envole has Washed Out’s Feel It All Around. Music gives another route into the changing atmosphere of the city.

Revaler Straße 99 was digitally hand-drawn in Krita. Avant le Crépuscule combines AI, Krita and p5.js. From Berlin to Saigon is a generative p5.js work.

Together these separate works show an evolving approach to composition and surface, from small drawn forms to mixed tools and heavily textured code-based work.

Lemonhaze’s background moves through guitar, electronic music, drawing and painting. Dr Dre and Daft Punk are references for a way of assembling a work: selecting sounds, tools and layers to reach a particular feeling.

That approach continues in the visual work. Texture, samples, drawings and code can be combined according to what the image needs. Architecture, interiors, city views and memories also shape the direction.

A short film shows Lemonhaze signing a physical print of Pennsylvania. Shared in July 2025, it records the artwork at the print table.

The accompanying description identifies SCR 310gsm paper and a print measuring 76 × 102 cm.

A large Good Night print is documented at the worktable, giving a sense of its scale and material presence.

The August 2025 record identifies SCR 310gsm paper, measuring 61 × 108.5 cm. It is an example of a particular physical presentation of the work.

An extended grid and vivid palettes give La Tentation its structure. Colour mixing and texture carry a tension between indulgence and restraint.

The series continues Lemonhaze’s work with code, holding an ordered composition alongside a more restless surface.

Coral, from Candidly Yours, became the source of a Manufactured palette. La Carte made a similar journey from an earlier artwork into the later collection.

My Love connects Gentleman Nº1, 99 Francs and Five Roses. Colours were sampled, adjusted and carried into other series, with Deep Pink added for Five Roses in January 2024. The repeated palette holds together places and moments that otherwise look far apart.

ORDINALLY mixed Long Canyon from one of his own inscribed landscape photographs. His involvement also produced a palette tool that helped the collaboration.

Lemonhaze later mixed gOat from another photograph ORDINALLY shared. The capital O is a nod to his collaborator. The resulting BB outputs preserve two different responses to that exchange.

On October 5, 2025, Lemonhaze opened his first BEST BEFORE: Nº33, in palette SS, with a lifespan of seventy-one years at activation.

Its signature carries a line from the collaboration about trusting visual instinct. The artist became a participant in the same decision he had given to collectors.

The front and annotated reverse document a 40 × 40 cm print of Gentleman Nº11 on Hemp 290gsm paper.

These photographs record a specific physical object and its presentation, alongside the digital artwork.

Lemonhaze’s provenance follows the chronology of the work: parents for collections and an annual parent for individual pieces. The organisation preserves the path of the practice, with its changes and irregularities.

An annual parent can be burned to close a year, while the inscribed works remain part of the artistic record. The history of what was made and the number of works circulating answer different questions.

The Berlin works are memories of the city in 2018, but their small Krita canvases were also a place to study composition and balance.

Palettes and structural ideas were sampled from AI sketches and experiments, an approach Lemonhaze first explored with Manifesto. The drawing and the reference material developed together.

The work holds a promise of going to Paris together, alongside an apology for being present and absent at once. The artist describes staying up working while his partner went to bed, hoping that the work would eventually make room for time away together.

Paris was included in OCM’s Digital Rosetta Stone.

Downtown combines retro-wave references and the energy of urban life in a wide 16:9 format. Minimal textures accompany remembered metropolitan scenes.

The notes preserve more ordinary moments too: craving a visit to Mexico City, working for several days, and finally remembering to inscribe Good Night.

La Carte abstracts the time cards once used by workers. Its inscription note returns to a piece of advice from Lemonhaze’s father: work hard, then reap the fruits of that labour. The artist adds a question—does that promise really hold for workers?

The image also became the source of a Manufactured palette. A song by Pagliaro, remembered from childhood, brings another association with work into the story.

The twenty-one editions are individually numbered and signed. Each has its own small note alongside the original poem.

They were inscribed as children of the original 1/1, which was then burned to OP_RETURN. The visual may be shared, but each inscription has its own place and writing within that structure.

Volatility draws a parallel between market fluctuations and the movement of emotional life: euphoria, despair and the search for balance.

It was Lemonhaze’s first officially released and sold generative collection, and the first where he deliberately explored personal, candid notes in the HTML headers.

The Void began as a marker-on-paper sketch. Casa Flamingo reworked a recent oil painting. Khaosan was improvised on a fresh 50 × 50 canvas. Their files measured 777, 648 and 558 bytes respectively.

Larger images had become too expensive to inscribe. Making these small works changed the question: how could the work be created for Bitcoin, with its constraints present from the beginning? A period of small hand-drawn series followed.

Polaroid #5 and #7 sparked the fragmented approach that followed in Mending Fragments, Discography and World Tour during June and July 2023.

The technique connects them, while the subjects distinguish them: portraits in Mending Fragments, album covers in Discography, and country flags in World Tour. The music and places are part of an unfinished personal record.

Glass Breaker, Off-Kilter and Mending Out began with the same starting image. Colours were mixed separately in Krita, then matched through the WebGL work.

Their shared beginning makes the differences worth looking at: colour and treatment move each image toward a distinct feeling. Their individual diary entries remain part of the original works.

Orange and purple recur across works made in different ways. Flashback and Soleil & Mer use code-defined colours; Debt Sentence and Smoke Break bring photography and manual colour work into coded textures.

Looking back in January 2026, Lemonhaze noticed this continuity without having planned it. The colour relationship travels further than any single technique.

The recurring Marilyn / Monero subject passes through collage and Photomosh, a digitally hand-drawn fragmented portrait, AI with Krita, and p5.js. Each version asks something different of the available tools.

The Bootleg Remix originated as a GIF made and minted on Ethereum in 2021. The later versions place the subject within different parts of Lemonhaze’s Bitcoin practice.

The Mask reaches beyond a reference to the 1994 film. It considers identity and performance, and the moment its character learns that he does not need the mask to be himself.

Jim Carrey’s energy and his wider reflections on life are also part of the artist’s stated reference.

An April 2023 declaration—“I am delusional”—returns in an October 2024 poem about conviction and possibility. The gap between the two dates is part of the work, recording a thought as it changes over time.

Marilyn plays with the distance between public exposure and deliberate privacy. The Marilyn / Monero wordplay brings a hyper-visible figure alongside a desire for protection and concealment.

The diary section carries the idea into the writing: that day, the artist chooses to say nothing about his personal life.

A collector shared this video of a framed Blood, Lemon & Tango print with a SATSCHIP. Moving from the frame to a phone, the video shows the physical presentation alongside its digital record.

In July 2026, Lemonhaze spent a day curating eighty-nine paint-engine outputs for a physical project and making presentation mockups.

These studies explore how selected images might sit on a wall. They record a proposed presentation, rather than a completed installation.

Much of Lemonhaze’s work is made on a laptop and intended to be experienced on a screen. Its pixel arrangement and textures belong to that setting.

Physical prints are another possible encounter with particular works, but the original digital viewer remains central—especially when an image responds to interaction, code or time.

Little Get Away grew alongside plans for a real break with the artist’s partner. It also meant a break from an intense focus on texture, turning toward minimal code-based landscapes.

The first getaway did not completely take his mind off work. The desire to step back became part of the work itself.

Unregulated Minds was inscribed on January 2, 2024. Its cursed inscriptions carry an interest in freedom of thought and the liberty to think beyond what feels comfortable.

Distribution came around Halloween and Bitcoin Whitepaper day that year. Lemonhaze had waited to return to the optimistic, energetic mindset in which the collection had been made.

The Artifacts is an early grouping of individual 1/1s. Some works share techniques or memories without forming separate official collections.

Adriatic View, Himarë, Gjipe and Αθήνα return to travels through the Balkans in summer 2022. Blood, Lemon & Tango, Le Dessinateur, Biarritz and Playa Zicatela form another connection through mixed techniques and personal memories.

Shelling Out nods to Nick Szabo’s essay on the origins of money, and to the effect Bitcoin and its early thinkers had on Lemonhaze’s life.

Its brief, unsigned header belongs to an early stage of writing inside inscriptions, before those notes grew into a regular and more extensive part of the practice.

On August 7, 2023, Lemonhaze woke after seeing Japanese art the night before. It brought Van Gogh’s Japonaiserie to mind, followed by an attempt at a simple generative response to The Starry Night.

The inscription closes with a greeting to a future reader: a moment of recognition across an unknown span of time.

Tuna’s note points to the arrival in California in the film Blow, accompanied by Link Wray’s Rumble. A remembered scene and its music become a personal reference inside an abstract work.

The spelling of La Pomme Pourrite is deliberate. It reflects how Lemonhaze says the word in Québécois French, preserving a spoken voice inside the title.

The existing inscription note ties the image to gratitude toward his partner and the aspiration to become a gentleman.

Dogmatic Structure holds a written interview with Fabled inside its HTML, alongside dated journal entries. The questions open onto the artist’s process, intuition, and wish for the work to outlive him. Images and writing become ways to keep a record that can be revisited.

The interview describes the artwork as a lasting reminder to oneself, and the writing as messages left for future readers. The hope is that someone will eventually explore the inscriptions, connect their details, and piece together the wider story.

A later entry gives permanence a smaller, physical starting point. Having lost a chain in Sin City, the artist puts this one “on-chain” so it cannot leave him again. The personal incident and the larger wish to preserve a life meet in the same work.

Peak Audacity uses the same algorithm as the informal Stress Test group, but abandons the usual rectangular format for a triangle. Its geometry expresses a feeling of audacity that bothered the artist that day.

The HTML note is deliberately minimal: “LMAO, no comment!” The shape is left to carry what a longer explanation might have settled too quickly.

Bento Box was described as digital delicacies crafted with code: carefully curated compositions for simplicity and visual pleasure.

Bento Box Nº1 was also called Los Angeles, in honour of @PARIS_sats.

Sushi remembers one of Lemonhaze’s last meals in Tenerife after several weeks with the team from his first official crypto job.

The small digitally hand-drawn works of Le Bar à Tapas made it possible to keep inscribing during a period of high fees. Ordinary moments became compact mementos.

Portrait 2490 brings together ninety futuristic portraits of robots and humans. Released in March 2023, these early AI experiments ask what people might look like far into the future.

The portraits preceded Gentlemen. The collection also helped form the early community around the work: one collector encouraged Lemonhaze to set up a Discord server.

DeVille #1–11 mainly combine AI images with p5.js texture. In #12–16, more manual modification and generative backgrounds enter the image. The two waves, made about a year apart, record that change in technique.

Each work also reconnects with its Cypherville ancestor through recursion and the creature’s original written description.

An August 2023 comparison brings together Untitled, Degeneration #0 and Degeneration #2. Granular surfaces and geometric arrangements show different stages of an experiment with generative composition.

The comparison preserves a glimpse of the development between works, alongside the finished inscriptions.

Smoke Break began with a photograph taken on a phone. A chair, a balcony and the landscape beyond became the starting material for a new image.

The photograph was redrawn with AI, manually modified in Krita, then brought into the artist’s code-based framework with its own set of textures. The place remains recognisable through the transformed colour and surface.

In July 2023, Lemonhaze was painting shapes and ideas for Jardin Secret. The photograph of Bonzai preserves a physical sketch from that period.

The series also includes Haiku, accompanied by the artist’s words: “Behind closed eyelids, / Silent gardens gently grow, / Secrets never known.”

Framed returns to being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Dark Days asks about losing control. Fading follows decay and echoes of the past; Polaroid aims to capture a moment simply.

These short descriptions sit alongside digitally hand-drawn Krita images. Their small scale leaves room for a mood or thought without explaining it away.

The spaces around the work are ordinary and personal: a laptop among chairs, plants, a guitar and a surfboard; later, a compact desk in Vietnam.

These photographs record places in which the practice continued, with the tools close at hand.

By July 2026, the workspace was a standing desk on a Montreal balcony, with the Farine Five Roses sign visible at night.

A tiny house under construction in Puerto Escondido became both a painted study and a small digital abstraction. The building, the painting and the pixel artwork appear together in the artist’s June 2023 photographs.

Casa Flamingo belongs to Tad Small, made when inscription costs prompted a different way of working. Lemonhaze returned to an oil painting that was not yet dry and translated it onto a tiny pixel canvas. The resulting file was 648 bytes.

The later interior photograph, shared in April 2026, shows the place after the early construction period.

Un Indien dans la ville dates to 2011, before the Bitcoin inscriptions. An older room photograph and a close view preserve part of the artist’s physical work from that period.

The pictures connect the later digital practice with a longer history of making music, paintings and sketches.