All of this stopped being interesting to me once it began claiming to be perfect. But what if we ruined it, muddled it? That perfect voice has nothing to say.

If we live in an era where artificial intelligence can create images so perfect that they can almost be mistaken for reality, the question arises: what about all the things that are "imperfect"? What about distortions, ugliness, mistakes, which were once considered the foundation of artistic expression, but are now becoming relics of the past, sucked into the "museum of obsolescence" of modern aesthetics focused on solving problems? And my answer is subversive: they are returning. And I call it anti-aesthetics – a forgotten category that is now getting a second life, returning to the forefront as a riposte against digital perfection. If everything around us can be perfect, maybe it's worth remembering that aesthetics is not just about admiring beautiful things. Sometimes, it's also an escape from them. An escape from smoothness, from that perfect surface that has nothing to say.

In times when algorithms generate images almost on demand – images that are becoming more and more "perfect", "beautiful", free of flaws, and therefore impersonal – I begin to wonder if it’s not time for a different kind of aesthetics. That perfect symmetry, photorealism, harmony that even the best graphic designer cannot achieve, begins to annoy me. Today, when artificial intelligence creates yet another "perfect" image for us, I ask: what does that really mean? What significance does it have? And why do these images no longer move me?

In the end, in this whole digital wonder of perfection, there is nothing of truth. It’s just another iteration of the algorithm. Image after image, which sticks in your memory for a moment, then fades, leaving nothing but a feeling of emptiness. I’m beginning to see that aesthetics based on creating images without any distortion makes less and less sense to me. Why create something that only fits into established norms? Something that doesn’t shake you, that doesn’t make you think, something that doesn’t lead to change? In a world full of perfection, I begin to long for something that contains chaos, something that breaks out of routine and forces you to reflect on what art really means in an era where algorithms can create flawless images.

I’ve started missing something more, something that can still surprise, something that is not only beautiful but true. I want to design things that aren’t just beautiful – things that don’t skim the surface, that don’t stick to safe rules, that don’t want to be perfect. And so, I’m increasingly interested in "anti-aesthetics" – a concept that, by definition, is meant to be "ugly." But it’s not about deliberately making ugly things, rather it’s about provoking a reaction. It’s art that, by definition, pulls you out of your comfort zone, forces you to feel, rather than just admire. Art that isn’t afraid of ugliness, because only in that ugliness can the truth about us, about our condition as creators, receivers, and humans, lie.

What draws me today is precisely this need to break away from perfection, from smoothness, from designing things that must be "correct," "pleasant," and "clean." As the world around us becomes more and more uniform, it invites us to art that doesn’t want to meet any expectations. Maybe this is the space for ugliness, where one can be liberated? Maybe this is an opportunity to create something that won’t be another calculation, but a space for asking questions, for creating tension, for reflection. Art that not only looks beautiful but, above all, evokes unease in us. After all, what kind of art is it that doesn’t make you think? What kind of aesthetics is it that doesn’t stir any controversy?

And perhaps that’s why I’m starting to feel this fascination with anti-aesthetics. I want to create something that changes, something that shatters those perfect images that will soon dominate the world. Because if everything around us is perfect, isn’t that a sign of something that isn’t truly real? Something that remains in the shadows, in this space of "ugliness" that no one wants to notice? Instead of just creating beautiful images, I’d like to create something that can be felt. Something that makes you think. And maybe this "ugliness," this tearing apart of form, will be what discovers the meaning of aesthetics anew in the future.

Creativity that isn’t afraid of chaos is a chance to extract truth from what is imperfect. It’s time to push perfection aside and give space to what can truly move us. Maybe it is in this ugliness – our human ugliness – that lies the answer to the perfect image, which has long lost its strength and authenticity.