Earlier this year, OpenSea and Art Blocks kicked off a new artist-in-residence program in Marfa, Texas. The program's inaugural artist, jiwa, spent his residency observing the rhythms of West Texas: its community, its dust, and the tension between minimalism versus maximalism.

The result is DDUST, a generative collection that explores how small things – dust or pixels – can accumulate into something greater. Inspired by the desert landscape and minimalist legacy of Marfa, jiwa layered his personal experiences into a work that merges on-chain animation with real-time Ethereum activity. 

We spoke with him about his time in Marfa, his approach to storytelling through code, and how DDUST reimagines both the medium of digital art and the nature of memory.

Note: This transcript was edited for length and clarity.

OpenSea: DDUST originated during the Art Blocks × OpenSea residency, which is situated in the West Texas desert. What aspects of the local landscape or culture had the strongest influence on your work?

jiwa: Marfa is a really different place. It's a progressive-minded art town in the middle of nowhere Texas. The people that find themselves moving there are a bit different, and they understand that. Marfa has a population of around 2,000, having a variety of backgrounds. It’s a interesting mix of Mexican culture, rancher culture, art culture and weirdo alien stuff. 

The residents really come together and keep the energy flowing, there is often a gallery opening, film screening, band playing, some sort of gathering almost every night of the week. Most who live in Marfa mention how special the community is, and I experienced it for myself. It’s a town of outsiders, transients, and artists. But when they come to Marfa, there's a commonality and a bridge there. 

And being in the desert, the landscape really influences and governs life in a general sense. So between the land and the community, I had something to really start with.

OpenSea: I went to last year’s Art Blocks weekend in Marfa. I absolutely fell in love with it—it was the coolest experience. I can’t wait to go back. When I visited, it was crowded because of the Art Blocks weekend. So it's interesting to hear how the community is outside of the big event.

jiwa: I’d been to Marfa three times before the residency and had that same hectic, three-day experience. So it was nice to go back and feel spacious. We would meet people and be invited to events—we went to a 10-year gallery anniversary and the whole town was there. We met everyone in one night. Afterwards, when visiting different spots around town, we knew the barista, waiter, gallerist, business owners, etc. It's a special experience—a big contrast to living in a city like Berlin.

OpenSea: I’m from a small town in Illinois, so it felt like a homecoming for me—I absolutely loved it. You mentioned some of the events you went to. Was there a specific moment in Marfa that shaped the conceptual development of DDUST?

jiwa: Not really. DDUST is a collage of experiences. I didn’t want a preloaded concept. The goal was to arrive, experience the place, meet people, do the things, and let that shape the project. So I began gathering memories—taking little things, weaving them in, working to create a sense of place.

The concept revealed itself near the end of the residency: small things build to something significant. Each speck of dust adds up to a desert. Each person together becomes a community. All the seemingly small experiences and perspectives I had became an artwork.

OpenSea: How did being embedded in Marfa's artistic community shape your approach to generative art?

jiwa: Marfa is specifically known for minimalism, with Donald Judd having started the Chinati Foundation, really putting Marfa on the map. The funny thing is, I'm much more of a maximalist. So I did go in with the idea of “minimalism inspires maximalism.” I was inspired by Judd’s sculptures and paintings, and visited the galleries showing minimalist work. But I wanted to twist that into something maximalist.

So yeah, minimalism sparked maximalist energy, and I think I got there.

OpenSea: You describe DDUST as “dust as pixels.” Can you elaborate on how this metaphor came to embody the project’s broader themes of minimalism and maximalism?

jiwa: My work often deals with a pixelated aesthetic. A pixel is the smallest atomic unit of digital art. A speck of dust is the smallest unit of a West Texas desert. West Texas isn’t sandy—it’s dusty. Dirt, hard earth, rocks. Dust is what makes up the desert. So the metaphor felt very natural for a digital artist.

OpenSea: Did you land on dust as a metaphor because it’s the smallest unit, or did it emerge more intuitively?

jiwa: It’s a quintessential West Texan experience. I found a quote from 1858 about Texan dust. It’s everywhere. That quote makes a cameo in the project.

You’d be walking down a sunny street in Marfa, and suddenly a huge brown cloud rolls in. You ask a local, “Will it pass soon?” and they say, “Wait five minutes.” That’s Texas—constant weather changes.

If you live there, you’ve experienced dust. Working with pixel-based animation, it just clicked. So dust became the primary force in the work.

OpenSea: Going back to the notion that “minimalism inspires maximalism” is at the core of DDUST. Can you talk about how that paradox is reflected in your work? I found that really interesting.

jiwa: I think taking two contrasting things and juxtaposing them is a powerful way of creating meaning and presenting art in general. Our lives are filled with contrast and irony, and we don’t often think of things in those terms because it’s so fluid. But I couldn’t create a minimalist work—it’s just not what I had inside of me, right?

But I also wanted to respect and see what minimalism could bring out in the work. I wanted to play with that and see where I landed. Minimalism can be really powerful, and if you take those aspects and apply them to something more engaging—especially today when our attention spans are so short—it can really work. Minimalist work doesn’t always hold attention like it did back in the ’50s or ’60s when it was emerging.

I love animated work. I love images that captivate. So to use minimalism as inspiration for something highly maximalist and animated was a specific challenge I thought would be good to take on during the residency.

OpenSea: One element I loved was how ants became a symbol of community. What inspired that imagery?

jiwa: My wife and 2-year-old daughter accompanied me to Marfa. We travel everywhere together—conferences, events. They had already been to Marfa twice before the residency.

I love seeing the world through my daughter’s eyes. She’s close to the ground, and Marfa has massive ant holes spilling ants onto sidewalks. It’s hard not to stop and watch. Spotting them became a fun ritual for us.

Community was already a core theme for me. Ants work for something greater than themselves. They serve the colony. That felt like the right analogy for community—people show up, participate, and support each other. It’s not a “look at me” town. 

The ants completed the work. I had the structure, but it needed the “cherry”. Once I added ants—walking the dynamic forms like trails, dispersing to explore—that was it. It reflected how people find Marfa, often while searching for something. 

OpenSea: You mention “windows that obscure and aestheticize” as metaphors for individual perception shaping collective memory. How did that realization influence your visual or conceptual layering in DDUST?

jiwa: I spent my time trying to observe closely—trying to create a work about a sense of place.

These are actual windows at a bar called Marfa Spirit Co. I noticed how they both obscured the image behind and added to the aesthetic and atmosphere of the space they occupied. This felt reminiscent of how perception of place works. We see from our point of view but not necessarily the full objective reality. Yet our experience and view point contributes to the collective memory and perceived reality of a place.

So I worked to recreate the effect that window presented. In my work, it obscures the desert behind it, but also feeds color into the piece. There’s movement—kind of like clouds slowly drifting across the sky. It creates a sense of continuity. It was the result attempting to incorporate a specific memory into the work, and it ended up having more impact than I originally intended.

OpenSea: And with DDUST, it brings out this real-time dust storm across Ethereum, and it’s controlled by blockchain activity. How did that idea evolve, and were there any technical challenges you encountered while trying to create that?

jiwa: I’m really excited about this. I often talk about the “aspects of a new medium”. Creating art running live in a browser and existing on the blockchain—it really is a new medium. And I’m not the only one thinking that. There’s a community who really feel like new things can and are being done here.

I just happened to have been communicating with an engineer from Art Blocks, Ryley, for a while about a previous project. So before the residency, I messaged him and asked, “Hey, is there any way to pull in on-chain data into the work?” He goes, “I’m so excited you asked—because we’ve been building something, but haven’t told anyone about it yet.” 

I went into the residency thinking about the most conceptually aligned use of this new ability to pull in blockchain data and network the art together. That’s the thing—because you’re creating art on a decentralized network, you can have communication and coordination. That’s really interesting.

So the way it works in DDUST is that there’s a kind of perpetual dust storm that blows through the collection. Each piece, on its own, has dust blowing in a specific direction at a certain speed. But when the storm comes through—passing through each token for a set period—the winds become faster, more erratic, creating an even more dynamic work and composition.

And because the works are networked, the storm can span multiple pieces at once. I, as the artist, can control the size of the storm and how long it stays on each piece. Conceptually pushing a storm across the collection using blockchain data—it felt like the right use of this new medium, and I was really excited to do it.

As a side note, I’m also saving a secret or two in my back pocket. Hint hint. 

Another cool thing: people will be able to update their color palettes on-chain.

OpenSea: Right! That’s with Art Blocks’ PostParams, right? 

jiwa: Yes, and that’s all going to be announced this week. No one really knows about it yet. I’m honored to be the first to debut these new on-chain features that Art Blocks has been building for quite a while now.

OpenSea: And with PostParams, collectors can permanently modify the colors of the piece, right? How do you think that feature enhances their experience, and what possibilities does it unlock?

jiwa: Yes, exactly. The colors all come from photos I took around town. A lot of people in the Art Blocks ecosystem have been to Marfa and have made memories there. So I built a website that lets collectors see the photo and the corresponding work side by side. Whether or not you’ve been to Marfa, maybe you have an association with a photo and want to set your piece to match. Maybe you just like the colors—that’s fine too. Or you can always just let the palette choose you. 

I’m curious to see the distribution of palettes afterward—what people resonated with—and to hear whether it was memory-driven or aesthetic preference.

I still like when the artist maintains authorship—if you give away too much control, something gets lost—but color is so subjective. You might love a color I don’t prefer. Giving people that choice increases the chance that they really connect with the piece they mint.

OpenSea: I also loved the archive—how collectors can see the photo you took and the corresponding artwork. Did you add that because you thought it was an important experience for collectors, especially those who have been to Art Blocks Marfa weekend?

jiwa: Definitely. I thought it was important because otherwise you’re only choosing based on the colors alone. This adds depth to that choice. It creates a new layer of exploration. Maybe there’s an emotional tie to one of the photos. Maybe they remember being in that spot.

For me, it was also a chance to share my experience through the photos. When I look through them, I remember what I was doing at the time. It brings back a lot of memories of how my family and I spent our time during the residency. It was a cool opportunity to share that with everyone.

OpenSea: For the palettes, I know they’re rooted in your personal memories. Would you walk us through a few and tell us what it evokes for you or how it feeds into the project?

jiwa: Sure. It’s hard not to start with the one of my daughter in the cowboy hat at the library.

Again, it’s a small town—there’s not a ton for kids to do in Marfa. The library is an invaluable resource. It has an amazing kids' area—way better than many bigger libraries. The librarians are super patient, don’t stress about kids being loud. They even have snacks and juice boxes on hand. The library really provides a crucial service to the children of Marfa, and I’ll always be grateful. “Blue Library” happens to be one of my favorite palettes that, for me, represents a childlike joy.

Then, there’s this natural photo on the left—I call it “Midnight Moon.” I actually didn’t take it during the residency, but during the last Art Blocks Marfa weekend. I was walking home around midnight and looked up—the moon was directly overhead. Probably the best photo I’ve ever taken of the moon. You’re in the desert, wide open spaces, walking home after connecting with people passionate about this niche thing—generative art—in this niche town.

Right after I took the photo, I ran into collector Tony Herrera on a back alley road. So that photo brings back memories of that experience—being in Marfa, with the artists and collectors, walking that little town, having an amazing time.

OpenSea: It definitely adds to the collection. I thought it was a great call to include them. When someone encounters DDUST with no context, what do you hope their first emotional response is?

jiwa: I hope it’s mesmerizing. Animated works that are full of color—you just want people to stop and say, “Oh wow.” A moment where they just stand and watch the dust and pixels flow across the screen.

I hope it makes them want to see more. There are 32 palettes to choose from, so there’s a lot of variety. And if they’ve been to Marfa, I hope it reminds them of that place and time.

OpenSea: I know you’re just finishing this collection, which is a huge lift—but is there anything on the horizon that you’re able to share?

jiwa: Yes. I’m really excited about what Art Blocks' PostParams will open up. For DDUST, I kept the use case simple and approachable because it’s the first project to use those features. That was intentional—to help people wrap their heads around it.

But now, I have a fully complex idea for how to use what they’ve built. My next project will likely use these on-chain features in a more comprehensive, complex way—while diving into human topics around networks.

OpenSea: Thanks, jiwa! This has been great. 

jiwa: Thank you! I’ll also add I’m really grateful to OpenSea and Art Blocks for the opportunity. It was meaningful to be the inaugural artist and help shape the program in small ways for artists going forward.