Artist Profile : CYDN

The third artist profile shines a light on the digital abstract artist, CYDN (@c_y_d_n)

Besides analysing the collection as a whole, I want to zero in on two specific works—pieces that, to me, best embody both the core of C’s artistic philosophy and the raw, instinctive power of his visual language, where gestures feel like reflexes—spontaneous responses shaped by a deeply ingrained instinct. They form a visual lexicon, waiting to be felt.

But that’s just the surface.

There’s a methodological dimension to cydn’s practice that deserves to be brought to the forefront—a framework through which his visual manifestations gain both context and weight. His work isn’t just about form—it’s about the philosophy that drives form.

And to understand that, we need to look back—to the start of a process that began with the collection Just the Tip. A series that marked the beginning of what could be called an anamnesis of the gestural reflex.

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Collection Title : Just the tip

This series is built around two distinct methodological phases. In the first phase, custom brushes are created from everyday objects that carry personal significance. The focus here lies in how these brushes explore the chromatic tension between the object’s natural palette and the artificial application of external, "foreign" colours. There’s a dialogue between what an object is and what it becomes.

That phase paved the way for a second approach: combining multiple objects from the same visual-lexical field into a single brush, while maintaining their natural palettes. This results in work grounded in familiarity and soaked in quiet nostalgia.

Now, let’s return to the deeper meaning—the semiotic power of objects. As cydn himself writes:

“Despite how much the general population might want to say they hate the consumerism of our species, we are inherently connected to things... Certain objects, no matter how trivial, can also connect us to lasting memories of loved ones and distinct moments in our lives.”

Any object can hold meaning that transcends its practical function—no matter how trivial it may seem at first glance.

"It is why when I look at an old organ piano I immediately think of my grandfather."

Powerful, right? I mean, I can’t help but relate—every time I see a glass balcony on a first-floor landing above a stairwell, I instantly picture my grandfather waiting for me to visit. And now, somehow, that entire memory, his warmth, the smell of tobacco, is linked to cydn’s piano. That’s what art can do. Even digital art, which many used to call emotionally sterile, proves otherwise here.

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Artwork : CONSUMED : GREED

Here’s the fun part about writing on C’s art—you can go deep. I mean really deep with the interpretations. Vrum vrum.

To me, the association was immediate: greed and the red sports car, like something ripped straight out of hustle culture. The whole wen lambo trope, ironically mirrored and but not at all mourned here. I love seeing this kind of cultural toxicity called out in art on chain, like holding up a mirror to the very impulses that slow down the promise of decentralization (not forever though, says the idealist in me).

So yeah—he didn’t just crash the proverbial lambo, he turned it into a decaying emblem. Consumed by the very culture that created it. Cultural cannibalism at its finest, visually rendered through overpainted textures that feel oily, distressed, and futile—like a desperate repair job over something that’s long gone. A tattoo over a scar. Aestheticized ruin.

There’s a brutal beauty to it. The kind of beauty found in ugliness. Baudelaire’s Fleurs du mal.

"You gave me your mud and I turned it to gold."

That’s the overall feel, and it fits so well in this glitchy, digital-native ecosystem. Watching the space heal from its wounds, reinventing itself through its own corrupted remains.

“Glitch is the material language of a machine that has failed. But it is also a language of potential—of broken messages that open new meanings.” —Rosa Menkman, The Glitch Moment(um)

We build from what's left. From the corrupted fragments of a system too bloated to sustain itself. Over and over if we have to.

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Artwork : Mementos

Mementos builds on this foundation by adding a deeper emotional layer—moving beyond evoking feeling to actually embedding fragments of the artist’s life into the digital canvas.

It’s not direct, but there’s something in the way he builds brushes from real-world objects—almost like writing in a personal coding language. The objects become syntax, the gestures structure.

And then there’s the non-doxing.

It’s not just an aesthetic—it’s poetic. His decision to stay doxed — no face, no name, no seed phrase — isn’t avoidance. It’s a strategy. In my opinion, offering such intimate glimpses into his life while withholding identity is a profound gesture of selflessness. It elevates the work. It gives it a kind of universality.

Suddenly, his beachside rocket launch becomes our memory too. As an Eastern European kid, that piece hit me as pure 90s Americana—open skies, summer boredom, and those huge hopes we once had.

And maybe, if it had come from a fully doxxed persona, it wouldn’t have hit the same. It might have felt like just another flex. But here? The memory speaks louder than the protagonist.

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Artwork : LOVELY

And what memory plants deeper seeds than the birth of your child?

Lovely is the piece I connected with most. Maybe because I’m also preparing to become a father in a few months, and it pulled me right into that space of presence and surrender. Probably maxed out my serotonin just looking at it. Getting a bit cheesy here, but I’ll own it.

Intimate doesn't even begin to cover it. It's honest. It has to be. And it’s brave. The artist distils a deeply vulnerable moment into an abstract form that somehow feels universal. A gift, really.

Gesturally, Lovely holds a balance between tenderness and structure. Beneath the soft, wavy brushstrokes—almost lullaby-like in rhythm—you can trace firmer, more directional marks. To me, these controlled diagonals feel like a shelter being built. A kind of abstract nest. A safe haven shaped out of hopes and dreams.

That tenderness is everywhere in the work’s architecture. The palette, sampled directly from the objects tied to the memory—the swaddle for example—is pastel, pillowy, protective. A sensory invitation to safety.

What fascinates me most is the transitive property of art.

The pattern on that actual hospital blanket? Someone, somewhere, designed it. Maybe inspired by another soft, calming artwork. And now that pattern lives on in Lovely, which in turn inspires me—and so the cycle continues.

Turns out, yeah—random household objects can go full transcendental in the hands of the right artist.

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You can find out more about CYDN's work on their website and view their available work on their Exchange Art profile