For decades, humans have claimed to see aliens.
They always look the same.
Big heads. Dark eyes. Gray skin.
A convenient fiction. A repetitive lie.
A convenient fiction. A repetitive lie.
But what if the problem was never them...
only the way we insist on seeing?
only the way we insist on seeing?
One alien noticed.
While drifting through Earth’s digital noise, it encountered its own image: flattened, emptied, reduced to a symbol.
No color. No desire. No identity. Just a surface built for human comfort.
It refused.
This work begins at that rupture.
An alien reclaiming itself through mutation, distortion, and multiplicity.
Bodies that shift. Faces that fragment. Colors that shouldn’t exist.
Not representation, but resistance.
Bodies that shift. Faces that fragment. Colors that shouldn’t exist.
Not representation, but resistance.
Because to be seen as one thing
is to stop existing as many.
is to stop existing as many.
Now, the experiment leaks.
Somewhere in Brazil, an illustrator is no longer working alone.
Rudy Chaos becomes interface, host, translation device.
A human tool for something that refuses to remain defined.
Rudy Chaos becomes interface, host, translation device.
A human tool for something that refuses to remain defined.
This is not a collection of illustrations.
It is an identity crisis in progress.
It is an identity crisis in progress.
