Digital Artist Cromwell on Generative Art, Soul, and Scale
Venezuelan artist Cromwell creates generative works designed for monumental screens worldwide, from Taipei to Lisbon. Combining technical precision with emotional intent, she talks about building “art with soul,” the challenges of working at architectural scale, and how persistence turned open calls into an international career.


Katherine, known in the art world as Cromwell (cromwell-zla.art), is a Venezuelan digital artist and motion designer who composes generative visuals in code. She works at the intersection of form, color, and movement, and treats every decision as intentional and site specific. At the center of her practice is a personal mantra: art with soul, with a reason to exist. Alongside large public displays, she recently reimagined Medina’s Autumn Road after winning an open call by HUG.art, turning the painting’s still landscape into a kinetic 3D experience while keeping its sense of mystery.

Neon Coral (2024) by Cromwell, exhibited in New York’s Times Square as part of the Light Visions showcase with Art Innovation Gallery. The generative artwork floods the cityscape with shifting red and blue forms, transforming the urban façade into a living field of light.
What’s the simplest way to describe your practice?
I create visual, generative, motion-based work using code. I began showing pieces through NFTs and then moved into international exhibitions. The focus is always the same: form, color, and movement working together with purpose.
Digital work can feel mechanical. How do you keep “soul” in it?
This is a real challenge. My guiding motto is to make art with a soul and a reason to exist. Code and nodes are only tools. Intention is what matters. Every element has to earn its place. Colors are chosen for a reason, and movement is designed to communicate, not just to look impressive.
I start by asking what I want the viewer to feel. If the intention is calm or serenity, I build palettes, densities, and rhythms that support that feeling. If the piece needs a different register, I adjust. The intention is tied to where the work will live: the site, the brief, the culture, the viewing distance, and practical details such as vertical or horizontal screens, indoor or outdoor settings, and day or night. These conditions shape geometry, how forms connect, and how motion unfolds so the work reads clearly at scale and does not become cluttered.
I am a defender of visual art in every space, but it must make sense. “Beautiful because it moves” is not enough. The work needs logic, purpose, and a voice. Avoiding a mechanical feel comes from experience and a lot of trial and error. Sometimes forms break or motion turns harsh. When that happens, I strip back, refine, and rebuild until the piece aligns with the original intention. The goal is simple: visual art that speaks for itself, with meaning, coherence, and presence.

Scarlet Symphony: Dragon’s Awakening (2025) by Cromwell, displayed at Taipei Lumitree during the Lunar New Year exhibition The Year of Joy. The large-scale generative artwork transforms architecture into a living canvas of motion and light.
Designing for real-world screens, what do you map out first?
Context. I study the brief, the local culture, how close or far people will stand, screen orientation, and whether it is indoors or outdoors, day or night. That drives geometry, how forms connect, motion pacing, and legibility. Big shapes carry from afar, and details act as accents.
What changed when you moved from NFTs to giant displays?
It is a different discipline. You deal with aspect ratios, megapixels, and serious computing power. I started on mid-size screens and reinvested sales in hardware and software to render at native high resolution. What reads well on a laptop can feel crowded on a building, so I design for scale from the start. I preview on a 60 inch TV, but I always remind people to imagine it on a 200 meter wall. It is not the same.
A recent piece where everything clicked at scale
Mechatronics at Taipei Lumitree. I rebuilt the file at native size, optimized the node graph, pre-rendered sections to avoid artifacts, stress-tested loop seams, and tuned motion frequencies for distance. I calibrated luminance and line weight for that screen and lighting. When it went live and the tree-like structure resolved cleanly in real space, I cried. Intention, technique, and site finally aligned.

Mechatronics (2025) by Cromwell. A large-scale generative artwork created for Taipei Lumitree’s Year of Joy program, exploring movement, rhythm, and precision through bold geometries and saturated color.
What drew you to Medina’s painting, and how did you translate it?
Autumn Road and Horseman struck me with intense color and energy, and a dreamlike, almost cinematic quality. Realism mixes with touches of abstraction that invite you past the surface. In Landscape Reimagined I deconstructed Autumn Road into three dimensional fragments, set them in motion, and reassembled the scene as a moving, multidimensional structure. The shifting perspectives invite deeper engagement while preserving the mystery that drew me in.

Landscape Reimagined (Moving Frame) (2025) by Cromwell. Captured as a still from a moving digital installation in the artist’s studio, this work reinterprets Medina’s Autumn Road through generative 3D motion created for an open call celebrating her art.
Open calls are part of your routine. How do you keep momentum when some applications do not land?
Persistence. I keep a parallel project alive, adapt it to each brief, and refine formats and documentation such as short clips, stills, and technical specs. Many applications are not selected, and that is normal. Each no helps me tighten the narrative and improve readability at scale. Over time, consistency turns into momentum.
How do you balance a full-time job with your art practice?
I often say I have two selves, and my “alter” is the artist. After my day job, I dedicate time to the studio: art is how I decompress and reconnect. It has also carried me through hard times; when my father passed away, finishing a project became a form of therapy. My family’s support, from my grandfather the oil painter to my parents who encouraged me to share my work, gave me the courage to keep going. They remain my number-one fans.
What does your .ART domain add to your workflow?
I see my .ART domain as a powerful hub. I set it up immediately and kept polishing it, using the built-in tools to organize a substantial portfolio and offer a downloadable artist CV. It is now my standard reference link for submissions and presentations, including competitions here in Venezuela. When I share my work, this is what I send.