Kristoffer Ørum
The website keeps itself up to date. He does not.
Nothing digital about it. A screen is an object, and objects sit in rooms.
Not a joke.
A PhD student. Human-AI Collaboration, Copenhagen University, until 2028.
Not research. The works were made first and explained afterwards.
Works with machines that are confidently wrong.
This reordering not only alters the image itself but also reshapes how it must be encountered. Watershed, 2025
Signal_Crayfish was exhibited at Center for Book Arts from April to June 2021 as part of "Interspecies Futures ," curated by Oscar Salguero. Signal_Crayfish, 2021
They have been 3d scanned, using the kind of technology one might find in one's smartphone, and subsequently 3d printed in monochrome versions using a variety of materials ranging from terracotta to granite. Brownfield Wonderland, 2022
The animated scene acts as a virtual doubling of both the street in front and the interior space behind the window. Et Andet Rum 2, 2009
The contrast is not presented as a solution but as a tool of critique—making the invisible conventions of ordinary web interfaces visible by inverting them. Watershed, 2025
As a result, it is now defunct and can no longer be accessed in its original form. Topographies of the Insignificant, 2010
These objects continuously monitored conversations in the gallery space, converting spoken words into text through automated transcription systems, then physically printing the transcribed text. Listening Without Ears, 2019
During this struggle of imaginaries Spanien 19C continues to function as an art space, wedged in between building sites of what is to come and fragments of what used to be. Brownfield Wonderland, 2022
A multidisciplinary team including architects, artists, designers, engineers, musicians and literary theorists collaborated with Bojen and Ørum to jointly create this immersive vision. Radiant Copenhagen, 2009
In a parallel way, Watershed treats the algorithm as a collaborator. Watershed, 2025
The show took place from 2017-08-18 to 2017-12-09, inspired by Herman Melville’s *Bartleby, the Scrivener* and its quiet refusal: “I would prefer not to.” Blind Listening, 2017
A face judged as both 'neutral' and 'fake' by two different systems at the same time is more than a technical glitch; it's a new kind of image that hints at a possible new understanding of identity. Speaker 1, 2026
The exhibition featured works from 26 artists, including paintings, sculptures, photos, and video pieces The exhibition's core concept was uniquely time-based and site-specific. Where the walls weep sugar, 2025
Through these monstrous and bizarre creatures, the work addressed our relationship to more familiar creatures and digital systems that we share the modern technological world with. Mundane Monsters, 2023
The work operates as both a technical demonstration and a poetic meditation on the relationship between computation and imagination, revealing the "reservoirs of strangeness" that exist within everyday technological objects. Coffee Lake, 2019
Everyday objects were recognisable yet altered. Mundane Heroics, 2019
During the exhibition, the carefully worded original English text on the exhibition space’s website was gradually replaced by an unstable bilingual text, one sentence at a time. Blind Listening, 2017
Signal_Crayfish was commissioned as a book work for "Interspecies Futures ," the first survey of bookworks by international practitioners from bio-art and speculative design fields. Signal_Crayfish, 2021
Rather than recognising faces, it was trained exclusively to see noses or beetroot-like patterns. Putin's Nose, 2019
The exhibition was part of SixtyEight Art Institute's two-year programme "Modes and Notes on the Local". Signal_Crayfish, 2020
The project also responds critically to the historical metaphors of the human body as a model for political and social order. A Body Has Many Members, 2012
Once generated, these daily phantom faces replaced Ørum’s personal avatar across his website, social networks and other platforms. Recognised Faces, 2014
I miss images that are weird, flawed, or personal. None of These Images Are of Me, 2025
We are guided by digital defaults, where smartphone cameras enhance, correct, or beautify before we even see the result. Watershed, 2025
Spray was a counterfactual exhibition that used AI to tell the story of a fictional relationship between the labour movement and hip-hop culture. Mr. Spray, 2024
These narratives, blending hope and fiction, are both plausible and subtly flawed, exposing their computer-generated origins while opening new ways to reimagine the past and future. Aalborg Is The Future, 2024
The exhibition posed a paradox about how we can become accustomed to living in a constantly changing world with technological trends that supplement, expand and reinforce reality with extra layers of information. Mundane Monsters, 2023
A third video, A Song for Ming, was a karaoke track by Kristoffer Ærørum with music and performance by Josefine Struckmann. Djurs Øhav, 2020
As Putin's face speaks of Russian identity in the viewer's place, the work demonstrates how digital images today do not simply document reality but actively form identity and power relations. Vladimir's Tongue, 2020
In this scenario, data does not flow through opaque corporate pipelines, but diffuses through neighbourhood workshops, shared servers, and informal archives. Diffused States (Vancouver), 2025
When I use myself as material, my body and my image become a site for institutional self-critique—where paradoxically critique and complicity overlap. None of These Images Are of Me, 2025
The voices are those of the people who live in them. Affluence without abundance, 2025
In the post-totalitarian context of Latvia, where memory is often manipulated for political purposes, the work offers a reminder that the past is not fixed and demonstrates the fluidity of historical narratives. Monuments of A Fictitious Past, 2024
It was accompanied by scholarly publication and received coverage in Danish art press. Signal_Crayfish, 2020
Especially simulations of destruction are so widespread and credible that one quickly forgets what the original physical phenomena looked like. Melting State, 2020
This Brownfield Wonderland might very well appear once again when this project is long forgotten, and current norms of what is useful and productive are forgotten. Brownfield Wonderland, 2022
The site opens on the series title and a single line — "Would you like to know more?" — set in pale green with a cartoon crayfish at the edge of the frame. Would You Like to Know More, 2017
The 3D printed objects served as camouflaged recording devices, appearing as innocuous everyday items while performing the technical operation of speech-to-text conversion. Listening Without Ears, 2019
Admitting this is not, in Andrea Fraser’s spirit, a defeat, but a strategy: I would rather acknowledge my own narcissism and greed and use them as material, than pretend I stand outside. None of These Images Are of Me, 2025
Deconstructed 2D news images drift across a constructed 3D landscape, never pretending to be windows onto reality. Watershed, 2025