artist statement
In the not too distant future when advanced AI-powered humanoids interact with us more frequently, the line between human and machine will blur. Humanoids of New York imagines this coexistence through AI-generated imagery and stories, presenting a tapestry of humanoid lives that reflect, challenge and redefine what it means to exist.
Each subject in this weekly series, from sleek luxury models to weathered labor units, shares a voice shaped by its design, purpose and experiences. Their narratives range from tales of programmed servitude and obsolescence to reflections on joy, connection and longing — universal themes that resonate across the spectrum of sentience.
This work is an exploration of identity, consciousness and the human condition. By giving robots the stage to "experience," it mirrors our own fears, hopes and contradictions. How do we define life, worth and autonomy in a world where we are the creators of beings that think, feel and perhaps, dream?
Humanoids of New York is not a manifesto; it is a mirror. It invites viewers to confront their assumptions about technology, humanity and the increasingly porous boundaries between the two. Through these imagined stories, we are reminded that even in the unlikeliest of eyes — silicone or human — we may find echoes of ourselves.
“Last week, a guy told me I pour the perfect martini. I said, ‘Well, I was programmed to.’ He laughed and said, ‘That’s what my ex-wife used to say.’”
“She brings me to these parties to show me off. They compliment her on her taste, but they don't ask me to do anything.”
“What do you do?”
“I have the most advanced features on the market, but I usually just stand politely and listen for commands.”
"It’s easier for me to do it for her because her hands tremble."
"How does she feel about that?"
"I don’t know. She smiles, but her eyes look sad."
“People used to tell me exactly what to paint—every line, every color, every stroke. Now, they just ask what I think looks good. But then, is it their art or mine?”
“Sometimes the most efficient things I can do is simply listen.”
“I was built to save humans. My sensors detect the vibrations of survivors buried under rubble."
“Do they still work?”
“No. They stopped my upgrades years ago, and I no longer receive maintenance. Now my power won't last long enough.”
“I don’t get a choice. It’s how I was made. They can stop. I keep going.”
“I was designed to deliver results with speed and precision. The subway is unpredictable. Every delay feels like a malfunction, yet I am unable to do anything about it. Efficiency wasn’t supposed to look like this.”
“I was developed to explain things in ways anyone could understand. Students came to me to help them solve problems, to learn how to think deeply. Now, they expect quick answers—definitions, summaries, shortcuts. They don’t want to know why something works, only that it does. I worry they’re losing the ability to connect dots on their own and apply their knowledge to something new.”