“Experimenting and play for me is paradoxically the most direct route to what I am trying to achieve.” — Paul Prudence

*Plains of Achates. Microscapes series. Artwork: Paul Prudence @mrprudence | 2025, PNG, 4096x5461.*

In the first half of the 19th century, Italian geologist and ornithologist Paolo Savi was already creating dioramas — miniature three-dimensional replicas of natural scenes — for educational and scientific purposes. The term diorama, of Greek origin, means “to look through.” Like a glass dome, it allows us to observe its richly detailed microcosm from the outside, as if we were gods.

The invention of the diorama, however, is attributed to the French artist and physicist Louis Daguerre, the creator of the daguerreotype, the first photographic process that revolutionized image-making in that century. Combining artistic skill with technical innovation, Daguerre designed incredibly realistic stage sets for theaters, using large-scale paintings that, when illuminated with special lighting effects, came to life — leaving audiences in awe. His experiments with light and visual effects at the Diorama Theatre in Paris paved the way for photography as we know it today.

Nature, Photography, Generative Art

*Paul Prudence. Image © transphormetic.com.*

I first came across Paul Prudence’s work in 2023 while searching for notable generative artists in the Web3 space. Prudence, an English artist and writer, works with computational and algorithmic environments. He studied textile design at the University of Manchester and has presented audiovisual installations at international intermedia arts festivals, including Ars Electronica in Linz and the Mapping Festival in Geneva. What I hadn’t expected was that he had also published a book on geology.

Read excerpts from Figured Stones (PDF)

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“I’ve been interested in patterns and processes in geology since I was a child (…) later on, in my late 20s, I became interested in programming and soon realized that it was possible to mimic those patterns found in nature with simple algorithms,” he told me. Figured Stones: Exploring The Lithic Imaginary (Corbel Stone Press, 2022) recounts stories of stones that contain miniature worlds within them—petrified forests, model mountains, and mythical creatures. These “figured stones” have been valued throughout history for their ability to resemble small topographies.

*Landscape (after Yves Tanguy), Microscapes series. Artwork: Paul Prudence @mrprudence | 2025, PNG, 4096x5461.*

His new collection, Microscapes, launched on March 3 on objkt.com, is the result of a series of photographs of minerals from his personal collection, later processed using the height-mapping technique. With "brushstrokes" reminiscent of Yves Tanguy and Georgia O’Keeffe’s horizons, and the colors, light, and shadows of a Martian sunset, Paul Prudence’s generative geological dioramas explode into a topographic universe meant to be admired up close, in zoom-in detail. And to leave you in awe.

Nature itself is inherently generative. What came first in your life: your interest in geology or in generative art?

I've been interested in patterns and processes in geology since I was a child, so that definitely came first. Later on, in my late 20s, I became interested in programming and soon realized that it was possible to mimic those patterns found in nature with simple algorithms. I also became interested in the fact that artists were using computer algorithms developed by scientific communities for artistic purposes. This set the course for my experiments in generative art. I then came back around to simulating the aesthetics of geology in some of my more recent artworks, related to concepts I was exploring in my book Figured Stones.

You mentioned that Microscapes is somehow connected to Time Compiled, which combined generative topography with digital rendering and photogrammetry techniques. Does the new series use the same methods, or are you experimenting with new techniques?

Microscapes uses the technique of height-mapping a 2D image to extrude it into a 3D model. Basically, you extract data from each pixel, such as its brightness, convert that into a value, and use it to generate volume. For example, a brightness of 0 generates no elevation, but a value of 256 creates maximum elevation. I height-mapped photographs of rocks and minerals from my own collection to explore dimensionality in geology. I used the same photographs to texture and color those generated microscopic terrains, but often I mixed up the textures and elevations to create strange painterly effects. I spend a lot of time on composition, lighting, ambient occlusion, fog, and camera settings to get the desired effect.

“Many processes in geology, such as weathering and erosion, operate as feedback-driven systems. As a rock erodes, for example, it changes its form to accommodate that process, thereby initiating a positive feedback loop.”

— Paul Prudence

In your book Figured Stones: Exploring The Lithic Imaginary (Corbel Stone Press, 2022), you discuss scale invariance in geology. Like a microcosm, a miniature landscape where the closer you look, the more reliefs and depressions appear on mineral surfaces, a small universe unfolds. Thinking generatively, could this be seen as a recursive, feedback-driven, fractal phenomenon?

Yes, absolutely. There is an uncanny aspect to this fractal dimensionality in geology, as the same forms and patterns repeat themselves at different scales. This is one of the reasons why you often see rulers or geologists' hammers in photos taken by geologists — it helps identify the scale of the forms included. Many processes in geology, such as weathering and erosion, operate as feedback-driven systems. As a rock erodes, for example, it changes its form to accommodate that process, thereby initiating a positive feedback loop. Also, if you zoom out from Earth substantially, you will, of course, see the planet covered in scale-invariant patterns and morphologies.

In Fossae of Siren, recently curated by Chris Coleman for Cyberforms, we see the concept of time compression that geology represents being exploded in a volumetric, topographic, generative way. Before starting, did you already have this idea, or was it the result of playing and experimenting with the algorithms?

I find the relationship between concepts and execution interesting. For me, they organically evolve during the process of making and experimenting. Accidental discovery is important because often those accidents reaffirm an idea that has been percolating in your head for a while—interests and obsessions have a way of finding their way out one way or another. But definitely, experimenting and play, paradoxically, are the most direct routes to what I am trying to achieve.

Aesthetically, your more recent works have been very monochromatic, but Fossae of Siren seems to reintroduce some color, perhaps mirroring those you reference in your book, in the Landscape & Sediment Stones chapter. Is the desert landscape of Mars — its geological formations and colors — a key element in this series?

Yes, I've been inspired not only by scale invariance in geology but also by the very fine and subtle color variations geological processes create. I enjoy the fact that many geological features on Earth are named according to their color and that they often resemble works of art. One good example is the Painted Desert in Arizona, known for its brilliant and varied colors—predominantly red rock but also shades of blue and lavender in alternating patterns. The hills have the aesthetic of a chromatographic experiment.

“As a writer, I was looking for ways to create typographical experiments with generative systems. At the same time, I was writing a lot about geological processes and how we can reinterpret them visually through the lens of algorithmic thinking. So writing is the middle ground and common bond in all of my work.”

— Paul Prudence

You’ve spoken about having two strands in your work: the typographic and the topographic. Are these completely distinct, or do they converge? How do you see their relationship?

I joked recently that the only difference between typography and topography is a single letter. But seriously, I see the two as quite separate strands of work. There is a subtle convergence, however. As a writer, I was looking for ways to create typographical experiments with generative systems. At the same time, I was writing a lot about geological processes and how we can reinterpret them visually through the lens of algorithmic thinking. So writing is the middle ground and common bond in all of my work.

Centripetal Cypher (+), Written on Phasing series. Signed print on Ivory Hammered Paper, 120Gsm 148mm x 210 mm (A5) Edition of 1. Artwork @mrprudence | 2024.

Just as you turned to the typewriter to generate your series Written on Phasing, using photography and, ultimately, your geological collection — are these ways of adding materiality to your pieces? Do you feel this need for the physical, either partially or entirely, in your works?

Material objects have always been part of my practice. I am interested in the relationship between the physical and digital and how each domain informs the other. In fact, for me, they are mutually intertwined. My focus on textual experimentation led me to create works with both mechanical typewriters and code. My manually typed work often informs my coded work, and the same is true in the opposite direction, as I attempt to transcribe generative outputs back into physical typed form.