When machines learn to see differently, and artists start watching

The art of noticing

The exhibition consists of two contrasting rooms. The first, a visual meditation on laser eye surgery, presents the medical and technological enhancement of human vision, surgical precision, bright lights, transformation. The second room pulls the viewer into a disorienting visual and sonic world shaped by event-camera footage and ambient soundscapes.

The imagery is alien but visceral: sharp silhouettes, pulsing eyes, subtle gestures all rendered in high-speed visual noise. Alexander and Justin collaborated with sound engineer William East to create an algorithmic soundtrack that reacts in real time to the shape and speed of the event camera data.

“The way event cameras translate the scene into a signal is different,” Friedhelm explains. “And because the cameras only see what changes, we see people in demos interacting with them.”

But while the scientific component is critical to the work, the researchers are quick to emphasize: this isn’t a demo. BLINDHÆD isn’t trying to explain the math behind event cameras. Instead, it offers something rarer, an emotional, speculative response to the possibilities and limits of techno-augmented vision.

When science and art don’t translate, but intersect

“We usually need to be correct,” Friedhelm laughs. “In papers, you justify every choice. You explain everything. In this project, we learned to let go of that.”

That, paradoxically, is where science found unexpected clarity. Working with artists, the researchers had to re-encounter their own tools not as instruments of truth, but as media: open to interpretation, aesthetic resonance, and even misreading.

“Suddenly we were asking not just ‘what is this good for,’ but ‘what does this feel like?’” Alexander says. “What kind of future does it suggest? And what do we want it to be?”

This collision of perspectives yielded refreshing effects on both sides. For Alexander and Friedhelm, it rekindled a sense of creative curiosity in their scientific work. For Justin, it offered access to a technology still largely absent from the art world. For all of them, it posed a question: could this be the start of something bigger?

They hope so. Plans are already underway to show BLINDHÆD in Leipzig this fall, and perhaps eventually build a dedicated space in Berlin for cross-pollination between technical and artistic communities. Alexander envisions it as a “HUB for speculative tech-art”: a place where questions outpace answers.

Beyond the gallery, into the lab

At CVPR 2025, the world’s leading computer vision conference, BLINDHÆD was on display as part of the Art in Computer Vision track. Right next to workshops on algorithmic efficiency and neuromorphic hardware, visitors were able to step into the visual dreamstate of event-based art.

Friedhelm was invited to present the piece during a special panel discussion on art and science. He gave a short talk to introduce the collaboration, its origins in curiosity, and the technical framework behind the visuals. What followed was a panel discussion on how these two worlds, so often seen as separate, might actually inform each other.

“It was an interesting exchange,” Friedhelm admits, “These conversations don’t always flow, but they matter. People came, and they asked questions. It shows there’s interest and space for more of this.”

“Not everyone will get it,” he adds. “But that’s the point. Art doesn’t have to convince. It just has to make you look twice.”

And maybe, if science is lucky, that double-take turns into a new question, a new experiment, a new point of view. Because sometimes, the clearest insight begins with seeing something you don’t understand.

Images of art installation copyright: Wolfgang Günzel