Get closer and the chaos becomes order—layers of ink meticulously placed to pull the eye deeper. At macro scale, it’s art. At micro scale, it’s code. “I like the idea that someone might zoom in and see an entire substructure they missed the first time around,” Olie explains. “Like falling into a world you didn’t know existed.”

Everything is handmade. No shortcuts. Ink only. Each stroke feels like a quiet rebellion against digital culture’s easy filters and generative art trends. It’s a return to slowness. Intention. Obsession.

The result? Art that doesn’t just represent complexity—it invites it.

Olie’s fictional structures aren’t just aesthetic. They ask something of the viewer. Patience. Focus. Curiosity. Maybe even a willingness to see the mechanical in the natural, and the biological in the machine. Because in Olie’s world, those lines have already been blurred.

And maybe that’s the point.

Olie doesn’t draw. Olie builds.

"I’m trying to blur the line between what's real and what the mind constructs," they say, eyes darting toward a half-finished piece—hundreds of microstructures woven into a surface no bigger than a vinyl sleeve. "I think we carry inner logic systems, and sometimes, they just need to leak out."

Raised on a visual diet of machines, anatomy diagrams, and architectural blueprints, Olie’s imagination doesn’t settle for flat surfaces. Each piece is its own ecosystem. Precision meets fantasy. Biology kisses brutalism. It’s part dream journal, part engineer’s sketchpad, and entirely its own thing.

You don’t just look at Olie’s work. You enter it.