Murmurations, Fragility, and Complexity — Interview with Anna Carreras

Anna Carreras is a Barcelona-based creative coder and digital artist known for her innovative work in generative art and interactive installations. With a background in engineering and audiovisual technologies, she skillfully combines creativity and technology to explore the complex systems that emerge from simple algorithms. Carreras’ work has been showcased at prestigious events such as the Cosmocaixa Barcelona Science Museum, MIRA Visual Arts Festival, and Expo Zaragoza, earning her international recognition, including a Cannes Golden Lion and a Google DevArt award. Beyond her artistic practice, she is also a dedicated educator, teaching creative coding in various design schools in Barcelona.

In this interview, Carreras delves into her artistic journey, starting with her unexpected path from engineering to generative art. She reflects on her early explorations in interactive installations and her fascination with emergent complexity, which has become a central theme in her work. The conversation covers topics such as the balance between control and randomness in her generative projects, her inspirations from natural phenomena like bird flocking, and her more recent projects that blend digital art with physical mediums. Carreras also shares insights into her teaching philosophy, how it informs her creative practice, and her aspirations for future projects, offering a comprehensive look at her career and artistic vision.

Brady Walker: Welcome back to MakersPlace Spotlights. I have with me Anna Carreras, a Spain-based generative artist, and also an artist of other computer-based mediums that we’ll get into. But Anna, maybe you can start by telling us a little bit about yourself and your journey for anybody who’s not familiar with your work.

Anna Carreras: Hi, thanks—hola—thanks for having me here. I’m based in Barcelona, in Spain, on the Mediterranean coast. My journey into generative art started around 18 or 19 years ago. I can’t even remember exactly. I began developing interactive installations, working with creative coding, and making visuals. I also played with sensors, motion trackers, full-body interaction—things like that.

Little by little, I started focusing more on visuals generated in real time with audience participation. Visitors would contribute to the work, and that naturally led me deeper into generative visuals. That’s what I’m mainly focusing on in my art career now.

BW: And you studied engineering as a kind of practical path, though you wanted to study art. When did you realize you could combine these skills and passions?

AC: I wanted to study fine arts, but my mom said, “No, go and get a proper education, a proper job, and then you can be an artist in your spare time.” So that’s what I did. I studied technology engineering.

But everything I learned there—the techniques and the medium—I always applied in a creative way. That’s when I started playing around with electronics, coding visuals, and sound for interactive installations. I used creative coding to invent what existing software couldn’t do at that time. So, it felt like a natural path, returning to my passion for creativity and artistic projects, but with the tools and medium I knew best. That was my approach, yes.

BW: So you immediately started connecting the dots from these more practical, maybe even dry skills you were learning to the creative possibilities?

AC: Not from the start when I began studying, but by the end, yes. My final project was an interactive environment for children with responsive optics, audio, and visuals. That’s when I discovered my passion, and I’ve never really left the field of being creative, using code, technology, and all these media.

BW: What was your career path like immediately following your studies? Did you go straight into designing interactive experiences?

AC: Yes, that was it. I went directly into designing interactive experiences, mainly immersive environments. But this was about 20 years ago, and the technology was quite different—more artisanal, let’s say. We had to invent or build everything ourselves, like electronics, camera tracking, and visual generation.

That gave me a lot of new insights and skills that I still use in my daily practice. Over time, I got more interested in generative art systems and how complex systems can create incredible, unexpected visuals. Emergence plays an interesting role in that. Eventually, this led me to focus more on visuals, which is where my current projects are centered.

BW: Coming from a pre-university background as being someone who wanted to study fine art, I assume that at least at that time, you had what we would now call an analog art practice. Do you still have a kind of pen and paper or tangible medium aspect to your work?

AC: Never. No, never. When I was a kid, I used to paint, and I loved working with clay—making sculptures and clay objects. But really, no. Like “Video Killed the Radio Star,” my mother killed that path, that interest, or that practice, and I just focused on my studies. It was only after that, little by little, I started getting back into my passion.

BW: Can you tell me a little bit about your PhD thesis, Art & Complexity? What did you go into it wanting to learn, and what did you end up learning?

AC: My PhD took six years of research, and what I learned most was about my own practice. My supervisors were always asking me, “Why?” and “What?” So I had to properly answer those questions. Now, I think I have a very clear understanding of why I do what I do and why I do it the way I do.

It’s all related to complexity—a weak word, very theoretical, vast, and extensive. But mainly, it’s about how I view the world, the universe, nature, human relations, and how I understand them through systems—a systemic approach. I see things as systems.

The easiest way to explain it is with an example that really amazes me: flocking birds in the evening. They create these choreographies in the air, these forms, but there’s no leader, no choreographer, no director. It’s just a system following two simple rules. The first rule: each bird flies in the same general direction as the group. The second: each bird avoids colliding with its neighbors. With these two simple rules, they create these incredible visuals.

That idea drives me crazy—how can such simple, deterministic instructions lead to something so amazing? All my interest, research, and artworks focus on this idea: with simple rules and systems, not trying to demonstrate or visualize anything specific, we can create something visually surprising. We can explore what emerges from that.

I try to talk about complexity and complex behaviors by picking one idea or concept at a time for each project. You can imagine that trying to understand complexity and complex systems in one project is impossible, so instead, I focus on a single concept for each project. I work with systems and algorithms that encapsulate and distill that idea, scratching a little deeper each time.

So, that was the PhD. That’s why I’m doing generative art, not using artificial intelligence. My practice is more about going into the essence of how these systems work. Even though these systems are simple compared to bigger algorithms that require more data or more powerful computers, they still surprise us. I try to work with them in an artisanal way, focusing on their essence.

BW: I was thinking, you know, every September here in Portland, Oregon, on the West Coast of the US, there’s a bird called the swift. They come and roost in Portland for about a month during their migration. There’s this one high school chimney in Southeast Portland where they all gather, and it’s a tradition here to hang out in the yard and the baseball field of the school and watch them. It’s amazing—it’s transcendent. It’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.

AC: That’s it! If we can still get fascinated by things like this, which are incredible, why not go deeper into it? Birds are amazing. You know what I mean?

BW: Of course. I’m interested to know, in this kind of practice, how do you decide how much control to exert?

AC: It’s a balance. You’re right—if you control it too much, the emergence, the diversity, or the surprise won’t be there. That’s the challenge: balancing research into a concept or idea and translating it visually while maintaining that balance. It’s a difficult decision, and I think it’s different for every project. Finding that balance is always a challenge.

BW: I want to move on to talking about a few of your specific projects, starting with the one you have at MakersPlace right now for Digital Art Day in Malaga. This project consists of four pieces side by side, not just one. So, for everyone watching, I’m curious—what was the brainstorming process like for the assignment that became Gotim a Gotim? It seems like you were given a pretty broad prompt of generative art inspired by wine. So, where did you take it from there?

AC: To get specifically to this project? Gotim means “the grape,” those grapes that hang from the plant, how they arrange, and how, one by one, after a process, they create something incredible like wine.

I think generative art follows a similar process. It’s like following a recipe, but you’re surprised every time by the results. A lot of the process comes from the soil, from the essence of who is creating it. The artist’s background and culture will always be there—like with wine, where small details in the taste come from the region and the maker. 

In this case, it’s about playing with these grape geometries, making them more geometrical and plain, and using repetition and distortion, almost like a lens, to create different scatterings of color and light. This represents the process of transforming something cultivated from the soil into art.

I’m really happy with how it turned out. It merges these super-linear geometries—lines, triangles—but then something happens in the algorithm that breaks the linearity. Strange waves or not-quite-straight lines appear, and it’s like, what happened there? This idea of following a recipe but still generating something unexpected or different—something that breaks the structure and adds another layer, more human, or more error-like.

I think some errors or mistakes give the piece a visual cue that it’s not as structured as it seems. I’m really pleased with that concept. It’s like everything is planned in the system, but things happen that even I can’t explain. The structure breaks, and that gives a new level of uniqueness, of details and flavors.

So yeah, from shapes and colors following a recipe to create an artwork, and from grapes following another recipe to make wine—which is also like art, making wine.

BW: Let’s move on to the next series, Morena. This series is about the feeling of vulnerability when jumping into ocean waters. So, how do you express motion and this vulnerable emotional state through a generative technique?

AC: That’s a good question, and I have answers because I’ve been working on the concept of fragility for a year. I know it’s an abstract concept, but the idea was about the fragility of technology, the fragility of the algorithm, and how fragile the visuals could look. Since it’s so abstract, I thought about it in terms of that experience—jumping into the open sea. It’s the Mediterranean, so we don’t have dangerous things like big sharks or anything, but there’s still that moment when you jump and you’re not sure what’s happening as you fall into the water. I wanted to capture that moment and that feeling.

The first project that explored this idea was Brava, which was released in February in Paris with Bright Moments. It was about jumping into the water, going deeper into this idea of the waves you create when you splash and break through. After that came Morena, which was more about breaking—how we can create systems that literally break shapes in two. Depending on how you arrange the system, the visuals can be very fluid, like windy or herbal, or they can take on a more mineral look. So, it was an exploration of that.

With Morena, I added another layer by combining digital pieces with physical ones. Since the concept was fragility, I started to carve and cut parts of the artwork, giving it more movement and dynamics. Shadows appeared, adding more depth. It was about talking about fragility not only through the system but also by adding a human touch to go deeper into the concept.

BW: So, I actually had Brava queued up, which is perfect. Can you dive into that more?

AC: Yes, Brava came before Morena. This one was about the waves, the sea, and when you jump, there’s that splash. It’s an animated piece where you see everything distort due to the ripples. That kind of distortion makes the image fragile, but it also creates a match between the visuals and the concept of a splash as things break apart. That’s what it was about.

BW: Yeah, I found it interesting that the feeling of swimming in the Mediterranean was so captivating for you that you made two series back to back about it. This series felt a little more balanced to me. There’s fragility, but also a kind of freedom, an abandon with being out in the water. Whereas Morena was more rigid—you went from waves to straight lines. It felt like with Brava, you were exploring a dichotomy, a balance of risk and reward, whereas Morena felt like it was all risk.

AC: That’s good because it’s like, okay, let’s explore the same concept but with a different system, a different algorithm. Let’s see what happens—if we can still grasp something about that idea and concept. So, that sounds good. Thanks!

BW: I want to go farther back in time to Bufablau, which is an interactive instrument and visualization. Can you tell me about this?

AC: Yes, this one was obvious fun for kids but also adults. We loved playing with it. It was about shouting—shouting gave movement to the creatures on the screen. I developed it with two other incredible artists: Mónica Rikić, based here in Barcelona, and Lolo Armendáriz, from Buenos Aires, Argentina. It was a playful experience, after years of doing interactive installations.

When you’re doing things for kids, you’re always testing or debugging your installation or code, and it’s fun. My mom would say, “Are you actually working? Or are you just playing?” And I’d say, “Yes, I’m working! This is debugging and testing.”

So, this one was all about shouting or clapping hands with big buttons to play around. It was very expressive. But this was before the pandemic and lockdowns, right?

BW: You mentioned earlier what we in English call murmuration—the bird flocking, kind of generative art-looking situation. It reminded me of this piece, which is another throwback. It made me wonder if there’s some project in the back of your mind that brings this interactivity back, now with all you’ve learned and the skills you’ve developed in long-form generative art?

AC: I never thought about that. You’re right, I’ve been talking about swarms, birds, and murmuration, and here it is.

This performance was about having a conversation between performance and particles, so you’ve definitely made a good point. I think all the projects I’ve worked on have taught me something or given me the chance to learn. Interactivity adds another layer to the narrative. It forces you to be open to what can happen, more open to generative results.

Yeah, balancing narrative with openness, interactivity, and control, like you mentioned, is key. Whether on stage or a website, these interactive, multimedia experiences have taught me a lot, and that knowledge definitely informs my current projects.

BW: I think I understand the interactive function, but what was the performance itself?

AC: The performance was about two people—me and another performer—starting separate and then getting closer and closer, like a dialogue of proximity. The performance involved both the performers and the visuals. This wasn’t my personal project, though. I was teaching and working with students, so it was a collaborative project we developed together.

We helped them focus on the narrative, making sure the different scenes were clear and creating a coherent story with a start and an end, even though it was an improvisation. It was about how performers can relate and dialogue with the digital from the physical space. So, yeah, it was more about that.

BW: Well, that’s all for my slide deck, the “This Is Your Life” episode. You kind of teed me up for my next question, which was already going to be: How does teaching feed into your art practice?

AC: Teaching? Ooh, I love teaching. I really love it. I’m still teaching every year. Actually, in one month, I’m starting again. It’s my way of sharing my passion, my knowledge, everything I know with students who are eager to learn. I’m super open to research or whatever comes up, and being in contact with students—fourth-year students, every year—it’s like, okay, I’m explaining the same syllabus and ideas, but they always have a bunch of questions that push me to think about what we do and learn new things every year. That’s incredibly rewarding for me, and I enjoy it a lot. I won’t stop.

BW: How has it affected your creativity? Do you find yourself encountering new ideas through it, or is it more about refining and clarifying your own thinking?

AC: Good question. I think both. It definitely clarifies my ideas. Having students in front of you, asking questions, forces you to rephrase or reframe what you’re explaining and to look at things from another angle. It’s perfect because it offers new perspectives that maybe you never thought about.

As for creativity, maybe not so much, because right now I’m working on long-term concepts that I explore through multiple projects. But there’s always something. It’s like being in the middle of something that’s constantly cooking, moving, or dancing. There’s movement, energy—entropy, even. Yes, that’s it.

BW: What kind of work do you think you would have made if you’d been born 100 years earlier?

AC: Good question. Vira, no sé. I don’t know! Maybe I would’ve been in a monastery. I wouldn’t mind if it gave me the chance to read, to learn, maybe make music, do things manually, and be creative—but in an artisanal way. So yeah, why not? I’d go to a monastery.

BW: What do you see as your artistic lineage? Who are the artists you see yourself in conversation with, whether they’re dead or alive? Whose work are you responding to?

AC: I have some Spanish abstract artists from about 100 years ago, maybe less, that I really admire. They’re not so well known, but I think some of their ideas and even their visual outputs resonate a lot with me. They were also pushing boundaries, trying to explore new ways of approaching ideas. Those are the ones that resonate with me. They’re also very geometrical and colorful.

I don’t know if it’s something about living in the Mediterranean, but I feel connected to that. When I need to fuel my imagination or reignite my interest, I go back to their work. And, of course, the contemporary community—because we share a lot. I may not be very active on social media, but I love talking, as you can see! So whenever there’s an opportunity, I grab a glass of wine and discuss what we do, why we do it, and how we enjoy it. That’s the thing.

BW: Who are the Spanish painters?

AC: The abstract artists of the past, yes. My memory for names is terrible, but there’s a small museum in Cuenca called the Museum of Abstract Art. If people want to investigate, it’s a tiny museum in the center of Spain, but all the artists there are really interesting to me. From Tàpies to Miró—those from Barcelona are my main references.

I love how they create abstract worlds with their own vocabulary or semantics, reusing elements to build a kind of visual alphabet. That’s something I find really fascinating.

BW: Do you have any wildly ambitious, unrealized projects?

AC: I do! I want to make something with my friend Monica, who works with robots. We’ve been envisioning a project with small robots—interactive, mechanical, but also generating visuals based on how you interact with them. Not for play, more like kinetic sculptures or generative sculptures. I’d love to make that project real. We’ve been talking about it for a year, but we haven’t had time to get together and start.

Hero image: Gotim #14 by Anna Carreras

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