There I was, observing the robot dogs by digital artist Beeple at Art Basel Miami 2025.

And that’s where I met Tony.

It’s strange how things unfold in my mind: my inner artist drifts into fantasy, and from that, a creative art is born, one that feeds itself, joyfull.
“Can anybody really fall in love that quickly?” I asked, and I laughed.
And you said:
“Tough… a white lie” and you smiled, tired.
Is what my heart tells me true or not?
“You are a romantic” you whispered in my ear, that night at the party.
I was struck by the hyperrealism of the robot dogs’ faces, even if I never fully understood the thread connecting those characters.
The robot dogs crashed into each other like bumper cars, snapping photos of us, the spectators. Elon Musk bashed into Mark Zuckerberg and Picasso into Jeff Bezos, while Warhol went into POOP MODE: what digital culture calls the act of releasing an impression.
A critique of the cyber age, of mass consumption and the relentless churn of content.
Somewhere, surely, someone has Elon Musk taking a digital poop in their living room.
But what stayed with me was something else.
On my canvas, reds whisper to Tony.
Yellows play like robot dogs.
Black palm trees hint at December winds in Miami Beach.