Generative editions
Limited series of 8–50 works, each produced from a custom algorithmic system. Cut paper, risograph, archival pigment, or screen — your collection, your material.
A generative art practice exploring how mathematical systems become quiet, tactile objects — and how those objects, in turn, reshape the way we see.
A small rotating selection from the studio's generative series. Each piece begins as a rule, becomes a system, and is finished by hand — paper, ink, thread, or screen — depending on what the work needs to say.
The studio works at the seam between algorithmic rule and physical material. A system is drafted in code, then released — to paper, to ink, to thread, to the slow inaccuracy of a hand. Nothing here is mass-produced. Everything is in dialogue with its own making.
Jun Fujiki trained in graphic design in Tokyo and Berlin before turning to generative practice in 2017. The studio remains deliberately small, producing between eight and twelve new pieces a year, each treated as a single, ongoing question.
The studio takes a small number of commissions, editions, and collaborations each year. The work ranges from one-off paper pieces to permanent installations and brand identities for cultural institutions.
Limited series of 8–50 works, each produced from a custom algorithmic system. Cut paper, risograph, archival pigment, or screen — your collection, your material.
A single, hand-finished piece made to the dimensions and palette of your room. Begins with a brief, a conversation, and a shared rule-set drawn from your space.
Large-format generative works for lobbies, atria, and public programs. Designed in dialogue with architects and curators to hold a specific room in a specific light.
Visual systems for museums, festivals, and editorial programs. Built from a single generative rule, then extended across type, print, and digital — never the other way around.
Long-form partnerships with other independent studios — typographers, ceramicists, sound designers. We open our rule-set, you open yours, and we make something neither would have made alone.
Half-day and two-day workshops on writing generative systems for physical output. Currently offered in Tokyo, Berlin, and online for graduate programs and small studios.
Every commission follows the same quiet arc. There are no surprises in the schedule — only in the work itself.
Two or three long calls, a shared folder, and a one-page brief — your room, your intent, your constraints.
A generative rule-set is written in code, then stress-tested against hundreds of iterations before anything is made by hand.
The chosen system is transferred to paper, ink, fabric, or screen. The hand finishes what the algorithm began.
Each piece is signed, catalogued, and shipped with a printed certificate describing its rule-set, edition, and provenance.
Notes from a few of the people who have lived with the work, written a catalogue essay for it, or built a room around it.
We commissioned a 12-piece edition for the foyer of a building in Marunouchi. Six months later, the work still teaches the room how to be quiet. That is a rare thing to buy.
Jun's work refuses the easy trick of the algorithmic image. The code is in the service of the paper, never the other way around. It is the most disciplined generative practice I have reviewed in the last decade.
We have three pieces from the Strata series in our home. They change with the light, the season, and, I am almost certain, the mood of the room. Living with them is a small, ongoing conversation.
The studio's calendar opens in September. If you are considering a piece for a private collection, an institutional program, or a long-form collaboration, the next step is a short, unhurried introduction.