Faisa doesn't switch between code and canvas — she short-circuits them. She builds inside the malfunction, crafts clarity from corrupted packets. She renders what systems can't contain. This isn't discipline, or expression — it's an unstable language spoken only at the threshold. Where logic gets emotional. Where aesthetics become executable. Her work doesn't fit formats — it fractures them. You don't look at it. You tune into it
THE INTERVIEW:
You live in the collision zone between digital systems and raw human expression. When you code and when you paint, do you feel like you're speaking the same language through different mediums — or are they completely separate realities?
@faisa.webp: Not really, because I approach them with different intentions. Painting is a personal and expressive outlet — it’s about exploring my own perspective and emotions. Coding, on the other hand, is usually in service of someone else’s vision, whether it's a client or an employer. It requires me to step into their shoes, understand their goals, and build something functional and user-centred. So while both involve creativity and problem-solving, the mindset and purpose behind each are quite different for me.
If your mind were a glitchy operating system, what hidden process would be quietly running in the background of everything you make?
@faisa.webp: A constant loop of questioning — that would be the hidden process quietly running in the background of everything I make. I’m always trying to challenge the user or viewer to question what they’re seeing and experiencing. I want what I create to be engaging, not just visually or functionally, but mentally — something that pulls people in and makes them pause, even briefly. It’s less about offering answers and more about creating space for curiosity and reflection.
Do you feel like technology is expanding your world or trapping you in it? How do you consciously design your relationship with digital tools?
@faisa.webp: It definitely expands my world. Technology gives me access to things I wouldn’t have otherwise, from resources and inspiration to communities and opportunities. But I don’t approach digital tools the same way I do non-digital ones. Digital tools come with rules, systems, and constraints — they push you to think in terms of structure and logic. Non-digital tools feel freer to me; they let me create more intuitively, without the same pressure to “follow the rules.” So I try to stay conscious of how each tool shapes the way I work, and make sure I’m still creating on my own terms.
You once described social art spaces as places that “fill you with life.” What is it about these spaces that feels so fundamentally different from everywhere else?
@faisa.webp: There’s something simple yet energising about social art spaces — they feel alive in a way that most places don’t. You’re surrounded by people who are creating, experimenting, and expressing things that might not have a place anywhere else. There’s a kind of openness and mutual understanding, even among strangers, that invites parts of your mind to open up, ones you didn’t even know were there. Unlike more structured environments, these spaces don’t expect you to explain yourself — you can just be, make, connect, and leave. That’s what fills me with life: the freedom, the shared energy, and the sense that art doesn’t have to make sense to matter.
When you paint, is it about capturing a specific emotion, escaping the external world, or decoding something you don’t have the words for?
@faisa.webp: When I paint, I’m often decoding what I’m feeling and what I don’t want to talk about. I used to approach the canvas with a specific idea in mind, but now I let the colours and brushes lead the way. The less planned paintings tend to express my feelings more honestly because they’re driven by instinct rather than intention. It’s less about capturing something specific and more about allowing the process to reveal emotions I might not fully understand at first.
Your life has moved between structured, high-pressure coding schools and open, freeform creative circles. Which one feels more real to you — or are both equally constructed systems?
@faisa.webp: Both feel like constructed systems in their own way, but what’s real to me is the space I occupy between them. Coding school taught me discipline and the importance of showing up — it gave me structure, rules, and a clear path to follow. Creative spaces, on the other hand, taught me to think more broadly, to have a more open mind, and not to doubt myself as much. There’s a balance I try to strike between these worlds: the freedom to experiment with the discipline of structure, and the discipline to stay focused and follow through while allowing room for creativity.
If you could visualize your creative process as a map or diagram, what would it look like? Would it be a grid, a network, a looping spiral, or total chaos?
@faisa.webp: I’d say my creative process looks more like a network. It’s made up of many interconnected ideas, experiences, and influences that constantly feed into each other. There’s no straight path, but everything is connected and has the potential to spark something new. I might start at one point and end up somewhere completely different, but everything I do builds on something else, whether I realise it or not. It’s all about the connections, experiences and the relationships between different elements.
What does imperfection mean to you — both in code and in art? Is it a flaw, a feature, or the point?
@faisa.webp: In code, imperfection is a flaw — things might not break immediately, but eventually the flaws will show up. In art, however, there are no mistakes, only happy accidents. A flaw in a painting or piece of art can be embraced, incorporated, and even become a defining element of the work. It’s less about fixing things and more about letting them shape the piece, making it uniquely imperfect and human.
In tech, everything’s about precision and optimization. In art, it’s about meaning and feeling. How do you navigate those two value systems inside yourself without one killing the other?
@faisa.webp: I won’t lie, it’s difficult for me to balance the two. One thing I’ve found is that my life tends to operate in cycles. Some months I’m able to fully focus on art, where I can dive deep into meaning and feeling, letting go of structure. Other months, I’m completely immersed in tech, where precision and optimization take center stage. It’s not always easy to switch between the two, but I’ve learned to accept these shifts. Each cycle informs the other — the creativity I explore in art sometimes brings fresh perspectives to my tech work, and the structure in tech grounds the freedom I feel in art.
What’s the most transformative conversation you’ve had in a creative space — one that made you question how you were living or creating?
@faisa.webp: It’s not one specific conversation, but a theme that comes up a lot when talking to artists: "Nothing is wrong or bad, just do." I’ve realised that nothing in the world is inherently wrong or bad — we all just have our own morals that guide us. Otherwise, everything goes, and all the rules and laws we follow are just made up. In creative spaces, this mindset is liberating because it means there’s no one “right” way to do things. It’s all about expressing yourself, and there’s freedom in that. Letting go of the idea that something needs to be perfect has made me focus more on just creating and less on trying to follow some imagined set of rules.
If you could build your own creative/digital utopia, what would be its one unbreakable rule — and what would you ban forever?
@faisa.webp: If I could build my own creative/digital utopia, the one unbreakable rule would be: "Everyone has the freedom to create without fear of judgment or restriction." In this space, people could explore, experiment, and express themselves in whatever way felt right, without worrying about fitting into a particular box or standard. What I’d ban forever is the idea of comparison. No one would be allowed to compare their work to anyone else’s or feel pressured to measure their creativity against someone else’s success. It’s all about individual expression, and the value of creation would come from within, not from external validation. But, if we’re talking fantasy utopia, it would be like The Jetsons — flying cars, robotic assistants, and a world where creativity flows effortlessly because technology and art blend perfectly. A place where everything is futuristic, and there’s endless space for exploration, but with zero pressure to conform.
Pop culture time: what fictional universe most accurately reflects your experience of reality right now? (Bonus points if it’s dystopian.)
@faisa.webp: I’d say The Matrix feels pretty accurate for me right now. There’s this constant pull between the digital world and the real world, and sometimes it feels like we’re all just plugged into a system that shapes how we experience everything. What’s unsettling is that some people can see the loop — this repetitive cycle we’re stuck in that slowly drains the life and originality out of us — while others move through it without ever questioning. It makes you think about what’s real, what’s chosen, and what we’re unknowingly accepting as normal.
How does moving through different cities, digital platforms, and art scenes reprogram the way you see yourself? Do you think place still matters in a hyperconnected world?
@faisa.webp: Changing cities doesn’t really change who I am as a person — it might expose me to more, but it doesn’t shift how I see myself at the core. What does change how I reflect or process things is what I create. Whether it’s something I put out on a digital platform or in an art scene, that act of creating lets me engage with what’s already going on inside. My work is internal — it’s a mirror, not a reaction to a place. So while environments can influence style or context, the real shifts happen through making, not moving.
When does a painting or piece of code feel truly finished to you? Or is everything permanently a work in progress, including you?
@faisa.webp: With code, it’s simple — once the program meets its purpose, I’m done. There’s a clear function, a reason it exists, and once that’s working, I can step away. Painting is different. I have to sit with it for a couple of days, look at it in different lights and from different angles before I can even decide if it’s finished. It’s harder to call it done because I don’t always know why I’m painting in the first place. There’s no real end goal — it’s more about the act of creating than completing.
Is your creativity driven more by curiosity, rebellion, or survival?
@faisa.webp: It starts with rebellion — I’ve always loved doing what I want, especially when it’s something I’ve been told not to do or that it’s “wrong” or “bad.” But once I start creating, it shifts into curiosity. It becomes more about asking, what happens if I do this? or what if I mix this with that? So even though it’s rebellion that gets me going, it’s curiosity that carries me through the process.
If code and art are both forms of control — shaping what people see, feel, and experience — which medium feels more honest to you?
@faisa.webp: Art feels more honest to me. With code, I’m usually building for someone else — their goals, their users, their vision. It’s about solving a problem or guiding people through a specific experience. Art, on the other hand, comes from me. It doesn’t need to make sense or follow a brief. I can be unsure, messy, or emotional in art in a way that would never fly in code.
We live in a world increasingly shaped by algorithms and curated feeds. How do you resist becoming a predictable product of those systems as both a creator and a person?
@faisa.webp: To be honest, that’s tough. You can’t help but be affected by what you’re constantly exposed to. But I’ve gotten really good at unplugging and disappearing when I need to. I’d rather be influenced by my physical environment or my own personal past experiences than by algorithms or other people’s opinions — that stuff kills uniqueness. When everything starts to look and feel the same, I know it’s time to step away and remind myself who I am.
If your 16-year-old self could see the world you’re building now, what would they say — and what would they misunderstand completely?
@faisa.webp: She’d probably be quite confused, lol. At 16, I had materialistic dreams like any normal teenager — I thought success looked a certain way: big things, nice stuff, a flashy life. Now, I can’t say I care much about any of that. What matters to me is sustaining myself through tech, art, and even agriculture. She’d probably think I’m an unambitious loser for derailing from the “dream,” but I think she’d come around once she saw the kind of freedom I’m building instead.
What’s one belief, habit, or rule you’ve unlearned in the past year that changed how you approach life, tech, or art?
@faisa.webp: I stopped obsessing over plans. If things aren’t going according to plan, I used to sulk or get frustrated. Now, I adapt and keep it moving. I’ve learned to come up with a new plan on top of the old one instead of clinging to what’s not working. It’s made a difference in how I approach both my personal life and creative projects — things don’t always go as expected, and that’s fine.
What do you ultimately want to leave behind — not just for people who follow your work, but for anyone who’s ever felt like they exist between worlds?
@faisa.webp: I want to leave behind this message: just do you. Let go of shame, doubt, guilt, insecurities, and all that stuff. Do everything you want to do. I promise, it only matters the most to you — at the end of the day, you’ll be the one sitting with it, not the people whose opinions you were so worried about. Just be, everything has space to exist emhlabeni kaThixo.
