Immutable Happiness

Or the Rise of Analog Experiences.

Last night, over dinner at a friend’s house, we talked about the one moment that truly matters: the one where neither yesterday nor tomorrow dare disturb the peace. The present, whole and complete, was entirely self-sufficient. My gaze lingered on a painting by Zacchi, hanging on the wall. More than just a decorative piece, it seemed to transcend the space. My friend told me she had chosen it for the way it revived something in her: precious moments with her grandmother, woven into the delicate light of shared memories.

Zacchi's painting.

"What could be the title of this painting?” I asked her. Then, to continue this play of ideas, we turned to ChatGPT. Together, we guided the AI, blending our emotions and feelings with its cold mechanics. A staircase, bright light on one side, plunged into shadow on the other. That particular shade of green. In painting, green was long considered temperamental, a pigment that degrades and fades over time. Life and near-death, all mingled together. Suggestions like Steps of Life emerged, but the true title was revealed in a found invoice: Immutable Happiness. Simple, perfect.

She then shared an intriguing detail with me: Zacchi hides a tiny red dot in each of his paintings. Intrigued, I set out to find it. After a while, I finally spotted it, discreet, almost faded, but unmistakably there. I wanted to capture the moment, freeze it in a photo. But on the screen, the red dot had vanished. I zoomed in, scrutinized every detail. Nothing. The dot, so real to my eyes, refused to be captured by the machine.

This small incident, as trivial as it may seem, reminded me of a reflection by Geoffrey Hinton, a pioneer in AI. Unlike those who envision a future where human consciousness could be transferred into a machine—like Ray Kurzweil—Hinton firmly opposes this idea. Why? Because our brain operates in an analog way: fluid, continuous, with an infinite range of nuances. In contrast, machines and AI follow rigid steps, sequences of 0s and 1s. It’s the encounter between human subtlety and cold mechanics.

This led me to reflect: in this world saturated with technology, pixels, and simulations, could true luxury lie in those moments that technology cannot capture? I’ve already spoken about hyperphysicality, that “over-expression” of the body that restores soul to physical spaces. But even more so, there are these experiences that no longer simply distract, but reveal. They speak to us, teach us what we didn’t know about ourselves, and leave their mark on time. Their secret? They are analog.

This quest can be seen, to some extent, in the work of Mauricio Alejo. In Substance, he gives a tangible form to a shadow, creating a paradox where absence becomes presence. In Let It Be Light, what appears to be a light source is, in fact, just a painted surface.

mauricioalejo

A post shared by @mauricioalejo

Another illusion, one that invites us to interact, to be physically present in order to grasp what is real and what is not.

While sharing these reflections with a friend, he recalled a memorable moment from this year’s Rosh Hashanah services. The rabbi made an uncommon gesture: he removed all the prayer books from the seats. A powerful act, especially in a place where the book is sacred. His sermon, Face to Face, suddenly took on deeper meaning. The projected prayers were just a pretext. What he sought was eye contact, a moment that transcended words and screens. He didn’t want heads bowed; he wanted to see faces. To truly connect.

Creating experiences that exist only for those who live them—that is the true luxury. Moments invisible to machines, etched into our memories, captured by simple presence. And what if this luxury took on new forms? Objects that only respond to touch, to the warmth of a hand. Art that comes alive in the light but eludes the cameras. Intimate experiences, accessible only through proximity, beyond the grasp of machines. A fleeting luxury, imperceptible, reserved for the living. Like Pepper's ghost, those 19th-century stage illusions that only appeared from a certain angle and only existed in the moment.

Brands, too, could embrace this luxury. Imagine clothing or accessories that evade cameras, materials that confuse machines. Not in a paranoid gesture of defiance, but with the quiet elegance of refinement, like those logo-free brands that say everything without speaking. Garments that remind us there is no point in capturing an image. The moment is here, alive, beyond capture. A connoisseur's gesture, like artists who ban phones at their concerts to restore the raw truth of the moment.

At the crossroads of physical presence and the unseen digital world, a new dialogue between humans and technology could emerge—a dialogue where the machine, unable to grasp everything, finally recognizes its limits. And in this space—between what can be perceived and what slips away—true luxury reveals itself: the luxury of lived experience, that immutable happiness of a moment perfectly attuned to life. An experience, like the red dot hidden in a Zacchi painting, that remains imprinted in the memory of those who took the time to truly see.

MD