Welcome to Atomic Answers!

“Ever wondered why vending machines in Atomic Cities can feel sadness? Or how AI helps me build chrome-drenched metaphors at scale? These are the questions I get asked (and a few I ask myself).”

Q: For readers new to your work — what is Atomic Cities?

It’s a retrofuturist postcard from a future that never quite arrived. Atomic Cities is an illustrated art book series that imagines what tomorrow might have looked like if it were designed by 1960s optimism, filtered through AI, chrome, folklore, and a bit of existential weirdness. Picture mid-century sci-fi colliding with speculative fiction, with a heavy splash of neon gravy.

Q: Where did the idea for Atomic Cities come from?

I started with a single illustrated postcard — a strange little chrome skyline that didn’t belong anywhere but felt familiar. That led to more postcards, then stories, then whole volumes of bizarre future histories. Each book is like a speculative museum or a lost archive — filled with vignettes about mythic AI, haunted diners, jobs no one wants in a digital age, and animals that may or may not remember your dreams.

Q: How do you create these books?

I combine visual art — often with the help of AI platforms trained for commercial use — and short-form storytelling that plays with rhythm, voice, and tone. It’s visual storytelling sci-fi, built on AI art, poetic structure, and heavy doses of surreal worldbuilding. And every entry ends with a sentence that punches you softly in the soul — or makes you laugh at a robot’s expense.

Q: The art is wild. How do you describe the visual style?

It’s atomic-age optimism dipped in neon and sprinkled with pixel dust. Googie architecture, vintage sci-fi, retro diner signs, glitch storms, chrome folklore, and AI archives that remember too much. Think The Jetsons meets Black Mirror, if both had a sense of humor and impeccable interior design.

Q: Who are these books for?

People who love sci-fi art books, speculative fiction art, futuristic concept art, and anyone who’s ever wanted to open a diner on the moon. Fans of Ray Bradbury, Douglas Adams, retro design, glitch-core, and emotionally complicated robots tend to feel right at home.

Q: What’s next for Atomic Cities?

More cities. More weird jobs. More haunted neon. I'm exploring new mythologies, darker reflections, and possibly… space libraries with unresolved feelings. The future is always expanding — and it’s got room for more postcards.

Q: Why postcards? Why not full-length graphic novels or prose?

Because a postcard leaves room for the reader to dream. These books aren’t linear — they’re atmospheric. Each image and vignette is like tuning into a strange signal from another dimension. A graphic novel tells a story. Atomic Cities suggests one, then disappears before you can ask follow-up questions.

Q: How much of this is personal, and how much is just sci-fi fun?

It’s more personal than it looks. Behind every vending god or glitch-drenched monorail is something I’m trying to process — nostalgia, burnout, wonder. I use speculative art and surreal humor to talk about real things: memory, ambition, disconnection. Also, I like drawing robots that need therapy.

Q: What role does AI play in your creative process?

It’s a collaborator — not the artist, not the writer, but something in between. I design every concept and prompt with care, and then AI helps render my imagined worlds into visual form. The tools are evolving, but the heart and humor are human. I use AI to accelerate curiosity, not replace it.

Q: Your books often feel emotional beneath the chrome. Is that intentional?

Completely. I love beautiful, broken things. The vending machines in these cities remember your birthday. The robots have nervous breakdowns. There’s a tenderness in the tech. If the reader feels something odd and can’t quite name it — mission accomplished.

Q: Do the books need to be read in order?

Not at all. Each one is self-contained — a new city, new theme, new emotional weirdness. Start wherever the cover art grabs you. They’re puzzle pieces from different corners of the same speculative universe. There’s no map — just motion.