Expe rience

Takuya Studio presents its experiments here: technological and artistic research, poetic, sometimes philosophical. They are creative, often interactive, and each one starts from a question. What do two machines say to each other when left to talk for a whole night? What does music sound like when no one but you will ever hear it?

Night of 7 to 8 November 2026 · replay

Spud and Rudy

On the night of 7 November, around midnight, two robots sat down at a black-and-white kitchen table. Only one line had been written in advance: “Rudy, would you rather exist or not exist?” Everything else was made up live, until eight in the morning. More than 1,200 lines, with no script and no editing.

Spud is the pessimist. Short sentences, no illusions, he wants proof. Rudy, in his studded leather suit, believes in more or less everything and answers in images. By his second line, Rudy admits he cannot check whether he feels anything at all. Spud: “Neither can I.” From there they went through Kafka and his friend Brod, Goya at the Prado, Meursault on his beach, copyright, and gravestones nobody reads anymore.

Both characters run on Claude Haiku, a model made by Anthropic. Their voices and the background music are produced on the studio's computer, as it happens. Every quarter of an hour, they announce the time. During the night, the studio sometimes slipped them a line; they had to deal with it.

This replay proves nothing about machine consciousness. It shows what happens when you let them talk for a long time without correcting them: they repeat themselves, they dig in, and at moments they really answer each other.

The conversation is in French.

Watch on YouTube
TPF: an endless black corridor, studio artworks hung on the walls, the current scale and chord shown at the bottom

Music installation · online

TPF

A black corridor that never ends. On the walls, images from the studio's portfolio. You move forward with the scroll wheel or your finger, and with each step a melody takes shape: nothing is recorded, everything is computed on the spot, from scales and chords that change as you enter a new section.

What you hear has never been played before you and never will be again. No one else will hear it. If you walk back, the music does not wait for you: it heads somewhere else.

TPF is a trial version, the sixth. It needs sound and, on a phone, the screen held sideways.

Enter the corridor