Twenty-plus years of motion.
Then the robots showed up.

I'm Ken Macy. I've spent over two decades as a motion designer — campaign work, brand storytelling, the kind of deadline-shaped craft where an idea has to survive contact with a render queue. That career taught me two things: taste is a muscle, and tools are never neutral.

A while back the tools started talking back. Instead of picking a side in the AI shouting match, I built a kitchen. Everything on this site — the games, the phone wired to a local brain, the record label run on prompts, the dog collar that buzzes at bad language — comes out of one small practice: take the new machines seriously enough to cook with them, and honestly enough to publish the receipts.

The thesis is on the front door: from soulless slop to creative cuisine. AI doesn't make the taste. It makes the taste matter more — because when anyone can generate anything, the only interesting question left is what you choose to make, and whether you finish it.

I work as a one-person shop with a bench of robots: local models on my own hardware, cloud models when the job calls for it, and a growing pile of physical machines — microcontrollers, a Jetson, an analog telephone — because software that touches the world is more honest than software that doesn't. The pantry lists every tool I've actually wired into something. The menu is what came out of the oven.