Heather Timm on Quantum Logic, Glitch, and the Art of Staying Open
- Daria Kravchuk
- 15 hours ago
- 5 min read
Heather Timm (heathertimm.art) works both in material and digital realities. Moving between painting, photography, animation, glitch, AI, sculpture, and AR, she approaches each new idea as an open field of possibility rather than a fixed outcome. What she calls a “quantum” logic underpins her process: the artwork emerges as a momentary crystallization of infinite potential.
Error, distortion, and remix are not accidents in her practice but methods — ways of questioning who defines perfection and why. Her motion paintings extend the language of the canvas into time and code, while her sculptural works reassert the intelligence of touch and material presence. Across mediums, Timm remains committed to transformation, revisiting and reactivating earlier works as her tools and perspectives evolve.
In this interview for the .ART blog, she speaks about intuition, technology, impermanence, and the discipline of staying open to what the work wants to become.
You work across so many mediums — painting, photography, animations, glitch, AI, sculpture, AR. When a new idea emerges, how do you sense which medium it belongs to?
Sometimes an idea emerges fully formed. I can see it in my mind’s eye as a sculpture, a painting, digital art, code. Other times what emerges is a question or feeling, a desire to make an internal state visible. When that happens, I trust the flow of the creative process to guide me. I find my best work happens when I don’t hold onto the outcome but stay open and curious.
When I know something is right, I know. It triggers an almost electric feeling that initiates an obsessive need to bring the work to life. In that feverish creative state, I try to remain open to the work evolving beyond my imagination. It’s like a personal big bang that gets everything in motion. I honor where I think it should go while staying open to it going somewhere I never imagined. To me, this is magic and I do not tire of it.
You often talk about “quantum” logic in your creative process. In simple terms, what does that mean for you?
It means that I keep all possibilities open. I don’t limit myself in ideation, medium, or method. I try to stay in a superposition. That is, I am everything, everywhere all at once. Each individual artwork is a measurement and it collapses all of possibility into a digital or physical artifact. It is one expression in a Universe of creation.
Glitch plays a big role in your work. What draws you to error and imperfection?
I am deeply drawn to the concept of error and imperfection because I think they are concepts worth questioning, examining, and critiquing. Who decides what is perfect or imperfect? Can error be beautiful? Is error a type of noise or a signal we are unfamiliar with? I think systemic bias drives a lot of thinking around the notion of imperfection. I think this bias can be very dangerous. Glitch Art for me is a critique and a proof that where one might see error, others may find beauty. I hope to always find myself on the side of beauty and connection and possibility. I think glitch art can help us see things in literal and figurative new light.
Your Motion Paintings sit somewhere between painting and animation. How did the idea of bringing motion into painting first emerge in your practice?
During the covid lockdown, my traditional art practice and former career in technology collided for the first time. I began making digital art and exploring the intersection of traditional and digital mediums. The motion paintings evolved from my glitch art experiments. Many of those experiments began with digital paintings or images created with Generative AI that I would smear and layer and data bend and shuffle. I use the glitched images to make video art or gif art. It occurred to me that this was a lot like painting, the only difference was that my canvas was a screen, my palette was an image, and error was my brush. I’ve been obsessed with this type of motion painting ever since.
Many of your works evolve over time or get remixed. Why is revisiting older pieces important to you?
I think it is driven by curiosity and a desire to stay open and embrace impermanence and change. Nothing is ever truly finished. Each artwork exists in a moment with the tools, ideas, and understanding I had then. When I return to older work with new techniques or perspectives, I’m not correcting it. I’m in conversation with an earlier version of myself and the work. As my practice evolves, integrating the old and new reveals something neither could alone. A glitch I made three years ago might become the palette for today’s motion painting. A sculpture might be scanned, distorted, and projected back onto itself in AR. It’s like adding a new ingredient to a favorite old recipe to discover great can be greater.
You use AI and generative tools in parts of your practice. How do you see your relationship with these technologies — as tools, collaborators, or something else?
I see them as tools and mediums to explore. These are the most powerful technologies of our time. They are worth exploring and interrogating. I’ve used generative AI models to explore bias. I’ve used them to create palettes for my motion paintings. I’ve used them to accelerate bringing concepts to life. Most often I use AI as a notebook. I have more ideas than I could ever create physically. How amazing is it to be able to communicate a visual concept and refine it in such a short period of time? The output is rarely final—I glitch it, layer it, remix it, transform it into something else entirely. Just like any other medium or tool, I use it for its utility and to push the boundaries of what is possible.
You also build physical sculptures and work with found objects. What does working with material, tangible things give you that digital space doesn’t?
I think physical media grounds me in a different way. It is slower. There is something about touch and physically working with material that resonates differently. It’s a physical not intellectual communication that happens when I’m working with physical material.
The body knows things the mind doesn’t so it’s important to keep that a part of my creative practice.
To me I get an image of the physical being my roots and the digital being the space I grow into. I need them both.
You create 8–12 hours a day. What keeps that level of curiosity and momentum alive?
Because I am exploring possibility itself, the only limit is self-limiting. When I can get myself into a liberated, creative state it is like jumping into the river of possibility. I am not spending a bunch of energy swimming. I am just relaxing into the flow and enjoying the ride.
When someone encounters your work — whether on a screen, in AR, or in a gallery — what kind of experience do you hope they walk away with?
I hope they walk away feeling something whether that’s surprise, curiosity, delight, maybe discomfort. My work spans so much terrain that what resonates will be different for each person. Some people connect with the humor, others with the political questions, others with pure aesthetic experience. What matters to me is that something shifts, that they leave having connected in some way. If they walk away more open to transformation and possibility than when they arrived then we’ve both won.
