Silicon Temple proposes a pantheon born not from mythic time, but from the material afterlives of technology.
Its architecture is assembled from microchips, heatsinks, and cooling channels; waste heat rises like incense; and the circuitry that underpins computation becomes a new form of sacred infrastructure.

At the core of the temple stands a constellation of posthuman deities, each forged from AI-generated debris:
misrecognized faces, fragmented bodies, glitches, insects, fish, crystals, and impossible textures.
Following the spatial logic of Taiwanese temples, Silicon Temple hosts a multiplicity of gods — yet each deity embodies a contemporary condition rarely visible within AI’s glossy, idealized surfaces.

These figures are assemblages of error.
They reveal the environmental and emotional costs of computation:
energy extraction, water dependence, e-waste, algorithmic violence, reproductive anxieties, and fractured masculinities.
What is discarded, filtered out, or misread by machines becomes sacred again.

Silicon Temple is therefore not a return to religion, but a ritual for the future.
It imagines how myth might function in a world where machines hallucinate bodies, rewrite ecologies, and reshape cosmologies.
Through performance, costume, moving image, and digital sculpture, the work asks:

If AI produces new forms of humans, what new gods will follow?