Essy 😻💫❤️‍🔥

@Essyflaire

Web 3 Gurl😻 @Essyflaire ❤️‍🔥💫

Joined April 2024

134 Following

10 Followers

125 Posts

Essyflaire retweeted

Ramsey 🐉 @joshthegreat0

5 months ago

Hey @adamilenich, Saw what you’re cooking and it got me properly hyped 😌 I couldn’t resist so I made this banner !! We are ready to take over @ethereum. Scan and see the surprise 😳 Hope it brings a smile, bro. Got my full support ❤️

joshthegreat0's tweet photo. Hey @adamilenich,
Saw what you’re cooking and it got me properly hyped 😌
I couldn’t resist so I made this banner !!
We are ready to take over @ethereum.
Scan and see the surprise 😳

Hope it brings a smile, bro. Got my full support ❤️ https://t.co/O0UzdchDgL

387

Essy 😻💫❤️‍🔥 @Essyflaire

5 months ago

@joshthegreat0 @adamilenich @ethereum 🔥🔥

Essy 😻💫❤️‍🔥 @Essyflaire

6 months ago

@iamaderinkola @thebeaksart Sounds soo cool

Essyflaire retweeted

NATE🤖 @iamaderinkola

6 months ago

I’ve started to notice there’s a real difference between art made to catch attention and art made by someone who’s been quietly building the same inner world for years, even when nobody was watching. This is where @thebeaksart comes in...

iamaderinkola's tweet photo. I’ve started to notice there’s a real difference between art made to catch attention and art made by someone who’s been quietly building the same inner world for years, even when nobody was watching.
This is where @thebeaksart comes in... https://t.co/fQFtbHx4Ao

238

Essy 😻💫❤️‍🔥 @Essyflaire

6 months ago

@ManuelTheGreatt 🔥🔥🔥

Essyflaire retweeted

DegenBro ⛩️ @DegenBroTTT

6 months ago

Most NFT collections feel produced. The Beaks feels lived in. Like stepping into a private emotional world that existed long before the internet discovered it. That difference is impossible to fake.

DegenBroTTT's tweet photo. Most NFT collections feel produced.
The Beaks feels lived in.
Like stepping into a private emotional world that existed long before the internet discovered it.
That difference is impossible to fake. https://t.co/6HD0rjgsrp

131

Essy 😻💫❤️‍🔥 @Essyflaire

6 months ago

@0xSteven8 @thebeaksart @DKashtalyan 🔥🔥🔥💯

Essyflaire retweeted

Steven8 @0xSteven8

6 months ago

STORY OF THE BEAK AND THE FOUNDER. On may 5, 2026, a livestream on x began in a way that almost didn’t ask to be noticed. no rollout. no framing narrative. no attempt to turn it into an “event.” just a blank surface, waiting. and dima kashtalyan started drawing a bird. not producing it. not generating it. not outsourcing it to anything faster than thought. just making it. one dot placed, then another, then another again each one small enough to feel insignificant alone, but irreversible once it existed. and slowly, something that wasn’t there began to take shape in real time. stippling is drawing reduced to its most honest constraint. no lines to carry direction. no shading to fake transition. no blending to smooth uncertainty. only dots. each mark is placed individually, and each one changes what everything around it means. light appears where space is left untouched. shadow forms where that space is taken away. the entire image is built from nothing but density, distance, and time. there is no correction phase waiting at the end. no layer to hide behind. the drawing is exactly what was done to it, nothing more and nothing less. what makes his work linger is not just the technique, but what happens when the technique is pushed against imagination. the method is controlled, almost disciplined to a fault repetition, patience, precision. but the imagery refuses to stay disciplined. a bird carrying something architectural in its body, as if it grew structures instead of feathers. a fox fused with fragments of a city it shouldn’t be able to absorb. figures placed in worlds that don’t align historically or logically, yet feel emotionally familiar. the structure tries to contain the idea. the idea keeps slipping past it. and that tension is where the work becomes alive. it has travelled from walls in minsk to pages in the new york times, harper’s magazine, and mit technology review, and into large-scale installations that treat time itself as part of the medium. including a 25-metre mural in romania, completed with full awareness that weather would eventually undo it slowly, inevitably. because nothing here was built to resist disappearance. only to finish before it arrived. and then there is 1,111. not as marketing structure. not as artificial rarity. not as a number designed to feel collectible. but as the natural ceiling of a process that depends entirely on human endurance. stippling does not scale without changing its nature. it cannot be accelerated without flattening what makes it distinct. it cannot be delegated without losing the hand inside it. so the limit isn’t chosen for attention it’s what remains when the process is taken seriously. 1,111 is simply the point where adding more would no longer be the same language. On may 5, the first beak was finished live. same hand shaped by years of painting across minsk walls. same discipline built from decades of repetition. same refusal to turn slowness into spectacle. and when the final dot was placed, there was no reveal moment. only a drawing that finally existed long enough to stay. Don’t be left out. @thebeaksart @DKashtalyan

0xSteven8's tweet photo. STORY OF THE BEAK AND THE FOUNDER.

On may 5, 2026, a livestream on x began in a way that almost didn’t ask to be noticed.

no rollout.
no framing narrative.
no attempt to turn it into an “event.”

just a blank surface, waiting.

and dima kashtalyan started drawing a bird.

not producing it.
not generating it.
not outsourcing it to anything faster than thought.

just making it.

one dot placed, then another, then another again each one small enough to feel insignificant alone, but irreversible once it existed.

and slowly, something that wasn’t there began to take shape in real time.

stippling is drawing reduced to its most honest constraint.

no lines to carry direction.
no shading to fake transition.
no blending to smooth uncertainty.

only dots.

each mark is placed individually, and each one changes what everything around it means. light appears where space is left untouched. shadow forms where that space is taken away. the entire image is built from nothing but density, distance, and time.

there is no correction phase waiting at the end. no layer to hide behind. the drawing is exactly what was done to it, nothing more and nothing less.

what makes his work linger is not just the technique, but what happens when the technique is pushed against imagination.

the method is controlled, almost disciplined to a fault repetition, patience, precision.

but the imagery refuses to stay disciplined.

a bird carrying something architectural in its body, as if it grew structures instead of feathers.
a fox fused with fragments of a city it shouldn’t be able to absorb.
figures placed in worlds that don’t align historically or logically, yet feel emotionally familiar.

the structure tries to contain the idea.
the idea keeps slipping past it.

and that tension is where the work becomes alive.

it has travelled from walls in minsk to pages in the new york times, harper’s magazine, and mit technology review, and into large-scale installations that treat time itself as part of the medium.

including a 25-metre mural in romania, completed with full awareness that weather would eventually undo it slowly, inevitably.

because nothing here was built to resist disappearance. only to finish before it arrived.

and then there is 1,111.

not as marketing structure. not as artificial rarity. not as a number designed to feel collectible.

but as the natural ceiling of a process that depends entirely on human endurance.

stippling does not scale without changing its nature. it cannot be accelerated without flattening what makes it distinct. it cannot be delegated without losing the hand inside it.

so the limit isn’t chosen for attention it’s what remains when the process is taken seriously.

1,111 is simply the point where adding more would no longer be the same language.

On may 5, the first beak was finished live.
same hand shaped by years of painting across minsk walls.
same discipline built from decades of repetition.
same refusal to turn slowness into spectacle.

and when the final dot was placed, there was no reveal moment.

only a drawing that finally existed long enough to stay.

Don’t be left out. @thebeaksart @DKashtalyan

261

Essy 😻💫❤️‍🔥 @Essyflaire

6 months ago

@manlikedash 🔥🔥🔥

Essyflaire retweeted

DASH W♡RLD @manlikedash

6 months ago

𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝘀 𝗮𝗻 𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗶𝘀𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝘁𝗼 𝘄𝗮𝘁𝗰𝗵 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗿. before the galleries, before the commissions, before people knew dima kashtalyan for the dots, there were walls in minsk. spray paint. cold air. empty concrete surfaces that only stayed empty until he arrived. he would spend entire nights painting pieces that lasted days. sometimes weeks if he was lucky. then someone painted over them. buildings changed. weather peeled them apart. the city erased them like they had never happened. that kind of loss changes the way an artist thinks. because eventually the question stops being “how do i make something beautiful?” it becomes: how do i make something that survives me? that question quietly shaped everything dima did after graffiti. he moved away from walls and into illustration, but he carried the same obsession with permanence into the work itself. he started building images the slowest way imaginable one dot at a time. not brushes faking texture. not digital effects pretending to be handmade. actual dots. thousands of them. placed individually. the kind of process that makes time visible. every piece became a record of patience. not just talent, but endurance. weeks spent building images so detailed and so unmistakably human that you can almost feel the hours trapped inside them. and people noticed. the new york times noticed. harper’s noticed. MIT technology review noticed. lavazza built campaigns around the work. cropp turned the illustrations into an entire clothing line. galleries across london, taipei, warsaw, rotterdam, and barcelona hung pieces that started with the same simple act: one mark, then another. twenty years of that. twenty years refining a visual language so personal that it couldn’t be mistaken for anyone else’s. then came the commission that feels almost symbolic now. MIT technology review hired him to create artwork for a story about nightshade a tool built to protect artists from AI systems scraping creative work without consent. think about the irony in that for a second. an artist whose entire practice depends on irreducible human labor… illustrating a story about defending human creativity from machines designed to flatten it into data. they could not have picked a more fitting artist if they tried. because nothing about dima’s work feels generated. it feels earned. you can see the decisions. you can see the restraint. you can see the years. and then came the beaks. 1,111 pieces. all hand-rendered. all built from the same painstaking technique he spent two decades mastering. but this time the destination changed. not walls. not magazines. not platforms owned by companies that can rewrite the rules tomorrow. on-chain. and suddenly the story makes complete sense. the beaks is not some artist chasing relevance through web3. it’s the conclusion of a twenty-year search for permanence. a graffiti writer who spent his youth watching his work get erased… finally finding a medium where the work remains. on may 5, 2026, dima streamed the first beak live on x. no AI. no automation. no shortcuts. just a human being sitting down and doing what he has always done: placing one deliberate mark after another until something alive appeared. except this time, when the piece was finished, it didn’t vanish. it stayed. and maybe that’s what the entire journey was really about all along. @thebeaksart @DKashtalyan

manlikedash's tweet photo. 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝘀 𝗮𝗻 𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗶𝘀𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝘁𝗼 𝘄𝗮𝘁𝗰𝗵 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗿.

before the galleries, before the commissions, before people knew dima kashtalyan for the dots, there were walls in minsk.

spray paint.
cold air.
empty concrete surfaces that only stayed empty until he arrived.

he would spend entire nights painting pieces that lasted days. sometimes weeks if he was lucky. then someone painted over them. buildings changed. weather peeled them apart. the city erased them like they had never happened.

that kind of loss changes the way an artist thinks.

because eventually the question stops being “how do i make something beautiful?”

it becomes:
how do i make something that survives me?

that question quietly shaped everything dima did after graffiti.

he moved away from walls and into illustration, but he carried the same obsession with permanence into the work itself. he started building images the slowest way imaginable one dot at a time.

not brushes faking texture.
not digital effects pretending to be handmade.

actual dots.
thousands of them.
placed individually.

the kind of process that makes time visible.

every piece became a record of patience. not just talent, but endurance. weeks spent building images so detailed and so unmistakably human that you can almost feel the hours trapped inside them.

and people noticed.

the new york times noticed.
harper’s noticed.
MIT technology review noticed.

lavazza built campaigns around the work.
cropp turned the illustrations into an entire clothing line.
galleries across london, taipei, warsaw, rotterdam, and barcelona hung pieces that started with the same simple act:
one mark, then another.

twenty years of that.

twenty years refining a visual language so personal that it couldn’t be mistaken for anyone else’s.

then came the commission that feels almost symbolic now.

MIT technology review hired him to create artwork for a story about nightshade a tool built to protect artists from AI systems scraping creative work without consent.

think about the irony in that for a second.

an artist whose entire practice depends on irreducible human labor…
illustrating a story about defending human creativity from machines designed to flatten it into data.

they could not have picked a more fitting artist if they tried.

because nothing about dima’s work feels generated.
it feels earned.

you can see the decisions.
you can see the restraint.
you can see the years.

and then came the beaks.

1,111 pieces.
all hand-rendered.
all built from the same painstaking technique he spent two decades mastering.

but this time the destination changed.

not walls.
not magazines.
not platforms owned by companies that can rewrite the rules tomorrow.

on-chain.

and suddenly the story makes complete sense.

the beaks is not some artist chasing relevance through web3.

it’s the conclusion of a twenty-year search for permanence.

a graffiti writer who spent his youth watching his work get erased…
finally finding a medium where the work remains.

on may 5, 2026, dima streamed the first beak live on x.

no AI.
no automation.
no shortcuts.

just a human being sitting down and doing what he has always done:
placing one deliberate mark after another until something alive appeared.

except this time, when the piece was finished, it didn’t vanish.

it stayed.

and maybe that’s what the entire journey was really about all along.

@thebeaksart @DKashtalyan

664

Essyflaire retweeted

Trojan Trading @TrojanOnSolana

10 months ago

Trojan is LIVE!  Step into the Arena for the best chance to escape the trenches. Win daily Jackpots, accumulate Gold and earn from Quests.   $5,000,000 in SOL rewards for early users. 🎰   Come back to where it all began. Come back to start winning again.

15K

832

Essy 😻💫❤️‍🔥 @Essyflaire

10 months ago

@TrojanOnSolana Lfg

Essy 😻💫❤️‍🔥 @Essyflaire

11 months ago

@aethersxyz 💯🔥

Essy 😻💫❤️‍🔥 @Essyflaire

12 months ago

@NexaByteAI 🔥

Essyflaire retweeted

Axonic @NexaByteAI

12 months ago

72% of conversations break because AI can’t recall your mood. We fixed that. NexaByte evolves with every word, every pause, every you. The future isn’t cold code. It’s warm understanding.