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My name is Matthew Prebeg, and I am a multidisciplinary artist, designer, researcher, and technologist. 

There’s this old saying, “A rolling stone gathers no moss.” (1) This can mean something positive or negative, depending on who you ask. See, my dilemma is that I like gathering moss, but I also like rolling. I have moved around a lot, currently residing in Toronto, ON. My practice dynamically weaves disciplines and constantly changes, depending on my current interests or the direction the wind is blowing. I am a lifelong learner. You can think of me as a rolling stone in a moss garden.

Currently, my art practice explores digital culture, techno-ecology, and ephemera. My professional practice is centred on designing services and translating knowledge in health research. These, too, are bound to change. I am open to chatting and collaborating—you can contact me at hi@mattprebeg.com.

My CV is available here.

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Read my blog here.

Read “On being a creative in the age of content” for It’s Nice That here.

Say hi on Instagram, Are.na, TikTok, LinkedIn, or Chess.com.



They say you can hear the ocean in a seashell. That was the first thing my Baka said when she handed me this conch from Podgora, Croatia. When I visited Podgora a few years ago, I heard the ocean. I heard the crashing of waves against the pebble beach.

While “seashell resonance” may be a folk myth, I hold onto this idea, well into adulthood, that a seashell connects me to the same waves my grandmother swam in as a child.

I ran a Python script to convert a .WAV audio file of the crashing waves on the beach in Podgora to binary code. I painted each zero and one on the inside of the conch until there was no space left.Whether or not you, too, can hear the ocean in a seashell, I think there’s value in holding onto these experiences even when they shift form.They say you can hear the ocean in a seashell. That was the first thing my Baka said when she handed me this conch from Podgora, Croatia. When I visited Podgora a few years ago, I heard the ocean. I heard the crashing of waves against the pebble beach.While “seashell resonance” may be a folk myth, I hold onto this idea, well into adulthood, that a seashell connects me to the same waves my grandmother swam in as a child.I ran a Python script to convert a .WAV audio file of the crashing waves on the beach in Podgora to binary code. I painted each zero and one on the inside of the conch until there was no space left.

Whether or not you, too, can hear the ocean in a seashell, I think there’s value in holding onto these experiences even when they shift form.

Videos here.
This website is updated every so often. Last updated on 21 January 2025. All contents are licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike license. Thanks for visiting :)