Growing debates on the irresponsible use of technology have generated differing opinions on the conception of art as something that should be real, devaluing the word and all the innovative proposals that seek to continue creating and demonstrating that not everything has already been invented. Muhcine Ennou dives into CGI in this interview.
The idea that a picture is worth a thousand words has underpinned numerous artistic disciplines that have been able to replicate the poignancy of speech through enough visual beauty to provoke an instant Stendhal Syndrome. One that Muhcine Ennou has known, experienced and trained through navigating the different realms of art, moving from Morocco to the Netherlands, and longing for the sun.
The artist’s nostalgia for the sun, helped him in finding movement and professional motivation in shadows, windows, and the aspiration to create beauty from scratch. To narrate visually, and to state that art’s purpose should be to linger.
In conversation with Muhcine Ennou, we hear about self-taught learning, perspectives around art and its creation, CGI, and the poetry of technology when it is used to enhance human possibilities.
Hi Muhcine! Welcome to METAL. Let’s break the ice before diving into the interview. Tell us about your most recently discovered obsession.
Hey Elena! Well! Lately I’ve been deep into freestyle cooking. I never follow recipes, I just vibe with whatever’s in the kitchen: blend spices, cross cuisines. It’s like making a track or building a scene, honestly. Cooking used to feel like a chore to me, maybe I was a bit spoiled growing up (laughs), but now it’s become this daily ritual where I get to experiment, tune into my senses, and just create without pressure. It’s almost meditative.
You describe yourself as a self-taught artist. Is there such a thing as learning how to make art?
I think the term self-taught says more about navigating the art world than about the creative process itself. To me, everyone starts off as an artist — drawing, building, imagining — but somewhere along the way, the world tells you to be practical or realistic, and that creative muscle starts to shrink. Being self-taught is more about reclaiming that freedom, giving yourself permission to explore and express without needing external validation. I didn’t go to art school, but I kept making. Learning to speak about my work came later, and that’s a whole different education.
Your artistic career began with music, with the creation of original sounds. How did the possibility of creation, of generating something from scratch, present itself to you?
Music was my first portal into making. I’d lose myself layering sounds, textures, loops, it was a way to process emotions that didn’t have language. That instinct, to build something from fragments, to let emotion guide structure, stayed with me. Whether it’s a photo, a film, or a CGI world, I still think like a producer. I’m always composing. That rhythm, that pulse, it’s in everything I do. It’s less about tools, more about mindset.
However, you have dedicated practically all of your artistic project to images. Analogue, retouched, CGI, as a director, and so on. Within art, what do images have that other disciplines lack?
Images are where I feel most fluent. I grew up obsessed with movies: VHS tapes, TV, cinema, just absorbing stories visually. That language of light, colour, framing, movement. It shaped my way of seeing. It’s not that other disciplines lack something, it’s just that images feel like home. They allow me to capture moments that feel both real and imagined: to freeze time, bend it, or create entirely new ones. There’s something powerful in showing rather than telling.
Your shift from analogue photography to CGI is intrinsic to a change in your lifestyle: moving from Morocco to the Netherlands. Given your creative ability, which was already visible in your early days, do you think you would have made it this far in your creative concept if you had stayed in Marrakech?
Honestly, I don’t know. I believe in Maktoub — destiny, or what’s written. I didn’t plan to leave Marrakech, and I’m not sure where I’m heading next, but I trust the flow. The move definitely shifted my perspective. In Morocco, I was surrounded by light, golden, intense, alive. The Netherlands, by contrast, is softer, more muted. That change pushed me inward, and CGI became a way to recreate the warmth and drama I missed. If I had stayed, maybe my work would’ve remained more rooted in the physical. Here, I started building worlds from nothing, virtual suns, imagined deserts, spaces that blend memory and fantasy.
You have mentioned that shadows are one of the most striking visual and artistic elements of your work, as well as the change that came with moving to a more temperate climate after growing up in the sun, filled with these light contrasts. Let’s dig a little deeper. How does your environment influence your work?
Light is everything. It’s emotion. It’s narrative. In Morocco, shadows aren’t subtle, they cut deep. You feel time passing by the way light dances across surfaces. It imprinted a certain rhythm in me. When I moved to the Netherlands, the absence of that strong sun created a void. I started craving those contrasts, and that craving led me to recreate them digitally. So, I guess the environment taught me to look harder, to compensate, to become more intentional. The sun became an idea rather than a source, something I had to invent in my work rather than experience in daily life.
You’ve embodied various artistic realms, but the merging between photography and CGI is probably one of the most curious ones. Specially nowadays, when there are so many debates generated around the uses of technology, the veracity of images, the value of organic pieces. How does art, your art, react to this?
Honestly, I don’t see technology as a threat. It’s just a tool, like a brush, a camera, or a pen. The debate around realness is interesting, but I think it misses the point. For me, art isn’t about proving what’s real, it’s about making people feel something. Whether that’s triggered by an old film camera or a 3D render doesn’t matter. I make things I’d want to experience. I’m not here to convince or explain. If it resonates, great. If not, that’s fine too.
You stated that the human component in analogue photography makes the image feel more alive; that the simple appearance of a person in a corner bathes it in dynamism, such as the ones shown in Melting Pot, or Conflicted. Can this vitality be replicated in computer-generated images?
Not fully. Humans can sense humanity. There’s a certain randomness, the way someone’s arm rests, how light hits their skin, that’s hard to replicate digitally. CGI can simulate imperfection, but it still lacks that unpredictable spark. That said, CGI has its own poetry. You can build impossible places, bend the rules of gravity and logic. And strangely, people do feel things in those spaces. Our minds are flexible. If the intention is strong enough, fiction starts to feel like memory.
We, as a society, have this irrational fear that technology is turning into a weapon instead of a tool, but you have mentioned that you seek to challenge the public’s classic gaze by mixing traditional and contemporary techniques and art forms. Something that happens in Bliss, for example. How do you deal with concepts and discomforts such as the Uncanny Valley, for instance, which seems to concern and bother people when approaching art?
The Uncanny Valley is fascinating. It shows how sensitive we are to subtle shifts in humanity. But I think that discomfort is useful, it wakes something up. My job isn’t to soothe people, it’s to open doors. When people ask, “How was this made?” I often want to say: does it matter? If the work touches something in you, that’s the point. We’re so obsessed with labels, processes, authenticity and sometimes that obsession blinds us to the actual experience. Just feel the thing. Let the work take you somewhere weird, uncomfortable, beautiful, whatever it is.
Throughout the years, what has been the contrast you have perceived in how people relate emotionally to your analogue work in comparison to others that may be more primarily shocking to the eye, such as Dessertism?
It’s funny with Dessertism, people often think it’s a real place. They ask, “Where did you shoot that?” And that’s where it gets interesting. Our brains want to believe in something, even if it’s fiction. That illusion, the dance between real and unreal, is where my work lives. With analogue, there’s often nostalgia, memory, familiarity. With CGI, there’s wonder, confusion, sometimes even resistance. I like playing with that spectrum, pulling people into a place where they’re not quite sure what’s true.
If we can now produce unlimited images through CGI, what makes a photographic work a piece of art? How do you envision its future?
This isn’t a new panic. When photography came onto the scene, painters freaked out. Now it’s happening again, but with AI, CGI, whatever’s next. I think the real question is: what gives an image soul? What makes it linger? For me, it’s intention, emotion, context. An image, whether made with a lens or a render farm, is only as powerful as the story it carries. Tools evolve. But the human behind them still matters.
You began your career creating sounds from scratch and, despite having gone through the portrayal of life itself, you have sort of ended up creating images from scratch. A kind of full circle moment. After having explored so many artistic disciplines, do you think you have established yourself? Are you open to new challenges and areas?
There’s no arrival, not really. I see myself as a work in progress, always shifting, always becoming. It’s a constant loop of curiosity and reinvention. And yeah, I’ve come full circle in a way. I’m making music again, but this time with everything I’ve learned from visuals, world-building, and storytelling. I’ve been working on an EP, and I’m releasing my first song with a video in May. It blends everything: sound, image, feeling. It’s a new chapter, Electronic with a Moroccan spice, and I’m excited to see where it leads. Ready to play?
