Collection: Arlo Sinclair

Arlo Sinclair makes art out of the technology we were promised would save us, but then politely broke us in new and interesting ways. He paints and sculpts obsolete objects (floppy disks, cartridges, controllers, old hardware) and treats them like cultural artefacts: part nostalgia, part warning label, occasionally a joke disguised as a confession.

Born in South Africa and raised in London, Sinclair grew up wanting machines he couldn’t afford. A broken Commodore 64 salvaged and repaired by his grandfather became his entry point — into code, games, and the early internet’s unofficial language of memes and misfits. That world still runs in the background of his work: references, glitches, and insider humour that function like a secret handshake, while the surface remains clean, bold, and deceptively simple.

Underneath the familiar icons, Sinclair’s practice critiques the myths we live by — progress, productivity, digital “connection,” and the fantasy that anyone can make it if they just grind hard enough. His work asks why we escape into screens, what happens when comfort becomes a habit, and how quickly today’s cutting-edge device becomes tomorrow’s relic. If the pieces make you laugh first and think second, that’s intentional. It’s easier to smuggle uncomfortable ideas into the room when they arrive on a floppy disk.