Dreamscapes of swirling red and fire accompanied by church architecture. A robot playing a violin in an orchestra. Swedish-Greek visual artist and director Alexander Wessely combines physical structures and visuals to craft the surreal. With a history of blending physical and digital elements to create extreme, immersive landscapes, Wessely now combines his surrealist tendencies with the concept of technological existentialism in his role as head creative and stage designer for Anyma’s immersive multi-sensory music and cinematic experience, ‘The End of Genesys,’ taking place at the Sphere Las Vegas.

Using the themes of human and technological relationships as a basis for the visuals, Wessely creates a new, seamless world where massive androids soar through extraterrestrial plains that simultaneously remind us of the beautiful landscapes on Earth. Set in front of the backdrop of Wessely’s visual landscapes are LED-wrapped stages draped with vines and leaves, having the likeness of a tower where Anyma performs for the audience. Wessely speaks to us below about his own relationship with technology while building the world of ‘The End of Genesys’.

When conceptualizing the production design for the show with Anyma, what was it like working with a space with such a wide range of technical possibilities, like The Sphere?

The Sphere is unlike any other venue, it doesn’t just present possibilities, it challenges you to think beyond the traditional boundaries of a live show. The scale, the resolution, the sheer immersion of it all forces you to reconsider how an audience perceives and interacts with a performance. It’s not about just filling a screen with visuals, it’s about crafting an entire world that engulfs the audience, something that exists between the physical and the digital.

A huge part of this world was shaped by Alessio De Vecchio, a brilliant visual artist, whose vision was foundational to the show. His collaboration with Anyma laid the groundwork for a visual and conceptual language that seamlessly merged with the music. Their ability to bridge technology and emotion was already deeply embedded in the project when I stepped in, and it became about amplifying that feeling, finding ways to push the boundaries of immersion even further.

The fusion between history and contemporary, as well as the fusion between human and technology, seem to be at the center of your work – how do you establish a balance between the two?

I think the tension between those elements is what makes them interesting. There’s something powerful about ancient symbols, organic materials, or even classical forms being reinterpreted through a digital or technological lens. It creates a dialogue between the past and the future, between what we instinctively recognize and what feels entirely new. For me, it’s about finding that sweet spot, where technology isn’t just a tool but an extension of something deeply human. It’s about emotion, about presence. The moment something feels too sterile, too detached from reality, I pull it back. That friction, that contrast, is where meaning happens.

It seems like this was a very collaborative process, especially with Anyma and other artists who performed in the space. How do you put others' artistic mediums and voices in conversation with your own?

Collaboration, at its best, isn’t about compromise, it’s about amplification. Every artist, every performer, every creative involved in this process brings their own language, their own vision. My role is to find the common thread, to create a space where those voices can coexist and enhance each other. With Anyma, there’s already a strong conceptual foundation, a visual and sonic universe that exists beyond just the music. So when bringing in other artists, it’s about making sure they’re not just performing within that world, but becoming a part of it, shaping it. It’s about creating something greater than the sum of its parts.

How did Anyma’s music influence your approach to the design of the show? What is your creative partnership like with Anyma?

A lot of Anyma’s music if deeply cinematic, rooted in emotion but created with this precision. That makes the visual language almost inevitable. There’s a sense of transcendence in his work, a push-and-pull between the organic and the synthetic, and that’s something that shaped the entire design of the show.

His long-standing collaboration with Alessio had already established a strong foundation for this project, and that’s what makes Anyma special, his ability to see beyond just the music, to treat the entire experience as one interconnected organism where sound, visuals, and emotion all coexist. That rare vision is what makes this show feel so cohesive, so alive.

‍‍You’ve mentioned before that you hope the audience feels the distortion of reality from this show – Did you feel like this project in particular gave you a chance to take that to another level? What inspired you to create that alternate sense of reality in the first place?

Absolutely. The Sphere allows for a level of immersion that you just can’t achieve anywhere else. There’s a moment in the show where the entire structure almost dissolves, and the audience is no longer sure where they are, whether they’re inside something or floating within it. That’s the kind of experience I want to create. Not just a visual spectacle, but a true shift in perception.

My fascination with alternate realities comes from a mix of things, dreams, cinema, architecture, even early digital aesthetics. It’s about questioning what’s real, about pulling people into a space where they can feel something beyond what they expected. Whether I’m working within sculpture, performance, film, or live experience, that sense of altered perception is always at the core of what I do. 

What is it like to witness the audience's reaction to this show for the first time?

That’s the most surreal part. You spend months, sometimes years, shaping an idea, but until you see it reflected in the audience, until you see them dissolve into the experience, it’s just a concept. The first time I watched the crowd react, the scale of it all, the way the performance moved and shifted around them, I knew we had bent reality just enough. There’s this moment of shared disbelief, where people stop watching and start feeling, where the line between them and the show disappears. That’s what makes it real.

As more and more artists adapt to the fusion between art and technology, how do you hope the artistic world will evolve in the years ahead?

I hope it becomes more intentional. Technology is a tool, not the art itself. The danger is when artists start using it for the sake of novelty rather than expression. What excites me is seeing technology used in ways that feel deeply human, that challenge perception but still resonate on an emotional level. The future of art isn’t just about bigger screens, higher resolutions, or more immersive tech it’s about how we use those tools to tell stories, to evoke something real. If we can keep that at the core, then the possibilities are limitless.