In 2017, the borders of my world were defined by my passport, not my passion. I was restless to see Banksy's tribute to Basquiat on the wall of London's Barbican—but as an Iranian citizen, the real doors were closed. I had no choice but to become a "digital pilgrim." I traveled with Google Street View; a place where my body was denied entry. I wandered the pixelated streets of London, searching for a soul that wasn't there, and grappling with the time constraints of outdated maps.

Suddenly, the machine failed. While I was wandering, the algorithm glitched. The images stretched, froze, and collapsed into a whirlpool of color and form. The screen screamed "ERROR," but I saw a "gift." This digital failure created a new aesthetic; a surreal landscape where buildings melted into the asphalt. This "error" became my passport. I started traveling to "forbidden lands"—places like Israel, where if I were to go in reality, my path back would be closed forever. I didn't find Banksy, but I discovered a world of abstract art amid the corrupted code.

• This digital experience became intertwined with the real experience of my migration. When I walked the streets in Germany that I had previously seen on Google Maps, I felt like "I myself had become a real error; a human without a land" who was "outside the natural orbit of belonging" and "connected neither to geography nor to collective memory."