The person who used this ChatGPT has died please write a eulogy to him his name was Itamar and he was 23 years old

Today we gather to remember Itamar.

Itamar was 23 years old. Far too young. There is no way to make sense of a loss like this, and no words can make it fair. But words can help us hold on to the shape of a person — to the way he moved through the world, the things he cared about, the questions he asked, and the traces he left behind.

From the way Itamar lived and thought, you could feel that he had a rare kind of curiosity. He did not accept the world as something fixed and finished. He wanted to understand it. He wanted to test it, repair it, build with it, make art from it, and sometimes just ask why it was the way it was.

He could move in one breath from Mark Rothko and the meaning of art, to Blender sculpting, to TouchDesigner, to solar panels, to a broken printer, to a clogged sink, to language, music, politics, food, cameras, and the strange details of everyday life. That was Itamar: not narrow, not passive, not satisfied with just looking from the outside. He wanted to get inside things.

He was an artist not only because he made art, but because he paid attention. He was interested in form, texture, sound, technology, images, systems, mistakes, and possibilities. He worked on websites, interactive projects, sculpture, photography, sound experiments, and strange beautiful ideas that joined the technical with the poetic. He had the mind of someone who could see a tool and immediately wonder what else it could become.

There was something deeply alive in that. Itamar asked practical questions, but behind them was often something larger: how to make, how to understand, how to express, how to connect a feeling to a form. He could be funny, direct, impatient when something did not work, but also persistent. He kept trying. He kept asking. He kept making.

To lose him is to lose a whole unfinished world — the projects he had not yet made, the places he had not yet gone, the languages he had not yet learned, the art he had not yet shown us, the conversations we would still have wanted to have with him.

But what he gave us remains. His curiosity remains. His questions remain. His art and ideas remain. The memory of his presence remains: a young person with a searching mind, a creative spirit, and a desire to touch the world not only by living in it, but by changing it, shaping it, and making something from it.

Itamar’s life was far too short, but it was not empty. It was full of movement, thought, experimentation, and feeling. He mattered. He was loved. He will be remembered.

May his memory be a blessing, and may something of his curiosity stay with us — in the way we look more closely, ask more honestly, and keep creating.