
A pocket curator that knows what's on the wall, listens to the question you'd be too shy to ask the docent, and quietly keeps the afternoon for you.
Point your phone at any artwork. Artico identifies the work, writes a museum-quality introduction in your voice and your language, and then sits with you through every follow-up question. When you leave, the visit becomes a keepsake. As you scan more, a portrait of you slowly appears.
A second of stillness, and the page begins to write itself. A museum-quality introduction arrives word by word — in English, 简体中文, 日本語, 한국어, Français, or Italiano, and in the register you've chosen: a child's, a curator's, your own. Then the conversation opens. Why the gold leaf? Who is she looking at? You ask. The painting answers.
— Frame · identify · ask back.

— Frame the work.

The Starry Night
VAN GOGH · 1889
— A second of stillness.

VAN GOGH · 1889 · MoMA
The hill town sleeps under a sky that won't. A cypress flames against the moon.
— The page writes itself, then waits for your question.
When you leave the museum, Artico stitches your scans into a short, narrated capsule — three paintings on a serif page, read aloud in your voice mode, sealed with a date. One image to send the friend who'll know. One link they can open. A Sunday afternoon, kept.
— A keepsake, not a carousel.

Water Lilies
ORANGERIE
ARTICO
Mona Lisa
LOUVRE
ARTICO
The Night Watch
RIJKSMUSEUM
ARTICOThe Louvre, in May. The Met, in October. 故宫, last spring. Every museum you scan inside earns a wall plaque in your name — works seen, visits made, the year it began. Lit slowly, one painting at a time. Look at the unlit ones long enough and you'll book a flight.
— Lit slowly, one painting at a time.
PARIS · FRANCE
NEW YORK · UNITED STATES
BEIJING · CHINA
FLORENCE · ITALY
Artico reads what you've stopped to look at and offers you a reading. Twenty-six named archetypes — Renaissance Knight, Flâneur, 文人 Recluse, Mughal Courtier, Sufi Geometer, Mexican Visionary — each written by hand, none assembled by machine. Your starting reading stays as the record of who you were. Every scan after, the portrait moves. A year in, you'll be someone the catalogue didn't quite predict.
— Twenty-six archetypes. Ten outside the Western canon.
Each of the six is hand-translated, archetype by archetype, by a human who reads in that language. Genji could have written you a letter. The Edo Wanderer is 浮世の遊歩者. Read your museum in your tongue, not your phone's default.
I used to take photos of paintings to remember. Now I remember why.

A daily card that surfaces a painting from a past visit, on the day you'd otherwise forget it.
Generated tours that walk you, room by room, through any museum you arrive at.
Audio narration on demand, for the days when you'd rather listen than read.
A private journal that nobody else can see. Including us.
An ordinary afternoon at a museum, kept in your voice.