First published on LinkedIn in August of 2025. #rant
This short text is written out of ongoing frustration with the many misunderstandings about what it means to have a digital art practice in the context of the traditional fine arts. The situation is based on my observations in Belgium, but may be similar in other places. Allow me to explain:
Around 1997, the computer was introduced in my artistic practice. I studied at my art school’s painting department, but had already moved to photography and (analogue) video by then. In the darkroom, I would use double exposures and masking to come to images that paid homage to the magical special effects of early 20th century spiritist photography.
In computer software, I immediately recognized the potential to create and recreate imaginations that ran through the supernatural and science fiction films and experimental music videos that I so admired. I had no access to Photoshop or internet, and had to learn various workarounds and programs myself by trial and error. It meant entire swatches of my life took place at the computer, simultaneously reflecting on the medium while grappling with its technical challenges: how can I make this work for me? By lack of information on digital media in an artistic context, I – like everyone in and before my generation – ‘invented’ the genre for myself.
In 2004, 3D software became available to me, and ever since then, its virtual environment is my main artist’s studio. It is where I build worlds – landscapes, architecture – that are both the sets in – and subject of – many of my digitally animated video works and installations. The computer is a tool to think with, not just a means for production. Through digital space, I formulate responses on global ecosystem collapse, while carving out (some) agency in an ever expanding technological universe dominated by corporate interests.
In the traditional contemporary art world, this position is still not always understood. When I describe my practice as digital, or computer-based, more than once art professionals responses range from telling me how they prefer real art (by which they mean: physical, material objects, or somehow categorize it as ‘design’) to pulling faces. Where does that leave my practice as an artist, if my works are not considered “real”? It feels like inhabiting a rather hostile environment.
Luckily, or sadly, depending on how one looks at it, I am not alone. Through online networks, kindred artists are connected to each other, and our shared mediums, trajectories, and experiences foster a solidarity that is rare in the ‘traditional’ arts. With each new application, there is a collective learning curve and a generous sharing of knowledge. Technologies keep evolving, so it is a dynamic space to work in. Digital media’s newness means that there are still not many artistic dogmas in place, which contributes to a sense of freedom. It is super exciting to be part of these experimental explorations, generating an enormous variety of high quality practices – amongst which those of so. many. women.
And that brings me to the following: over the recent years, it became clear that artistic approaches to digital tools cannot longer be ignored in traditional art education and institutions. I live and work in Belgium, so I am observing the situation here, but I can imagine this echoes in other places, too. The realization that there might be artistic value in digital practices – yes, and an actual place in art history – begins to result in a wider inclusion of digital art in exhibition projects and art classes.
However, it is now painfully evident how large the knowledge gap on the domain of digital art has become in the wider context of the contemporary arts. For instance, when public collections acquire digital media art, it is often work by artist-run studios, or by traditional artists who assign others to execute the work. It overlooks the conceptual implications and layered experiences of actually engaging with technologies as artists, but reduces ‘digital’ to the medium, the carrier. It ignores the thinking processes that lead to some of the most unique, relevant, and interesting bodies of works that exist at the moment.
It means that still too many artists – again, amongst which so. many. women – pioneering and exploring these spaces – remain overlooked. With the fragility of many of the more experimental digital formats we work with, it is crucial that this particularly poignant point in time is properly recorded. It shows alternatives to powerlessly consuming technologies, and instead demonstrates how digital space is being reimagined and repurposed by digital culture creators, including visual artists.
This is one of the reasons why I, and some amazing others – more about that soon – are working on an advisor’s guild: not as curators, but as experts, ready to share our knowledge. Interested? My advice: drop me a line.
Note: Despite the seemingly juxtaposition of ‘digital’ and ‘traditional’ arts, they intermingle. I do not call myself a ‘digital artist’, or ‘media artist’. I am a visual fine artist whose works arise in a digital environment. Some of my works are actual objects, existing in the real world. The term ‘traditional’ is similarly fluid: we understand it as painting and sculpture, but is installation art ‘traditional’? In this instance, it means the material arts. But a projector is material, too – just to show how difficult these terminologies are.
A few resources, giving just a bit of a taste of what is out there and the different artistic approaches:
- Often digital artists write about their mediums themselves. For instance Rosa Menkman on Glitch Art, Hito Steyerl on 3D scanning, and Claudia Hart on AR/VR. An international classic is the 3D Additivist Cookbook.
- My own interest: Believing in Bits: Digital Media and the Supernatural.
- Net art: https://net-art.org/
- Theoretical frameworks: networkcultures.org
- And here is a YouTube playlist I once compiled for students in Brussels (you can skip the NFT parts as they might be a bit too specific).