The love affair between NFTs and Generative Art is something of a Cinderella Story. When Generative Art – a movement which uses autonomous systems to inject randomness into artworks – exploded with the advent of computers in the 1960s, it was unceremoniously rejected by the traditional art world.

The geometric forms that emerged in the works of leading computer-based generative artists like Vera Molnar’s (Des)Ordres (1974), were striking evolutions of Cubist and Constructivist aesthetics. Yet this went largely unacknowledged. Instead, critics decried computer-generated pieces as ‘cold’, ‘soulless’ and ‘clinical.’ Meanwhile, aesthetically similar, but non-computerised works by conceptual artists such as Sol LeWitt were widely celebrated.

Sol LeWitt, Incomplete Open Cubes, 1974, 122 Painted wooden structures and pencil on painted wooden base, 2 5/8 x 2 5/8 x 2 5/8″ each.

Sol LeWitt’s Incomplete Open Cubes consisted of 122 physical structures presented alongside their 2D representations within a comprehensive diagram. Systematic deconstruction was his pursuit; he was exploring the variability possible when a simple cube was dismantled in different ways. Vera Molnar’s (Des)Ordres was a similar exploration of variation and seriality. They were both systematically governed art projects, yet despite this shared impetus, the use of computers in Molnar’s work excluded it from critical appreciation. 

Machines, it was clear, would not be allowed to enter the sanctified realm of fine art, and with the bulk of Generative Art being computerised, the movement gradually faded into the shadows.

Then, in 2020, came the NFT boom, and suddenly there were online marketplaces where technologists and crypto holders congregated around digital art. In these virtual corridors, populated by tech enthusiasts, computers were allies not enemies, and the demand for Generative art soared. Collections by Art Blocks, the marketplace for code generated NFTs, frequently resell for millions, and the traditional art world has been prompted to look again at this neglected art movement, with shows here at Unit London, Philips, and more.

But no love affair is perfect. Whilst NFTs have elevated Generative art, there are ways in which they’ve also hijacked the movement’s identity. A widespread assumption persists that because NFTs are a purely digital technology, computer-made Generative art is a purely digital movement. In reality, the movement is rich with materiality and physical works abound.

Producing Plotter Drawings

The earliest generative artists had no choice but to make physical pieces. Computers were screenless until the mid-1970s,  so the only way to create computer-generated images was on paper with plotters – mechanical arms that hold pens and take directions from computer code. The process, incredibly arduous and slow, earned the nickname ‘blind computing’ as the artist had to write code on punch cards, feed it into the computer, and wait several days for the plotter to finish  drawing. Only then could they see whether their code had conjured the image they hoped for or if it would need another round of adjustments.

Vera Molnar, (Des)Ordres, 1974, plotter drawing ink on paper, 70 x 70cm. Courtesy of Dam. 

When screens arrived, generative computer artists could instantly see the images their code created. In an interview with Art Blocks, the now 98 years old Molnar said that upon encountering a computer screen for the first time in 1974, ‘I understood that this gadget was going to be my salvation… it changed my life.’ But like many of her contemporaries, Molnar considers the screen a tool for creation, not display. Earlier this year, Galerie 8 + 4 dropped a series of NFTs of her new work, and she described the decision as flattering but overwhelming: ‘For me, art is something you can hang on the wall’.

Even today, many of the most lauded generative artists in the NFT space share Molnar’s high regard for physical pieces. Tyler Hobbs is best known for his Fidenza collection which helped pioneer a sub-genre called ‘long-form generative art,’ hitting headlines when one resold for $3.3 million. In contrast with its ‘short-form’ predecessor which allows artists to carefully select the images their code has generated before going to market, ‘long-form’ involves publishing the code itself and programming it to output an image only when collectors mint (a.k.a. purchase) an NFT. Though shaped by parameters – Hobbs’s Fidenza code, for instance, is programmed to output curves and has specific probabilities assigned to features such as length, angle and colour – each image is new and unique. Not even the artist knows precisely what form it will take.

Yet, even Fidenza, a ‘long-form’ series which requires the use of NFTs and blockchain, has a vital, physical component. On his site, Hobbs invites collectors to order a specially discounted print of their digital edition. He writes that these ‘prints are by far the best way to display and view Fidenza works. Prints surpass digital displays in resolution, colour accuracy, and presentation of subtle detail.

As well as creating prints, Hobbs frequently revisits early generative practices, using plotters. His NFT series F(I)ight depicts birds in flight and were initially drawn by plotters with graphite. Though the NFTs represent digital versions, the first collector of each edition also received the original plotter drawing. Hobbs explained that this approach is born of his interest ‘in what parts of the analogue world we can capture, what we can improve, and what is lost’.

Tyler Hobbs, F(I)gt, AP, 2021, black archival ink pen on cream Stonehenge paper, 40.6 × 50.8 cm. Courtesy of Feral File. 

Conjuring Materiality

Capturing the analogue world is at the heart of William Mapan’s Compute: Sinking Patterns, a series of 8 unique NFTs, each one with 15 corresponding prints, exhibited and sold by Unit London. Beyond providing physical versions, Mapan’s series explores the many alternative ways that materiality can feature in immaterial computer-generated art.

In Compute: Sinking Patterns, Mapan resurrects memories of his first attempt at  using a fountain pen at school: the cartridge burst, wetting his hands and spraying ink over his pages. The blue, amorphous forms that coagulate across the delicate ochre background evoke, not only the patterns of ink, but the texture and physical sensation of using pen on paper.

William Mapan, Compute: Sinking Patterns; Abyss, Noyade, Naufrage II, 2022, NFT with accompanying physical print, 78 cm x 78 cm. 

Looking at the series is a synesthetic experience that testifies to Mapan’s widely recognised skill at wielding immaterial code (in this case JavaScript) to explore the material world. In Our Code, Unit London’s 2022 Generative art exhibition, displayed the digital NFTs from his Whispers of a Square triptych which recreated the texture and appearance of graphite. Discussing the works during a panel session, Douglas Dodds, the former senior curator at the V&A, described them as having ‘such a physical presence, you can almost feel the screen. It’s got a very delicate, slightly blurry feel to it.’

William Mapan, Whispers of a Square iii, 2022. 

Mapan’s fascination with texture is rooted in its ability to bridge the gulf between artist and viewer and connect with people. Viewers may not be able to code,  nor understand NFTs, but they will have used pens and be able to relate to the physical sensation of ink on paper.

Given that much of the art world remains suspicious of NFTs, computer-generated and digitally displayed artworks, the transcendent nature of Mapan’s and Hobbs’s materiality is a powerful tool for engaging newcomers to the space. There is every reason to recentre the physical aspects of Generative art that are so often forgotten. 

By Kitty Horlick