about: gallery

Evolution is an interesting thing. From our ancient ancestors dating back millions of years, the Homo Erectus, who first discovered the uses of controlled fire, to our current "highly" evolved species, who now contribute to the creation of electric vehicles, spaceships, and modern medicine, our most primitive and core desire is that of survival. But in a modern world, the dangers of disease, violence and death do not pose the same threats they do today as they did millions of years ago; the earth's population continues to rise at alarming rates, our heightened immune systems and advancements in medicine allow our expected life span to be extended as we evolve, and our methods of obtaining necessities like food and water do not put our lives in danger when we need them. In humanity's early development, in a time where the instinct to explore and create was intertwined with survival, the discovery and creation of functional, utility-oriented items, such as tools and crude weaponry, meant a higher chance of living to see the next day. Yet today, the instinct to survive does not move our modern developments, or our world, forward, but rather keeps us alive to create them. So why do we create?

I often question the utility of modern advancements; for example, the Soviet-American space race of 1955, in which both nations threw enormous resources into the development of astronomical technologies, was not driven by a willingness to survive but rather an arbitrary desire for intellectual and military superiority. It is driven by some instinct which transcends pure survival or utility, something which strokes a deep and undying ego. While I hesitate to compare the Cold War to modern art, I also question its utility in many ways. I use both of these examples to examine the certain qualities across the human species which differentiate the type of animals we are from a lion or tiger.

What is the nature of art? As a practice it has been used since apes became humans - and across history, its primary function was to tell stories before writing, photography, and videography developed. Early art, from our ape-ish ancestors millions of years ago to Sandro Botticelli of the Italian Renaissance, is generally representational; it carries the burden of storytelling without using words. The subject in early art is never abstracted, diluted, or conceptual, for this would damage the utility of art as an allegorical and representational entity. But modern art, born with the emergence of impressionism as a subversion to traditional technique in the late 1800s, did not hope to just tell stories about subjects; it hoped to transcend the subject as a whole. From its inception, modern art has evaded much of the utility commonly associated with art, which through modern art, becomes a highly intellectual and elusive area of practice and study. Works of art become less focused on content and more interested in form: how sliced and abstracted shapes and forms become "subjects," how these "subjects" interact with one other, how they exist within a boundary or space, or how they transcend it. Most importantly, however, whatever utility early art had as a method of recording history is now gone thanks to CNN and the New York Times, which begs the question I posed earlier: Why create? Why make art at all? My point in all of this is that modern art has close to no utility; it does not drive our instinct to stay alive, nor does it trigger our fight or flight responses, nor does it aid us in procreation. In some ways, the reduced danger in existing today gives our other inherently human qualities to breathe; in the case of the Cold War, this quality is greed and a hunger for power, and in modern art, it is the desire to create. The desire to make art for no other reason than to make it feeds an inherently human, internal flame flickering within our souls; a poetic (if not unscientific) differentiation between us and the dogs that Edvard Munch painted in 1915. What a simple and beautiful thing that our creation instincts catalyse our evolution to greater heights as human beings - it frees us from a life defined by survival, utility, and function, and transcends our animalistic needs. Modern art allows us to be, for no other reason than to just be.

This is why I love modern art, and why I've chosen to create a digital space for all my thoughts on it. By reviewing exhibitions, artists, and art history literature from New York City to Berlin, I hope to inspire debate and spark thought regarding my favourite niche interest with all who chose to listen.

Xo, Grace Miskovsky