PHOTO EDITION BERLIN: DISCOVERING GENERATIVE AND CONCRETE PHOTOGRAPHY

Gunther Dietrich: In fact, one of our first exhibitions since 2008 was with Gottfried Jäger, the founder of Generative Photography. At that time, this art form was still a largely overlooked topic in the history of academic photography, although Jäger had written numerous publications and theoretical works on it since 1968. I mention this right at the beginning because he always emphasized that "Photo" is spelled with "Ph"—an allusion to the Greek word for light.

The name Photo Edition Berlin was programmatic from the start: "Photography" means "drawn with light," and "Edition" emphasizes photography as the reproduction medium par excellence. Berlin in the name stands for the location that allows us to work with photographers based here—from both East and West Berlin.

At that time, there were only a few galleries in Germany dedicated exclusively to photography—besides us, for example, the galleries of Rudolf Kicken, In Focus Galerie by Burkhard Arnold in Cologne, and Daniel Blau in Munich.

Additionally, we must not forget Galerie Clarissa, founded in 1970 by Käthe Schroeder in Hannover, which was Germany’s first photography gallery and played a pioneering role in the development of photographic art. At a time when photography was not yet recognized as a standalone art form, the gallery provided a platform for photographers to present experimental and boundary-pushing works. It significantly contributed to establishing photography as a serious art form in Germany. Its early exhibitions, focusing on social and political themes, were especially noteworthy. Despite this groundbreaking achievement, Käthe Schroeder’s contribution to the world of photography is largely forgotten today.

Most galleries at that time had photography merely as part of their commercial program. The discourse was significantly shaped by the Düsseldorf School, especially through the teachings and students of Bernd & Hilla Becher and Joseph Beuys, who gained great international recognition.

GD: My own journey into photography led me back to Berlin in 1994 after a stay in New York, where I studied at the University of the Arts under Dieter Appelt and Katharina Sieverding. I had known Katharina since my time at the University of Fine Arts in Hamburg. Her influence on my understanding of art was formative—especially through her interpretation of Beuys' concept of "social sculpture." Her view on the political and social dimensions of art has significantly shaped my own understanding of art.

My interest in photography developed further when I attended a summer academy course by Gottfried Jäger in 1992. I had long been fascinated by his theoretical works and artistic pieces. When I decided to establish a gallery dedicated exclusively to photography, he was one of the first artists I invited to be part of the project.

However, photography was not just an academic or artistic interest for me; it was deeply rooted in my personal life. My father was a commercial photographer—actually an artist—and I grew up in an environment heavily influenced by photography. This connection between the commercial side and the artistic potential of photography has significantly shaped my view of the medium.

From the beginning, my goal was to free photography from its purely commercial context and establish it as an independent artistic medium—beyond documentary, fashion, portrait, and product photography. The support of pioneers like Gottfried Jäger and theorists like Max Bense and Herbert W. Franke was crucial in this endeavor. Their ideas and networks opened up access to new, previously overlooked artistic positions that are experiencing a renaissance today—especially in connection with AI art.

But yes, we started with "photography."

GD: Our journey started with discovering the artistic positions of "Generative and Concrete Photography," which is precisely what brings us together today for this interview. The exhibition of Gottfried Jäger and Hein Gravenhorst at EXPANDED.ART, for which we feel deeply honored to collaborate with you and the artists, is a true culmination of these early explorations.

Yes, it’s quite fascinating to think about the environment in which these early pioneers, like Frieder Nake and Hein Gravenhorst, were working. The late 1960s were a time of massive political and social upheaval, and technology was viewed with suspicion. Everything that had a technical aspect was often associated with military innovations and the Cold War. It wasn’t the best time for an art form that relied on machines and programming to take root. People were rebelling against anything they saw as too closely tied to the establishment or power structures, including technology.

Frieder Nake and Hein Gravenhorst, however, were visionaries who saw the creative potential in technology long before society was ready to appreciate it. They worked with the Zuse machine, one of the earliest computers, exploring the artistic possibilities of programming. It’s almost ironic that in such a rebellious time, when everyone was focused on counterculture, these artists were quietly revolutionizing the future of art with computers—tools that most people couldn’t even imagine as part of the creative process.

Though they initially wanted to continue working together at the TU Stuttgart, life took them in different directions. Nake moved to Canada, where he taught at universities in Toronto and Vancouver before returning to Germany in 1972 to teach interactive computer graphics in Bremen. Despite the distance, both Nake and Gravenhorst continued to push forward with their experiments, laying the foundation for what we now consider a whole new genre of art.

It’s interesting to note that, back then, there was little space or attention for the intersection of art and science. Society was busy questioning its past and fighting against the status quo, and what these artists were doing was quietly groundbreaking. They weren’t loud revolutionaries, but their work certainly created a revolution in the way we think about art, technology, and creativity. They were ahead of their time, and it took decades for the world to catch up.

What’s also interesting is the context in which all of this happened: In the 1960s, during the peace movement and the height of the Cold War, anything technical was viewed with suspicion. Most innovations were associated with the U.S. military or NATO intelligence, and there was widespread aversion to anything with a technical aspect. It was all seen as part of the military-industrial complex.

But let’s not forget—as you have said—there was no market for this kind of art back then, especially in the context of photography. Even today, it’s only gradually finding its place. If you look at the ongoing discussions around AI art, it feels like a continuation of the same ignorance. However, these very debates have sparked renewed interest in the origins of digital art and its impact on society. It’s fascinating to see how this topic has become a significant part of public discourse, extending far beyond just the art world.

And now, here we are—honoring that tradition and showcasing these groundbreaking works in an era where technology is once again transforming the art world.

GD: It was a combination of things. I initially studied philosophy and comparative literature at the University of Stuttgart from 1989 to 1991. Max Bense was a monumental figure during my time there, although he had already left by then. His influence, however, was still deeply felt. Bense was instrumental in developing modern semiotics and information aesthetics, laying the groundwork for computer art. He worked with artists like Frieder Nake and Georg Nees, pioneers of generative art, and his interdisciplinary approach to philosophy and science left a lasting impression on me. Bense showed us that technology and art aren't separate; they can inform and elevate one another.

At the time, I had no idea how important he would become for my work. The artists we represent today—like Gottfried Jäger, Hein Gravenhorst, and Frieder Nake—were all heavily influenced by Bense. After completing my basic studies, I decided to switch paths and pursue a degree in art, which ultimately brought me to Berlin.

My exposure to generative photography came through various channels. I visited exhibitions that showcased contemporary photography within a broader artistic context. A major influence was the ZKM (Center for Art and Media) in Karlsruhe and its program under Peter Weibel. There were also key publications that shaped my understanding of the field.

For example, Susan Sontag’s ON PHOTOGRAPHY (1977) offered an in-depth look at the ethical and aesthetic implications of photography in society. Roland Barthes’ CAMERA LUCIDA (1980) also had a huge impact on me, especially with his concepts of "studium" and "punctum," which analyze the emotional and intellectual engagement involved in viewing photographs.

Vilém Flusser’s TOWARDS A PHILOSOPHY OF PHOTOGRAPHY (1983) was another significant work. Flusser argued that photography isn’t just a technical medium but a tool that fundamentally shapes how we perceive and communicate. He saw photographs as active constructions of reality rather than passive representations, and this critical understanding of images deeply influenced my approach to art.

Then there’s Gottfried Jäger’s work, particularly his book ABSTRACT, CONCRETE, AND GENERATIVE PHOTOGRAPHY, which was crucial in merging the theoretical and practical aspects of photography. His collaboration with Bernd Stiegler has been essential in gaining recognition for generative photography.

On a more philosophical note, thinkers like Martin Heidegger, especially in his BEING AND TIME, and Günther Anders, with his THE OBSOLESCENCE OF MAN, also shaped my perspective on the role of technology in human existence, which inevitably ties back to how I see photography as an artistic medium.

GD: While there’s a limited amount of English-language literature on generative photography, I can point to some key works. One notable publication is SHAPE OF LIGHT: 100 YEARS OF PHOTOGRAPHY AND ABSTRACT ART from Tate Modern. This book, which accompanied an exhibition, features artists like Gottfried Jäger and Inge Dick. It provides a thorough overview of how photography has intersected with abstract art over the past century. The exhibition and publication both highlight the pivotal role of light in artistic practice, and it's a valuable resource for anyone interested in the evolution of photography as a creative medium.

Another must-read is LIGHT, PAPER, PROCESS: REINVENTING PHOTOGRAPHY, which came out of an exhibition at the J. Paul Getty Museum. This book focuses on seven contemporary artists who use innovative methods to manipulate light and paper in photography. Artists like Alison Rossiter and James Welling are part of this exploration, where the materiality of photography is at the forefront. It’s a beautiful reflection on how the physical properties of the medium can be pushed to their limits, creating entirely new ways of seeing.

A third essential read is THE EDGE OF VISION: THE RISE OF ABSTRACTION IN PHOTOGRAPHY by Lyle Rexer. Published in 2009, it’s a deep dive into the rise of abstraction within photography. Rexer argues that photography has grown beyond just documenting reality; it has become a tool for abstract artistic expression. The book offers a fascinating look at how artists have blurred the lines between photography and other art forms, particularly through abstract techniques. With digital technologies reshaping how we view and create images today, this book feels especially relevant.

These books, along with others like Flusser’s TOWARDS A PHILOSOPHY OF PHOTOGRAPHY, provide a solid foundation for understanding the complex relationship between photography, abstraction, and the digital realm. They’re critical for anyone who wants to explore how photography has evolved from a technical medium into a space for artistic innovation.

GD: Back in the day, we didn’t have the luxury of just shooting a DM to an artist and starting a conversation. It was a lot more... physical, I would say. My journey to connecting with artists like Gottfried Jäger and Hein Gravenhorst started in a much more traditional way—through exhibitions, personal encounters, and sometimes just diving into books and articles in dusty libraries.

I learned about these artists initially through their publications or mentions in the context of early experimental photography. The process was slow; you'd read about someone, get curious, try to find more of their work or writings, and then, if you were lucky, attend an exhibition where they might be present. And let’s not forget letters. Yes, actual handwritten postcards or typed letters—those were the DMs of my time! I remember writing to Gottfried, for example, with a postcard, starting a correspondence that led to real connections. It took patience, but maybe that’s why the relationships were so meaningful.

For example, I came across the work of Gottfried Jäger through publications on generative and concrete photography. I was fascinated by his approach, and after reading more about his theoretical contributions, I was determined to meet him in person.

So, while Twitter has made the world smaller today, back then, it was a combination of curiosity, persistence, and a bit of luck that brought artists and gallerists together. It took time, but maybe that allowed for a different kind of depth in those relationships.

Oh, and I have to give credit where it’s due—Gottfried Jäger was the real networker behind many of these connections. He had this incredible ability to bring together a community of like-minded artists and thinkers who were exploring the intersection of art and technology. It was Jäger who really opened the doors for the young gallery, introducing us to key figures like Herbert W. Franke, Pierre Cordier, Hein Gravenhorst, Karl Martin Holzhäuser, Andreas Müller-Pohle, and Joan Fontcuberta, among others.

His network was invaluable, giving us access to artists who were pushing boundaries in their respective fields. Jäger wasn’t just a pioneer in generative photography; he was also a connector, someone who recognized the importance of collaboration and intellectual exchange long before it became a buzzword. Thanks to him, we were able to build relationships with these artists and include their groundbreaking work in our gallery, which helped shape its direction in the early years. So, in many ways, the gallery’s success in representing generative and concrete art wouldn’t have been possible without Jäger’s incredible ability to network and connect people.

A pivotal moment for the gallery was when Tomás Rodríguez Soto joined as curator in 2012. His influence expanded the gallery’s vision, incorporating a more poetic and digital approach with the introduction of new artists. Tomás brought a rich selection of Ibero-American photographers into the gallery’s program, including prominent figures like Joan Fontcuberta, Antonio Briceño, Edgar Moreno, Cristina García Rodero, and Chema Madoz. His contributions significantly enriched the gallery’s artistic direction, blending traditional photography with digital innovation.

A prime example of this is our collaboration with Joan Fontcuberta, whose work challenges traditional perceptions of photography and representation. His series OROGENESIS features stunning landscapes created entirely through digital rendering, inviting viewers to reconsider the relationship between nature and its photographic representation. This exhibition highlights the critical dialogue between digital techniques and conventional photography, a conversation that Tomás has fostered within our gallery.

It was Tomás who played a crucial role in integrating Chema Madoz into our gallery's program. His curated exhibition showcased Madoz’s elaborately staged photographs, emphasizing the artist's skill in creating playful constructions rather than relying on digital manipulation. This not only enriched our offerings but also highlighted the artistic value of Madoz's work, reinforcing the gallery’s commitment to showcasing innovative approaches to photography.

GD: Meeting Hein Gravenhorst was a memorable experience that began shortly after our first exhibition with Gottfried Jäger at our gallery. Gottfried had his first exhibition at Photo Edition Berlin in 2011, titled SEQUENCES OF SEQUENCES OF SEQUENCES. As always, he was enthusiastic and eager to help us connect with other pioneers. He provided us with Hein’s email address, and soon enough, Hein responded. Tomás, our cameraman Bernd Böhlendorf, and I arranged a visit to Hein’s studio and holistic medicine practice in Berlin-Tempelhof. It was an unforgettable encounter, one that we even captured on video.

It took a few more years until we could bring together the entire group of pioneers of generative and concrete photography for a now-legendary exhibition: KONKRETE UND GENERATIVE FOTOGRAFIE 1960-2014 TEIL I: DIE PIONIERE in 2014. This exhibition was a milestone, showcasing the foundational figures who had shaped the field. Following this, in 2016, we were honored to present Hein Gravenhorst's first solo exhibition with us, titled HEIN GRAVENHORST. LICHTREFLEX: TRANSFORMATION – TRANSLATION – ROTATION. 1964-1968. This exhibition focused on his early analog works, created through a custom-built apparatus, and highlighted the transformation of light in his artistic process.

For a long time, our focus remained almost exclusively on Hein’s early analog works. It was only in recent years that we began to truly appreciate the pieces he created since 1990, which were entirely digital. Our renewed interest was also sparked by curator Georg Bak’s enthusiasm for Hein’s digital art, prompting us to delve deeper into this later phase of his work. It became clear that these digital works represent a genuine continuation of the principles of generative aesthetics—only now expressed entirely through digital means. Hein’s transition from analog to digital methods beautifully illustrated the bridge between past and future, and his work has been a vital part of our gallery's story, shaping the new chapter in our ongoing collaboration with you.

GD: Gottfried Jäger and Hein Gravenhorst made groundbreaking contributions that fundamentally reshaped our understanding of photography and generative art. Gottfried Jäger is often celebrated as a theorist and practitioner who explored the concept of the Generative Image, where the photographic process becomes a means of creating new visual realities rather than merely capturing existing ones. His work challenged traditional notions of photography as a purely representational medium and introduced a more conceptual approach, emphasizing that the rules and structures of the image were as important as its content. By exploring mathematical principles and systematic processes, Jäger laid the groundwork for the integration of algorithmic thinking into photography.

Hein Gravenhorst, on the other hand, brought a unique sensitivity to the use of light, structure, and transformation in his photographic work. An educated trick film artist, he created analog works using a custom-built apparatus from 1964 to 1972, which allowed him to explore the potential of photography as a generative process. What makes Hein’s work so special is his scientific approach to photography, experimenting with how light could be translated and transformed into abstract, geometric compositions. His ability to blend a rigorous, almost scientific method with a poetic sense of light and form gave his work a timeless quality.

Both artists extended their practices into the digital realm in later years. In particular, Hein began working digitally in the 1990s, continuing the principles he had established in his analog work. It’s fascinating to see how his digital creations remain true to the foundations of generative aesthetics while exploring new possibilities in a purely digital space.

Gottfried Jäger began his series of Mosaics in 1994. These works are a significant part of his artistic oeuvre and emerged at a time when the digital revolution significantly expanded the possibilities of photography and art in general. The term MOSAICS, as a program title, is inspired by the writings of Vilém Flusser. The series, developed around this concept, starts from two pinhole structures. One of these works will also be part of the exhibition.

Together, Jäger and Gravenhorst not only expanded the vocabulary of photography but also helped bridge the gap between art and science. They demonstrated that photography could be more than a tool for documenting reality—it could be a medium for exploring the fundamental structures of perception, form, and logic. Their work has influenced generations of artists and continues to resonate in today’s discussions about the role of algorithms, systems, and computational processes in art.

GD: That’s a great question, and it touches on some key shifts in how art and technology have been perceived over the years. Back then, there wasn’t a market for generative art because people were simply not ready to embrace technology as a legitimate artistic tool. There was a divide between “traditional” forms of art, like painting or sculpture, and anything that involved machines or algorithms. Art created with technology was often seen as too mechanical, impersonal, or even lacking the emotional depth that traditional mediums were believed to possess.

Collectors and audiences alike were skeptical because technology was associated with science or industry, not with human expression. Many didn’t see how something generated by a machine could have the same cultural or emotional value as a painting made by hand. This skepticism was especially true in the art world, where there’s a deep-rooted romantic notion of the artist as a solitary, emotional creator. The idea that a machine could be part of the creative process was unsettling.

Another factor was the limited understanding of how these artworks were made. Without the digital literacy we have today, audiences and collectors couldn’t grasp the complexity or creativity involved in generative art. They saw computers and algorithms as tools that lacked spontaneity or individuality. The value was tied to the idea of the "artist’s hand," and generative art challenged that in ways that made people uncomfortable.

It’s also important to remember that the art market thrives on certain narratives. The cultural value of an artwork is often linked to its rarity, its medium, and the artist's persona. Generative art didn’t fit into these pre-existing frameworks, making it harder to sell. Collectors were hesitant to invest in art that didn’t align with their traditional ideas of value, and galleries didn’t know how to market it.

But over time, as we’ve become more accustomed to technology in our daily lives—and as digital art has become more sophisticated—people have started to appreciate the creativity and innovation behind generative art. Now, with the rise of NFTs and a growing interest in digital art, we see a much broader acceptance. But back then, it was just too new and too unfamiliar for the art world to fully embrace.

GD: Honestly, what kept us going? Stubbornness, caffeine, whiskey, and maybe a bit of madness! [lol] But seriously, it was the belief that we were onto something bigger than ourselves. Art has always been about pushing boundaries, challenging perceptions, and sometimes even annoying people. I think we all knew that if we didn’t keep pushing this frontier, someone else would. It wasn’t just about proving that generative art was valid or valuable; it was about exploring a new dimension of creativity that had never been fully tapped into.

And let’s face it—there’s a deeper, almost philosophical rebellion in embracing technology, especially when much of the world views it as something cold, utilitarian, or even destructive. In these times of war, disinformation, and the constant manipulation of reality through fake news, turning to algorithms and machines is not just an aesthetic choice—it’s a radical act. Rather than using these tools to distort or obscure the truth, we use them to create, exploring the essence of form, structure, and meaning. It’s as if we’re reclaiming technology’s potential for something fundamentally human: to express, to question, and to reflect. There’s a quiet revolution in using the very systems designed for precision and control to explore ideas that transcend logic and speak to something beyond the noise of our fractured world. It’s not just about creating beauty; it’s about challenging the narrative of what technology can be and what art can do in the face of such chaos.

At the end of the day, the motivation was simple: art is a way of resisting the noise, the fake, the fear. We kept going because we believed—still believe—that creativity is one of the few honest things left in the world. And if that means working with machines and algorithms, then so be it. At least we’re in good company!

GD: Back then, the pressure wasn’t on selling out in minutes or achieving instant financial success. The artists weren’t measuring their worth by how quickly their work sold, but rather by how deeply they could push the boundaries of creativity and technology. The process was slower and more exploratory—almost like being part of a long conversation that evolved over time. These artists were less concerned with immediate validation and more focused on understanding the potential of what they were creating.

It wasn’t about giving up if things didn’t sell; in fact, the concept of "giving up" was almost irrelevant. They were driven by curiosity and the sheer excitement of working at the intersection of art and science. Sure, there were challenges, and recognition often came later—sometimes much later—but it was the passion for discovery that kept them going. They weren’t chasing the spotlight; they were quietly building something much bigger than themselves.

In many ways, that’s the spirit we need to remember today: the idea that art isn’t just about instant gratification or sales numbers. It’s about pushing through those moments of doubt, trusting the process, and knowing that the work itself and the ideas behind it have lasting value—even if it takes time for the world to catch up.

GD: My initial thought was, "Capitalism always finds a way to reinvent itself!" That was my honest reaction. But soon after, things became more interesting. Over the years, we had developed a strong connection with the Swiss curator and expert Georg Bak. We’ve been colleagues and gallerists in close contact for a long time. Georg eventually became the head of the NFT platform at the Swiss company elementum.art. It was through him that we received our first invitation to curate NFTs, focusing on the pioneers of generative art we represent.

That was our entry point into this new world of NFTs in 2022—through the trust and collaboration built over years with someone who shares our passion for both technology and art. It didn’t feel like just jumping onto a trend, but rather an extension of what we had already been exploring in the realm of digital and generative art.

A significant step was the Digital Art Mile at Art Basel 2024. It’s a fresh concept that explores and promotes digital art and NFTs. Held in Basel, it brought together artists, collectors, and curators to discuss the future of digital art. What made it unique was its focus on challenging traditional notions of art and value, encouraging attendees to embrace the diversity and innovation in this space. It’s now an annual highlight and will likely expand with pop-up events in other cities, pushing the boundaries of how we create and experience art in the digital age.

GD: Yes, we had to convince the artists to offer purely digital works. Tomás and I managed to do so by providing compelling arguments that this is part of the future—something that will stand alongside the physical pieces they have created over the decades. It’s only recently that these works have gained recognition in the international art context, largely thanks to the rising interest in NFTs and the renewed appreciation for the origins of computer art. For years, museums and other public institutions showed little interest in this field. It’s thanks to private collectors that this perception has started to shift, opening doors for digital art to be seen and valued as a vital part of art history.

A prime example is Boris Eldagsen, the first AI artist we brought into our gallery's program—even before his piece, THE ELECTRICIAN, went viral and made him an internationally recognized name. Eldagsen’s approach was both innovative and provocative: he submitted AI-generated works to traditional photography competitions, like the Sony World Photography Awards, to see if juries could distinguish them from conventional photographs. His success—and subsequent refusal of the award—sparked a broader discussion about the boundaries between photography and AI-generated images, emphasizing the need for new terminology and categories, such as "Promptography." Eldagsen’s work highlights the evolving nature of art in the digital age and the importance of recognizing these new forms.

The entire concept of NFTs ties back to the revolutionary ideas presented in Satoshi Nakamoto’s manifesto, included in the original Bitcoin publication. Written in response to the 2008 financial crisis, the manifesto emphasized the need for a decentralized digital monetary system that operates independently of central authorities like banks. With the launch of Bitcoin in 2009, a major leap in digital currency was achieved, enabling peer-to-peer transactions without intermediaries.

The underlying technology, blockchain, plays a critical role by offering a secure and transparent way to record all transactions, creating an immutable chain that makes manipulation almost impossible. Decentralization minimizes the risks of fraud and data loss, as there’s no central authority holding control. This technology allows transactions to be verified in an open and transparent network, strengthening trust in the system and encouraging broader acceptance of Bitcoin and other cryptocurrencies.

So, when we convinced the artists to engage with NFTs, we were also tapping into this broader paradigm shift—a decentralized and secure way of understanding and valuing art, just as Bitcoin transformed our approach to money. It’s the beginning of a revolution, much like when paper money first appeared, and yes, one day, even physical artworks might be a thing of the past as entire collections fit into a digital wallet.

GD: My answer is clear: the future of art will be fundamentally digital. This includes the role that AI-generated art will play in shaping our understanding of creativity. Our entire conception of what art can do, and the role it holds in society, will be turned upside down. New players will emerge—those who have little to do with traditional, academically defined art forms, yet who might take these traditions and elevate them to a new level. Art has always been there to guide us and provide a sense of direction, and that won’t change.

That said, classic art forms like painting, sculpture, and photography will continue to exist. After all, there is a deep human desire to touch and physically interact with something—to feel that it has a tangible presence in the world. The physicality of traditional art gives it a unique power that remains irreplaceable. In recognition of this, we're planning to launch a platform dedicated exclusively to AI-generated art by the end of the year, called AI Edition Berlin. On this platform, we will offer AI-generated works as physical prints, and anyone who acquires a piece will automatically receive an NFT as well. While the digital aspect is certainly exciting and brings new possibilities, we recognize that the desire to own a physical artwork and enrich one's surroundings with it remains a fundamental part of our experience with art. This dual offering aims to bridge the digital and the tangible, catering to both the evolving art market and the timeless enjoyment of physical pieces.

And let's not forget the absurd, the grotesque, the Dadaistic, and the surreal—especially the humor and improvisation that have shaped us as humans. These qualities have been central to our evolution, and they remain essential as we confront new frontiers in technology. Curiosity drives us to explore what we can learn about ourselves from machines—assuming, of course, that they can actually think (haha). And while we're at it, let’s ponder the age-old philosophical question: could an AI actually have a soul? Or is it more like that roommate who doesn’t pay rent but somehow always shows up at dinner? This playful spirit is what keeps art alive, adapting and thriving even in the digital age.

This year, we are celebrating the 300th birthday of Immanuel Kant in Berlin. The philosopher's legacy remains as relevant as ever, particularly in the context of contemporary discussions about knowledge, reason, and the role of technology in our lives. Kant's famous motto, "Sapere aude" (Dare to be wise), encourages us to use our own understanding—a call that resonates deeply in an age where AI and digital innovation are shaping our perception of the world. And of course, Kant still sits at the table in Berlin—without having to pay rent anymore. This playful nod makes the joke all the more amusing. As we honor Kant’s contributions, it’s an opportune moment to reflect on how his ideas can guide us in navigating the complexities of our modern, tech-driven era.

As an epilogue, I’d like to leave you with a quote from Friedrich Nietzsche: "Or we are most in danger of being run over by a car when we have just managed to dodge one" (lol). This quote comes from his work THE CHEERFUL SCIENCE (DIE FRÖHLICHE WISSENSCHAFT), which was first published in 1882. It’s especially relevant when thinking about the future of self-driving cars and self-thinking computers. It serves as a reminder that as we navigate the complexities of the modern world—particularly with rapid advancements in AI and automation—we must remain vigilant and adaptable, because new challenges often appear just when we think we've avoided the last one.

Günther Anders spoke of "promethean shame" – the uncomfortable feeling of being surpassed by our own machines. It’s like racing against a Tesla while we’re stuck in an old VW Beetle! Artificial intelligence and self-driving cars show us that our technological creations are often faster, more efficient, and, very importantly, less prone to human error. Maybe we should just accept that the future is full of clever machines—and we need to figure out how to teach them to drive without handing over our secrets!?

You could also reference the myth of Pegasus flying too close to the sun. It’s like we’re the winged horse trying to reach new heights, but in doing so, we risk melting our wings with our own ambition! Just like Pegasus, we need to be careful not to let our creations soar too high without guidance, lest we find ourselves plummeting back to earth when our machines outshine us.