What becomes of the artist when machines come to make better art than humans - more skilled, more inventive, more conceptually agile, endless, and cheap?
The tree, algorithmically born, gains meaning only under the scrutiny of the viewer, its binary roots sprawl not in soil, but in the mindscape where the observer's eye grafts meaning onto inert pixels.
Without NFTs, the digital artist is but a mere shadow, crafting ephemeral art pieces that vanish before gaining form - like sandcastles against the relentless tide.
