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Marat Guelman: Once again, those who pretend that nothing is happening will lose.
Philippenzo: There is actually a massive array of threats associated with artificial intelligence.
Marat Guelman: If nothing new happens for 40 years, that is what is truly terrifying. We sold the exhibition “Blue Lard” (Goluboe Salo) four times over. And artificial intelligence operates with this concept of artistic truth brilliantly. I am 65 years old, and I am excited again. The most vital thing—which few have comprehended and which I am currently monetizing...
Host: I recently watched your lecture regarding the Free University. You labeled yourself an "enthusiast." Explain why?
Marat Guelman: I simply provided this example: when the camera emerged—a device that captures reality—artists split into camps. One small camp was the camp of enthusiasts. Meaning, those who actively began utilizing the camera in their work. Those individuals won. Effectively, they forged Hollywood, they forged glossy journalism, and established modern photography as a distinct art form.
The second group, also relatively small, said: "Stop, depicting the world is now very easy. With the aid of a machine, we will not merely continue depicting the world." And they veered toward modernism and formal discoveries—and they won as well. All of today’s contemporary art is the outcome of that specific decision.
Meanwhile, a substantial segment of artists who sat upon the thrones of the "greats" of art said: "What relation does this have to us? We are the voice of God, we broadcast the divine, and this is mere machinery." And they continued doing exactly what they had done previously. And those artists lost.
Host: Marat Guelman asserts that many new individuals will now enter the art world because artificial intelligence makes it easy to generate absolutely anything with extremely high quality. Consequently, artists will experience fierce competition. And primarily, this competition might come from writers who possess a strong command of words. Philippenzo, do you feel that the field is expanding, that the volume of authors and artists is increasing?
Philippenzo: The number of people engaged in creative activity will increase, yes. But that is not equivalent to saying the number of artists will increase. Craftsmanship evolves, yes. These are brilliant tools that people have acquired. But these tools will primarily be beneficial in the hands of artists, rather than in the hands of mere craftsmen. Say a new camera is invented. The utility of that camera in the hands of an amateur is minimal. A professional can use it to create even more brilliant things, executing them faster and cheaper. We probably shouldn't expect anything super-revolutionary in terms of pure art just yet. But it will simply become easier to enter the profession for those who possess a genuine inclination for it. And plus, the general public will simply amuse themselves by generating the cool images and video clips we see now. But that doesn't constitute art. It’s an amusing attraction. That isn't a bad thing either. It opens up a vast array of possibilities for us. Ultimately, it all comes down to the individual. Are they genuinely an artist, a creator generating new meanings, or is this strictly a hobby for them?
Marat Guelman: One can be an enthusiast of artificial intelligence, or one can be a skeptic of artificial intelligence. Both tracks can yield fascinating outcomes. The only track that will yield absolutely nothing is ignorance—attempting to pretend that nothing has occurred. "I will continue doing art exactly as I did before. All of this is just your so-called toys."
Host: In that case, a skeptic is sitting across from you, because naturally, like many, I experience a slight degree of fear. I observe the impact of artificial intelligence on various industries; layoffs are already occurring. I am contemplating how this will unfold. I didn't want to bring up this example, but when drones emerged, we were promised they would deliver pizza directly to our homes. Yet today, we see what they are actually being utilized for.
Marat Guelman: Yes, it’s not cheerful at all.
Host: Well, let's frame the conversation that way. You will serve as our enthusiast. I will act slightly as the skeptic. How can artificial intelligence influence the contemporary art industry? I conventionally divided the actors into four segments. There are the gallerists—that’s you. Collectors, too. You undoubtedly collect art, I see that. Artists, and the audience, which also consumes art, though perhaps in an entirely alternative manner than collectors. If this truly constitutes a revolution, everything shifts. Do you agree?
Marat Guelman: Yes. It is correct to begin with the artists, because they are the creators. But I want to make a clarification. First: the revolutionary shifts that are approaching were triggered not strictly by artificial intelligence, but by a specific convergence of events occurring simultaneously globally, where artificial intelligence emerged as the primary catalyst. As a disclaimer, let me state: I purchased my first artwork in 1984.
Host: What was it?
Marat Guelman: It was an Anatoly Zverev. I know a massive number of people whose first purchase was a Zverev. Zverev was so free, open, you know... And throughout this entire period, from 1984 up until, say, 2020, the constant refrain was that there is nothing new in art, and there cannot be. The concept of the "new" in art was the domain not of visionaries, but of slightly insane individuals. Meaning, if an individual walked into a gallery and said: "I have discovered a new movement in art," you were more likely to assume he belonged in a psychiatric ward rather than in your gallery. The very category of the "new" had exhausted itself by that time. Plus, Francis Fukuyama's "End of History." Meaning, everything had reached completion. The history of art had morphed into a static cultural landscape. I lived practically my entire career knowing that there is nothing new.
And then, several events transpire. The first event was the coronavirus.
Host: How did that influence things?
Marat Guelman: Yes, how did it influence things? For two years, people spent full working days seated in front of a computer screen.
Host: And not strictly people of art.
Marat Guelman: Yes. But why is this vital for us? The reality is that since the mid-nineties, digital art had been developing explosively. For the most part, it remained marginalized because the majority of these artists originated from tech or design—meaning they lacked formal art education and connections. And since it wasn't monetized, there was no funding for expertise or criticism; not a single magazine covered it, no one immersed themselves in it. Any concept to establish a museum of digital art was torpedoed by the creators themselves, because "we are all equal, we all 'like' each other, and museums represent a hierarchy."
Over these 30 years, the volume of images produced claiming the status of art matched the entire volume produced throughout the prior history of art. Because executing it was so easy. The professional art community fundamentally didn't even look in that direction. Therefore, for an artist to cross over from that sphere into the institutional art world required specialized efforts to secure recognition. An example among Russians is the AES+F group. And then, for two years, we lose the capacity to travel, and we consume art strictly via screens—and on a screen, digital art wins cleanly.
Host: Yes, it is designed explicitly for that.
Marat Guelman: It is explicitly designed for the screen. And we began to comprehend it; we were forced to immerse ourselves in it. A so-called "consilium" exists—meaning a consensus of professionals, 3,000 to 5,000 individuals—who dictate what constitutes art, what is good, what is bad, and so forth. And these individuals began to discern its value, myself included. For me, those two years were a deep immersion into digital art. I discovered, for instance, a completely new archetype of artist there.
Host: What kind?
Marat Guelman: I label them a "Leonardo." Let’s say a child is born... Parents determine whether they lean toward the humanities or technical sciences, whether they will be a scientist or an artist. Well, tech-artists emerged there. Individuals with engineering mindsets. Meaning, this isn't merely an apprentice to whom an artist pitches an idea to execute. No, these are individuals possessing this exact mindset. Fused with a humanities perspective, they generate things that couldn't have been created otherwise. That wall separating physicists and lyricists shattered.
The king of criteria became the meme.
Host: Why the meme?
Marat Guelman: Because it represents maximum distribution, virality.
Host: Distribution, virality, yes? So today, this appears to be a legitimate criterion even for establishment art, but it was born there as a criterion that can effectively compete with criteria like beauty or aesthetics. And that was the first milestone. They forged their own environment, their own collectors, their own marketplaces, their own ecosystem. Yes, it didn't sell for 100 million; top pieces sold for 500 bucks. But it lived; it operated independently. Look, when China entered the contemporary art market, the impact was massive! Now imagine a continent equivalent to ten Chinas. That is digital art.
The second event was the war. It goes without saying that wars have always been ongoing somewhere, but there hadn't been a war in Europe.
Host: Yes, not for almost 80 years.
Marat Guelman: First of all, this signaled that there is no "End of History." It makes sense to re-evaluate absolutely everything. Meaning, it makes sense to venture into territories previously unexplored. Secondly, literariness—narrative—the return of narrative to art. Because what is war? War is a storyline. You track the storyline: who won today, who advanced where. War triggers an interest in history—what the Pechenegs conquered, and so forth.
Picture this: from roughly the 1920s until the end of the last century and beyond, narrative was actively squeezed out of art. Art was expected to be strictly formal. It generated atmosphere, it generated intellectual tension. The moment an artist arrived to recount a narrative, they were told: "This is too literary." Meaning it isn't art; it’s a story, a narrative. Russian art was intensely shamed for this. "Your theater is too literary, and so is your art. You are consistently text-centric."
Host: And suddenly it turns out that this became highly relevant.
Marat Guelman: The entire epoch of modernism consists of the "new" emerging to overthrow the "old." The epoch of postmodernism was the first epoch that didn't overthrow modernism, but absorbed it. Because of this, a certain kinetic energy was lost. The finest works produced during a war are diary genres—the artist's diary, right? Meaning it is a narrative, a restoration of ethics. All that "don't teach us how to live" rhetoric—that is all gone. Art that fails to teach us how to live and lacks an ethical component—is it even viable post-Bucha and so forth?
And the third catalyst is artificial intelligence. It became the ultimate postmodern project. Previously, the "new" would arrive, yet wouldn't fully shut the door on the "old." Artificial intelligence slammed the door tight on postmodernism. All the vital cultural labor previously executed by postmodern artists can now be performed easily, rapidly, and likely better than by the artists themselves, using artificial intelligence guided by intellectuals. This doesn't mean a human isn't required there; it doesn't mean an artist is no longer needed. But those who perceived that closed door became alarmed.
From my perspective, this is positive, because imagine if for 40 years—since the eighties, or even closer to 50 years—nothing new occurred. That is what is terrifying, not the fact that something finally transpired and now everything must adapt. What was truly terrifying was that nothing was changing.
Host: First of all, we want you to say a few words regarding this exhibition. Philippenzo, how do you personally perceive that a revolution impacting contemporary art is underway?
Philippenzo: I feel that we are at the absolute baseline zero point, where it is just entering the arena. And the first thing we observe is this avalanche of video clips and images testing the capacities of these technologies. Nonetheless, we see that gradually, for instance, film studios are eyeing these technologies. If previously they utilized CGI, they are now turning to neural networks. Ultimately, we will witness a full-length film completely generated via neural networks, entirely bypassing legacy technologies. Initially as an experiment, yes. But eventually, it will simply become an utterly mundane, fully-fledged tool utilized alongside others wherever it proves most efficient.
The exact same stabilization will occur in fine art; this current hyper-agitation will subside. Artists will naturally integrate neural networks—just as they currently fuse acrylic paints, Photoshop, plotter cutting, and stencils—to structure primary sketches or to refine their own drafts. It is an aid for professionals, an instrument in their hands that will simply allow them to reallocate resources toward generating ideas and streamlining their execution. But I see one primary issue here: the volume of content per unit of human attention is exploding.
Host: Well, that applies to all digital art.
Philippenzo: Yes, any digital art. But currently, the sheer quality and speed are genuinely staggering. It is very hard for me to conceptualize your work, Marat, when you are reviewing submissions. Now, as an artist, I won't be bringing you just 10 pieces.
Marat Guelman: No, here is exactly where new qualities must be discovered. Broadly speaking, if there is no new quality, there is no new art. Whether it’s thousands or a million images, if they are all identical in nature... Look, this multiplicity you mentioned is precisely one of the defining qualities of new art. One of the most popular digital art projects is CryptoPunks.
Host: What are CryptoPunks? Is that a domestic Russian phenomenon?
Marat Guelman: No, it is a massive international phenomenon. Pre-dating modern artificial intelligence. 15,000 images, all based on a punk’s face, yet all distinctly different. And this variance wasn't drawn manually by artists every single time—whether on a computer or otherwise—it was generated. A program was engineered to generate 15,000 unique images. They currently trade for $50,000 each.
Host: When did they emerge? What timeframe?
Marat Guelman: 2017. So this transpired prior to the current AI boom. Generative art demonstrated new principles. Look, when an artist creates a work of art prior to the digital era, they are constantly selecting: make it blue or green, female or male. And through this sequence of selections, a work of art materializes. A digital artist does not select; they permute. You can do it this way, or that way, because you face no friction in clicking to alter a color. Yes, it becomes fascinating when it enables variability. Multiplicity becomes a distinct quality. If you view a single CryptoPunk, you won't grasp the concept.
Host: So it becomes compelling precisely due to the multiplicity?
Marat Guelman: It becomes compelling because you observe 60 of them simultaneously. Collectors acquire them with the strict requirement of owning several in a sequence.
Philippenzo: I hear an underlying hint here that one must learn to let go.
Marat Guelman: Let go. That is exceptionally vital. A classical artist or a contemporary artist selects and permutes. They endeavor to discern the beautiful in that which they did not explicitly control.
Host: There is a serious challenge concerning what is called "artistic truth," the concept of authenticity. Previously, it was like: "Yes, this is naturally fiction, it is a work of fiction or a painting, but it harbors a certain fundamental truth."
Marat Guelman: Are we referring to proportions?
Host: Well, resembling reality. It could have happened. It is a fabricated narrative, yet highly truthful. It reflects the era, it reflects the epoch, and so forth. And artificial intelligence operates with this concept of artistic truth brilliantly. It functions like a writer's sleight of hand. Boris Eldagsen—a well-known artist—gained massive notoriety when his piece won the highly prestigious Sony World Photography Awards. He declined the award during the ceremony, stating: "You know, this isn't a photograph; it was generated by artificial intelligence." Meaning, there were top-tier professionals and jurors there, and they failed to detect it. Why did they fail to detect it? How?
Host: When did this transpire?
Marat Guelman: Two years ago. He is currently the most famous artist globally working with artificial intelligence, specifically due to that work, which generated a million press publications and so forth. The exhibition was titled “Pseudomnesia.” His father was deployed to fight in World War II at the age of 16. Naturally, he fought for two years, returned, forbade any discussions about the war, and never spoke about it himself. Boris resolved to recreate his father's archive—which did not physically exist. So he fused authentic archival photographs from that era and engineered an exhibition concerning his father.
Host: Therefore...
Marat Guelman: A family archive that did not physically exist.
Host: Yes. A family archive that could have existed. This is highly vital: it is not a fake. Artificial intelligence unlocked the potential for this specific artistic truth. It fundamentally alters our perception of truth and authenticity. Broadly speaking, artificial intelligence operates with the realm of possibility. All these constructs, all these images—it attempts to execute them under the premise of: "this could have been."
For artists, a massive volume of investigative work exists: what shifted with the emergence of artificial intelligence? One can easily and rapidly produce the exact same images.
Host: A vast quantity of them.
Marat Guelman: Yes, numerous fundamental paradigms have shifted, and the artists who will win are, again, those who perceive this and begin taking action. One can act in opposition. Anatoly Osmolovsky was a resident at my art residency. Concurrently, two artists there were working with artificial intelligence, and he immersed himself in it; he found it fascinating. Dmitry Gutov was also there at the time, and Gutov produced works, but Osmolovsky immersed himself, comprehending the reality. As the saying goes: "Still, artificial intelligence cannot generate the Black Square."
Host: Even though everyone claims that any child can paint the Black Square.
Marat Guelman: Yes, one of the classic criteria is: "I could do that too."
Host: "I could do that too."
Marat Guelman: Yet artificial intelligence cannot conceptually spawn the Black Square. One must study it not strictly to follow it, but to discover an alternative route—to act as that very skeptic. Closing your eyes does not make you a skeptic. Becoming terrified does not make you a skeptic. A skeptic is someone who comprehends it and says: "I will execute something completely different." I will execute it in a manner it cannot replicate. Although, naturally, concerning everything related to artificial intelligence, I tell everyone: append the word "yet."
Host: Perhaps this isn't a revolution at all, but merely hype. Just like with NFTs, for instance. It seemed like everything was about to change permanently.
Marat Guelman: The world did change. NFTs are simply one manifestation of this digital pivot. Look, for this to turn out to be mere hype, someone would have to turn off the electricity. Perhaps that experiment can be conducted in one specific isolated nation. NFTs receded from the headlines, but they executed their core function. We offer our buyers physical prints produced in a single edition, but if they wish, they pay an additional €50, and we mint the work as an NFT for them. Cleanly more than half of them request it.
Host: The price point is low.
Marat Guelman: The price point is low. The flaw with NFTs was the absence of a unified registry—if the corporation minting the token collapses and vanishes, the asset vanishes as well. Because I strive to act as a bridge between the art world of yesterday and tomorrow, we simply state traditionally that the physical work exists as a unique piece. Yes, it is a monoprint. With Vitaly Komar, we executed a magnificent project titled “Ruins of Museums.” All prints exist strictly as single editions. That relies on trust in the artist and trust in the dealer. In the art market, trust remains the primary currency.
Host: I am interested in how the role of the gallerist evolves in this scenario. Your first gallery opened in Russia in the early nineties, correct? In 1984, you began collecting art. How many galleries are currently under your management?
Marat Guelman: I operate with numerous partners. One partner here, another there. I manage the curatorial content, but I don't manage the organizational structures. My principle is to avoid clogging the niche myself. I establish a gallery, format its program, and locate a director. From that point, the gallery functions as an instrument for me. My core activity resides in the space between the galleries. There is one in Berlin, one in Belgrade, one in Montenegro, and shortly there will be one in Brussels.
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Host: I simply wanted to grasp the scale. The scale is fascinating. So that makes four galleries.
Marat Guelman: Look, four galleries. I am not strictly a gallerist. The moniker stuck, naturally. I wanted to engage with art, mount exhibitions, and assist artists. Executing that required organizing capital. So I organized it. But my motivation never resided in sheer commercial profit. And I constantly violated the boundary.
The reality is that the art world... there is the non-profit sector, and there is the commercial sector. And please, do not mix them. When I became a museum director, I sold my stake in the Moscow gallery specifically to avoid any conflict of interest. Yet just recently, last week, an art fair occurred in Qatar, to which galleries were invited...
Host: And all expenses were covered.
Marat Guelman: Free of charge, all expenses fully covered. I think this represents a highly vital signal: the boundary between the commercial and the non-profit is beginning to dissolve.
Host: Just as the role of the gallerist is evolving.
Marat Guelman: The most vital aspect—which few have comprehended and which I am currently monetizing...
Host: The most fascinating part.
Marat Guelman: Yes, I hide it from no one, but people simply fail to hear it. The art world has operated for a long time on... it relies on three fetishes. The first fetish is the artist's name; the second fetish is the uniqueness of the work. And the third is manual craftsmanship. These three fetishes dictate the value of a work of art.
The art market offers the unique and the editioned. There is the "limited edition," which is relatively inexpensive, and the unique, which commands a high price. Artificial intelligence introduces a third category: variability. Why would I produce a strict edition when I can produce something similar, yet distinct? It is genuinely distinct. If you examine two paintings, they are different. But if you examine 10, you will realize they are functionally identical. From a conceptual standpoint, it is the exact same work; from a visual, granular standpoint, it is different.
The market currently fails to decode this third state. These works are currently decoded by the market as unique pieces. We sold the exhibition “Blue Lard” four times over. We deceived no one. We generated fresh works based on the exact same core narrative framework.
Host: Meaning, every buyer received a unique piece.
Marat Guelman: A unique piece.
Host: Based on a specific prompt.
Marat Guelman: Everyone received a unique piece, but concurrently, as I explained, you generate one work, then append the word "evening," and you possess the capability to generate 400 variations. They will all be distinct, yet when viewed together, you comprehend they are functionally identical.
Host: How did you and Vladimir Sorokin market that? Because to me, it sounds like an edition. It seems to me that the unique piece is the one generated during the day, whereas the one generated in the evening using the same...
Marat Guelman: But why? From the market's perspective, it is a completely distinct work. When you attend an exhibition by an abstract artist, you observe works that differ slightly from one another. You recognize they belong to a single series. They are closely related, kindred works, yet distinct. They are unique.
Host: But is there a strict cap? Or can this series be expanded infinitely?
Marat Guelman: No, I believe the cap is determined by the market and the point at which the artist loses interest. Why would an artist stop experimenting with it if they are receiving capital for it? They conceptualized the narrative once, yet they have monetized it four times...
Host: Because his name carries massive weight.
Marat Guelman: No, look. Absolutely correct. And that is likely how it will operate. The market doesn't comprehend it yet. Eventually, when collectors cross paths and say: "Listen, I own the exact same piece, except it's the evening version," a debate will erupt: "Are these works truly unique or not?" Eventually, this third concept will solidify. Bridging the gap between the unique and the editioned, the concept of variability will emerge. I believe I cleanly possess five quiet years before the market fully decodes these distinctions.
Host: Who will explain this variability?
Marat Guelman: We hide nothing; we disclose everything. The market doesn't operate simply because someone executes a breakthrough. The market operates as a system of consensuses. As long as these works are perceived by the market as unique, that is how it will be. Something must transpire over those five years. The vast majority of young artists will integrate AI into their workflow, and I think it will happen even faster.
Host: Philippenzo, do you personally utilize artificial intelligence platforms in the process of creating your works?
Philippenzo: Well, I converse with ChatGPT—which I refer to as "my girl, Chat GPS." I debate my concepts and completed works with her. She assists me in structuring my somewhat fragmented thoughts into a cohesive block of text describing the work. I utilize certain phrasing she suggests, or how she connects semantic threads; occasionally, she rearranges text blocks into a more logical narrative flow, or assists me in identifying certain conceptual references embedded in my work that I hadn't explicitly noticed myself. Or she suggests entirely new interpretations. It acts as an assistant—but an assistant whose output I still must heavily edit, because generating a perfectly finalized text directly is impossible. In short, one has to keep a close eye on it.
Host: And for generating sketches?
Philippenzo: No. Not yet. Perhaps for an alternative technique. Take the high-dripping technique—another proprietary technique I work in. For that, yes, I plan to utilize neural networks for primary sketches and to map out compositions, but that remains in the future. As for my current core works, no—it precludes the genesis of a genuinely authentic, superior work.
Marat Guelman: We are pioneers at the moment; we are clipping coupons purely because there are so few of us, meaning it hasn't become ubiquitous. And because it isn't ubiquitous, the market doesn't yet perceive it as a threat. I executed a project. It will shortly be exhibited in New York, presenting me explicitly as an artist. 1,000 works. It took me three months.
Host: 1,000 works.
Marat Guelman: Yes, absolutely. These explosion pieces...
Host: So it will be a major solo exhibition?
Marat Guelman: One smaller exhibition will take place in Chelsea at a gallery, and the massive one will be hosted at a museum in upstate New York, in a smaller town. Yes, at a museum.
Host: You don't conceal the fact that it was generated?
Marat Guelman: Furthermore, a core component of my philosophy is that I explicitly utilize artificial intelligence to generate the work. My concept is that this represents the ultimate postmodern project.
Host: When a viewer sees the caption stating it was generated, it doesn't devalue your...
Marat Guelman: Well, many do experience disappointment. I exhibited the project in Basel. There were 150 of these explosion pieces on display. Everyone was exceptionally thrilled with it. And suddenly, toward the end, when people discovered it was artificial intelligence, some visibly lost interest.
Host: Because "I could do that too."
Marat Guelman: No, it ties back to those three fetishes. The market currently rests on three fetishes. And not only the market. Artificial intelligence fundamentally challenges all three fetishes of the market. Authorship: you utilize artificial intelligence, and it generates the image. Who is the author—you or the AI? Uniqueness: if you generate it with such ease, perhaps it isn't unique, but merely variable. And thirdly, manual craftsmanship.
Andy Warhol, prior to printing his portraits on canvas, would smear paint on the surface so that post-printing, there was a tactile sensation that it had been painted by hand. We are executing roughly the exact same labor right now. It might harbor zero relevance to the inherent quality of the works themselves.
Host: Does someone have to sign every piece or something?
Marat Guelman: No, no. A massive contribution toward dismantling this barrier—the barrier of viewing a non-manually created piece as a work of art—was made by David Hockney. On one hand, he is the most expensive living artist who paints by hand. Historically, he stood alongside Lucian Freud during the modernist epoch. Yet he exhibits his works executed entirely on an iPad. The works are digital, but the frames are crafted manually. He hires people to carve the frames for him by hand. And adjacent to the work, a video loops demonstrating explicitly how he grabs the iPad, sketches with his finger, transmits the file, and prints it.
Host: Meaning...
Marat Guelman: He is not a modern man in the technological sense.
Host: It's as if he foresaw this.
Host: Philippenzo, what do you think—when viewers at an exhibition discover that the works were generated or co-created with artificial intelligence, do they experience a certain disappointment? Do they assume they could execute the exact same thing, that they could generate it just as easily? If you attended an exhibition where the majority of works were generated, what would your stance be?
Philippenzo: Well, these specific disappointments have historically always emerged. When artists began utilizing computers, certain people complained: "Oh, this is just Photoshop." When people discover that muralists, like myself, or street artists utilize projectors to transfer and scale imagery, it triggers disappointment. That is how it has been throughout history. Prior to that, artists utilized the camera obscura. Prior to the camera obscura, Van Gogh, Vermeer, and their contemporaries utilized a grid frame, peering through it to manually copy outdoor studies, square by square. They mechanically segmented the image they were observing.
It is merely a toolset that streamlines labor, and it exerts zero impact on the inherent value of the finalized work. Meaning, it is neither inherently bad nor good. Actually, it is predominantly good, because it empowers an artist to apply their energy and resources far more efficiently. Take studio assistants, for example. Those are also someone else's hands; yet if an artist effectively directs their apprentices, it accelerates their workflow and exponentially increases their creative output.
Host: Will Marat Guelman purchase a work executed with the aid of artificial intelligence for his personal collection?
Marat Guelman: I actively engage in this. If you don't believe in it yourself, how can you convince others?
Host: Do you already possess such works in your collection?
Marat Guelman: Of course I do. Yes.
Host: We can take a brief pause in the conversation. What is it?
Marat Guelman: It isn't artificial intelligence strictly speaking, yet. It is an exceptionally fine artist, one of the premier Ukrainian painters—Igor Gusev. Incidentally, he is currently serving in the military, fighting on the front. His concept involves analyzing the landscape explicitly as a palette. An entire series of exceptionally beautiful works.
Host: Is the role of the gallerist shifting or not? Ultimately, are they still operating as conduits, or who currently evaluates this infinite generation of artworks?
Marat Guelman: The role of the gallerist, naturally, remains locating new artists and delivering them onto a brilliantly illuminated platform. The evaluation is ultimately executed by the environment. Consequently, an artist requires two things. First—to secure a spot on that illuminated platform, and here the gallerist's role is pivotal. And second—to achieve success. And here, the role of museum curators and collectors takes precedence. Not a single gallerist possesses the capacity to manufacture success unilaterally. You can ensure that everyone sees the work. The true role of the gallerist is to glimpse tomorrow. Why did this profession become so "sexy" and intriguing to everyone? Not because they execute sales, but because their core mission is the search.
Host: Locating talent is becoming exponentially more difficult now. Meaning, on one hand, it is simpler—you just sit in front of a screen and browse, absolutely correct. But the volume you must review has exploded.
Marat Guelman: Broadly speaking, galleries in the format they operate today emerged in the 1960s, and eventually, they will vanish. I know artists who severed their ties with galleries, but subsequently discovered—they came to me with their challenges—that their market had capped out. Conventionally speaking, the German collectors who backed them all acquired 10 to 20 works each. The artists need to expand their market. They need to travel to America; they need to participate in art fairs. An essential function of the gallerist remains proliferating the successful artist, expanding their market horizon.
Host: Meaning distribution, essentially.
Marat Guelman: Well, yes, it is likely distribution. It marks the transition from an identity-driven market into a universal market, the market of global heritage. Historically, that transition occurred without any gallerists. Perhaps tomorrow it will occur without any gallerists again, but today, galleries play a pivotal role in this. When I established the gallery in Berlin, I named it “Guelman & Unbekannt.” Unbekannt—Unknown. I will forge an artificial intelligence gallerist of my own.
Host: Already equipped with a recognized name...
Marat Guelman: Yes. My ambition dictates that, unlike my colleagues, I possess the capacity to cleanly define this matrix of criteria by which I evaluate art. Meaning, while the majority of art professionals claim: "There are no hard criteria, no rigid system, it is purely intuition and visual experience"—which is fundamentally true—I harbor my own somewhat eccentric theory. And since it exists, I can articulate it to an artificial intelligence, and it will execute evaluations based on that matrix.
However, I conceptualized this for art that pre-dates artificial intelligence. Art produced during the AI era operates differently. This criterion of "personality"—until it manifests itself, evaluation is impossible. Unquestionably, this poses a massive challenge for the gallerist; those three core fetishes of the market are being actively challenged.
95% or 99% of my colleagues naturally resist all of this. They refuse to accept this reality. Yet they resisted video and photography in the exact same manner. The market's natural disposition toward the artist is to tell them: "Oh, you invented something new? Never mind that, just keep producing roughly the same style you did previously." Because a guaranteed buyer exists for the old style.
There is no pre-existing demand for art in the world. First, the art is generated, and subsequently, a demand for that art is cultivated. It is a sheer absurdity to attempt to "fill the slot" of Vladimir Sorokin. He left Russia, and someone says, "We must fill Vladimir Sorokin’s slot." Prior to Sorokin’s emergence, that slot did not physically exist. He emerged, and the demand materialized.
Similarly, this new art will inherently forge its own ecosystem. Museums are evolving. The specific typology of museums that currently exists will likely no longer be constructed; alternative formats will emerge. Assuming that art will undergo a radical transformation while its formats of existence remain static is highly doubtful.
Yes, I believe that galleries will wither away in their current format. A segment of them will transition into the antiquities sector. I had a partner in New York—Ronald Feldman. A highly renowned gallery. He worked with Ilya Kabakov, Andy Warhol, Joseph Beuys—figures of that caliber. He passed away. His son, Marc—a very fine guy, but absolutely not a gallerist—operates out of a warehouse. He inherited a massive inventory of works from his father and occupies himself with liquidating that inventory. That is likely the trajectory for many galleries, because whatever was already consolidated within the legacy system will naturally not vanish, and it will continue to function.
Currently, we categorize the contemporary art market and the antiquities market. Soon, there will be three distinct markets. The antiquities market; the contemporary art market pre-dating artificial intelligence, the digital epoch, or the war; and a third market. How this third market—where variability is the defining trait—will function is intensely fascinating. I hope to participate directly in forging this new market.
My stance differs from yours because I harbor zero fear. I fundamentally believe that any disruption is beneficial. Why? Because it provides an arena to participate in. If the paradigm remains static, you are reduced to a functionary. Your role was scripted long ago, and you merely execute it. If everything shifts, you possess the agency to emerge as a leader, to become an author. I constantly dissect these new formats. This specific harbinger—the dissolution of the boundary between the commercial and the non-profit—seems highly vital to me. The world is obligated to evolve. The non-profit sector has effectively morphed into a commercial one as well. It operates as a form of structural hypocrisy.
Host: Can you provide an example of this hypocrisy?
Marat Guelman: The Board of Trustees of any provincial American museum. Collectors populate these boards specifically to be the first to identify which new artists the museum intends to acquire. Because the moment an artist is acquired by a museum, the market value of their works spikes three to five times over. They have formally entered eternity. This represents insider trading—and I am explicitly highlighting perfectly legal mechanics here. I am not discussing corruption, which can theoretically be combated by locating honest museum directors. This is absolutely legal. When acquisition decisions regarding specific artworks are finalized, trustees are present at those sessions. The museum director arrives, curators occasionally convene a consilium, and they justify their selections. Immediately following that session, the trustees disperse and acquire works by the exact artists whose value is guaranteed to spike tomorrow.
Host: Here we smoothly transition to the role of collectors. Aside from aspiring to place an artwork inside a museum to monetize it later, how are they supposed to navigate this third market that is currently materializing?
Marat Guelman: When a collector resolves what they intend to collect, they effectively forge a context. "Since my parents were sailors, I will exclusively collect maritime paintings." Instantly, a context materializes. Specific artists and specific works are absorbed into it. Or: "Since I hail from Moldova, I will collect Moldovan art."
One of the pivotal functions of a collector is conceptualizing the niches and contexts wherein art exists. This is supremely critical, because in a scenario where the criteria apparatus is collapsing, the weight of an artwork—its significance—is defined strictly via its placement within specific contexts.
Host: That sounds incredibly complex.
Marat Guelman: The primary context, historically, is territorial. If you cannot conceptualize an exhibition of Russian art without a specific artist, that artist resides firmly within the identity market of Russian art. This is highly vital. These are the primary contexts driving the market. But concurrently, an artist might reside within the context of media art. Or feminist artists. A vast array of diverse contexts exists. Forging these contexts and discovering new ones is the explicit task of collectors.
Host: It seems they end up on the exact same page as the gallerists here.
Marat Guelman: A gallerist delivers heroes onto the stage; it is the collector who elevates them closer to the status of cultural heritage. And the museum operates as the ultimate apex. There is also an intermediary expert reference group. But if we analyze the actors—not those who merely exert influence, but those who actively execute transactions—collectors are the ones forging this context.
Today, the majority of collectors attempt to reflect a specific time and place. Picture this: 200 years from now, individuals are studying art history. They are asked: "What art represents the 2020s in your historical timeline?" And an individual who perhaps possesses minimal expertise in art looks at the timeline and states: "It must be the art intertwined with artificial intelligence."
Host: 100%.
Marat Guelman: Eventually, this will simply become mundane. But this specific decade, from 2020 to 2030, is not mundane; it is an epochal event. Those artists and that art which channel this event through themselves—regardless of whether they combat AI or utilize it—will serve as the ultimate representatives of the 2020s on that historical timeline.
A collector seeking a distinct niche for their collection must differentiate themselves. There are zero individuals capable of competing with the Rothschilds in terms of sheer capital. And since you lack infinite capital, your success hinges strictly on selecting the correct conceptual framework for your collection. Someone might declare: "Oh, I will collect writers who transitioned into artists, because art now operates as an analytical function." Or someone else might state: "I am exclusively focused on generative art." The task of the collector is to transform my abstract theorizing into actionable concepts for their collections.
Host: What is the role of the audience in all of this? What are viewers supposed to do? It appears any generated image constitutes art. It appears I can generate it myself just as easily. Previously, I would attend an exhibition and think: "Yes, I could paint a black square, but here, my technical skills fall short."
Host: Now I can generate a Goya, a Hockney, absolutely anyone.
Marat Guelman: When I operated as a museum director, I explained to my staff: "There is the museum staff, and there is the public; we must merge these roles." For example, we instituted categories like "Friend of the Museum," "Best Friend of the Museum," and "Member of the Board of Trustees." Effectively, these were privileged viewers. They operated as active participants. They exerted influence on processes. They received formal reports from the museum. Relegated to the absolute bottom tier were the tourists who randomly purchased a ticket and walked in.
The exact same dynamic applies here. Anyone can execute interior decoration independently. For museums, for massive-scale works, for serious exhibitions, naturally, professionals and artists will remain necessary. But I foresee that tomorrow, every single individual will independently generate the art they wish to inhabit.
Host: Meaning, generate their own personal collections?
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Marat Guelman: Essentially, yes.
Marat Guelman: That won't constitute a collection. No. Today, we face a conceptual muddle: an interior designer and a collector serve entirely distinct functions. A collector simply exhibits a segment of their acquisitions, but there is one collector per hundred people, whereas every second person acts as an interior designer. Every second person participates in the spatial decoration market and acquires art there. Occasionally, the art they acquire is of genuine collectible caliber, and they are constantly searching for pieces that resonate with them. Tomorrow, they will independently generate whatever resonates with them for their interiors.
From my perspective, a hard rupture will occur between this commercial salon art ecosystem and the collectible art ecosystem. The public will view art at an exhibition, return home, and generate art themselves.
Philippenzo: Yes, it even seems to me that while previously you had to physically photograph a painting, now you simply need to memorize the core concept.
Marat Guelman: It will emerge as an entirely new market. I perceive nothing inherently bad in this. The one severe challenge society must resolve concerns "middle-career" artists. The commercial salon market sustains an artist up until the moment they transition into the collectible tier. Occasionally, it sustains them quite lucratively. Now, if the salon market evaporates and everyone decorates their own homes independently, we face a gap. There is a support system for emerging artists, and a system for managing established cultural heritage. But what is an artist supposed to do while navigating the transition from one to the other? That remains unclear. I believe that artificial intelligence will absorb all intellectual, non-creative labor. This implies that an exponentially growing number of people will engage in intellectual and creative labor.
Host: Will there be a sufficient volume of consumers to absorb this intellectual output?
Marat Guelman: The mass market operates on an alternative framework now. It’s like the music industry: instead of a single stadium where 100,000 people gather to listen to one singer, the audience disperses across a thousand cafés, each hosting 100 people listening to their own niche singer. Yes, the exact same 100,000 people are consuming music, but not a homogenized product—everyone consumes their bespoke niche.
And it seems to me this applies not strictly to fine art or music, but to the architecture of tomorrow as a whole. Alexander Zinoviev once labeled this the "new craftsmanship." People will cease wearing mass-market brands. Brands will be reserved exclusively for the spiritually impoverished, the cheapest, the most... In reality, you are expected to locate a bespoke designer who caters exclusively to 30 clients.
Perhaps the epoch of new craftsmanship is an epoch of absolute, extreme diversity—yet not a fractured diversity, but a continuously communicating one. It is a utopia, in the sense that discussions regarding the future are typically framed through an apocalyptic lens. Yet here, I am attempting to envision this 21st century as the century of the quest for the unique. The 20th century was the quest for the universal. The paramount figure was the scientist, and the primary actor was the corporation. The 21st century is the quest for the unique. The actor is the artist, and the instrument is the territory. Every territory differs slightly. And the objective of artists and territories is to forge these unique identities. To dissolve the boundary separating the consumer from the creator of cultural content.
Host: Pixel art is one of the mainstream currents in art. Who could have envisioned that a few years ago? One of your early works was “Lake.” It featured a massive volume of pixels and intricate details, but subsequently, you distilled and reduced the technique into these pixelated pictograms that reflect elements of our contemporary context, forging a kind of new language of everyday life in the form of these easily decodable hieroglyphs.
Historically, the uniqueness of an artist was defined precisely by their manual technique and "hand." What becomes the marker of an author's distinct style when technical execution is accessible to practically everyone? Pixel art is a rather universal format.
Philippenzo: Exactly in the same manner as letters, which are subsequently combined into words and texts, differ based on who writes them and what meaning the author embeds within them. Meaning, even pixels are strictly a set of baseline elements—building blocks—from which not only images are forged, but also the underlying meanings they carry. And behind them stands the personality of the author, complete with their perspectives, values, methodologies, and everything else.
Host: One could train a neural network to execute genuine Pixel art, upload your entire portfolio and biography, and essentially begin mass-producing them.
Philippenzo: Neural networks do not handle Pixel art exceptionally well. Pixel art isn't merely a low-resolution image. There is a substantial volume of creative labor involved that only a human can currently execute. In principle, one can copy absolutely anything, but there is very little legality in doing so, right? Meaning, a certain degree of copyright still exists.
Incidentally, even now, if I prompt an AI: "Generate a painting in the style of David Hockney," not a single platform will execute it, because they adhere to copyright restrictions. How do you view this? Will this shift, or will copyright protecting the existing legacy be preserved in some format, ensuring that 100% replication remains prohibited?
Marat Guelman: The reality is that the art environment possesses an internal immune mechanism that rejects this exact type of copying. Derivative art will never enter a museum. Secondary art—no. Copies are produced in massive volumes. Since the 2nd century in Rome, authentic Greek sculptures and Roman copies were sold side by side. The entire world seeks the authentic, the unique.
As for the broader context of copyright, the training of artificial intelligence is functionally identical to the training of a student. I enroll in an institute and begin studying art history. I visit a museum with a professor, and he instructs me to copy this specific artist, and that specific artist, and to analyze this specific technique. The moment I graduate, I—operating exactly like an artificial intelligence, depending on the caliber of my studies—have absorbed all of this. And the subsequent question—whether I possess the capacity to produce something authentically my own—is not a question of copying. I know how to copy; that is the simplest part. But generating something authentic is highly complex.
I fundamentally do not comprehend this grievance: "Oh, they are replicating my works." Well, they are replicating your works—they are glorifying you. For maximum PR impact, you could even file a lawsuit.
Host: Perhaps for the sake of the scandal.
Marat Guelman: Yes, to demonstrate once more: "Look, this is why I believe they are copying me, because..." and generally utilizing it as an opportunity to broadcast your art. I simply do not view this as a problem.
Host: Another issue is censorship. One can also encounter restrictions where certain subjects, ranging from the political to the pornographic, are...
Philippenzo: Blocked, yes. You cannot utilize my photograph.
Marat Guelman: This is a component of a far more massive threat. Prior to our conversation, you noted that with drones, we assumed they would perform one function, yet they are executing an entirely different one. The situation here is identical; a colossal array of threats linked to artificial intelligence exists. Today, in terms of our technological capacities, we are approaching the threshold of self-destruction perilously closely. We must reflect upon this.
From my perspective, the primary step is to document all these threats as active realities, rather than closing our eyes to them, and to forge a new ethical framework and corresponding legislation. Previously, a photograph was accepted as definitive evidence in a court of law.
Philippenzo: Now that is practically impossible, following the experiments we have witnessed.
Marat Guelman: Yes, naturally. Yet inertial legislation remains un-updated. There are numerous alternative threats. Foremost, naturally, is corporate control over the individual, especially in scenarios where these corporations collaborate with state authorities. Take Sberbank, for instance: they engineered their own artificial intelligence model, which is hard-coded to prevent any criticism of Putin.
Host: Well, China operates similar systems, don't they?
Marat Guelman: Naturally, they exist.
Host: You cannot joke about the Communist...
Marat Guelman: Yes, naturally. That is a genuine threat. And what if a corporation engineering an AI platform demands mandatory co-authorship credit for any artwork generated using its tools? Is that a viable threat?
Marat Guelman: Highly unlikely. When the technology launched, they embedded watermarks. Everything ultimately hinges on the business model. Their business model relies on selling workstation access. If you are selling access, what exactly are you selling? You are selling the relinquishment of any claims to the outputs generated by the user's prompts. That is the first aspect.
Secondly, we, for instance, utilize four distinct platforms simultaneously—not "either/or," but "and." Diverse platforms excel at diverse tasks... Midjourney handles historical and cultural contexts superiorly to the rest. In some instances, these AI models are already hard-integrated into native tools; Photoshop operates with this today.
No, I perceive the core threat precisely in corporations imposing proprietary censorship acting as moral puritans, and so forth. That is somewhat tolerable; one can mock it. But when they collaborate with the state to control the flow of information we consume, that becomes highly lethal. On the whole, I believe that in the 21st century, the suicidal peril to humanity is exceptionally high.
Host: I recall, Marat, that you began the conversation as an enthusiast.
Marat Guelman: In my paradigm, disruption is a positive. Disruption acts as an invitation to participate. Diverse phases of life demand diverse mottos. Today, my motto is: do not merely observe—participate. Be an active participant in the unfolding processes. Without risk, nothing materializes. Risk must be navigated; one must engage intellectually. The primary imperative is to avoid closing your eyes.
Let me reiterate: those who pretend that nothing is happening will lose. If we successfully define the threats, we will inevitably formulate responses to them. For example, a single monopolistic platform shouldn't exist; there must be 5 to 10 competing platforms. In that scenario, we will likely locate a method to execute whatever we desire. Censorship is a failure of political will far more than a failure of technology. Naturally, technology streamlines the censor's workflow. Artificial intelligence can track specific keywords, block them, delete them, or shadow-ban them, but fundamentally, an entity harboring the desire to censor must exist first. And I believe we must focus our efforts there. Perhaps we must mandate that securing the right to operate a socially critical tech business requires proving absolute impartiality.
Host: What would you say to a viewer attending your exhibition featuring 1,000 generated works, who reads the caption stating they are generated, becomes disillusioned, and subsequently views the exhibition with diminished enthusiasm?
Marat Guelman: It isn't the viewer who becomes disillusioned; it is the buyer. During the initial phase, when they operate strictly as viewers, they are conversely thrilled; they enjoy it and inquire about the pricing. The price point is low. Why? Because it is a generated work. They become disillusioned precisely because it violates their preconceived notions regarding the fetishes of the cultural market.
Host: What would you say to the buyer, then?
Marat Guelman: Yes, what would I say to the buyer? I would say: you are among the pioneers executing an action that everyone will be executing tomorrow, because the vast majority of people will utilize artificial intelligence. Concurrently with the evolution of AI, printing hardware is evolving. We are actively utilizing it today. We acquired a specialized Chinese machine. It isn't a mere printer; it physically sprays acrylic paint. Meaning, it produces an actual painting.
Philippenzo: Almost like a 3D printer, essentially.
Marat Guelman: It isn't a printing process; it is a literal painting process. It is simply automated. The boundary that currently terrifies them—the line separating manual craftsmanship from a replicated edition—will evaporate shortly.
Philippenzo: Farewell, manual craftsmanship; farewell, uniqueness.
Marat Guelman: But not yet "farewell, artist's name."
Philippenzo: The artist's name will unquestionably undergo erosion as well. A vital point: digital art inherently triggers collaboration. Meaning, these aren't merely co-authors; it is a rigid distribution of roles. Look at AES+F—it isn't simply A+F. Four distinct individuals execute the image. This one handles this component, that one handles that. Yes, collaboration constitutes the dilution of singular authorship. We are accustomed to the author being a singular entity, because we assumed that verbalizing a work of art is impossible.
Now, if there are four of us generating a single work, we possess the capacity to at least articulate our vision to one another. And if I possess the capacity to articulate it to my three co-authors, it implies I can articulate it to thirty viewers. Authorship as an esoteric magic evaporates, but personality does not evaporate. A powerful personality possesses the capacity to collaborate with a massive network, rendering the author collective. Assuming a genuine personality resides at the core...
Philippenzo, what do you consider the most valuable asset in a world where any concept can be generated and executed with high quality utilizing ubiquitous technologies? What becomes valuable for the artist?
Philippenzo: The most valuable asset for the artist—and equally for the viewers and the audience—becomes the artist themselves. The artist constitutes the ultimate masterpiece of their own making. Their primary currency, if one can phrase it that way, is their sincerity. What they produce operates as a facet of their representation, their internal landscape, their perspective, their life philosophy, and their values. What specific elements they embed within their works, how structurally harmonious those elements are for the artist themselves—that will dictate the degree to which they resonate in the hearts and minds of the audience.
Marat Guelman: Today, all three fetishes of the market are undergoing severe degradation. I believe this is highly positive because it signals that the era of stagnation is definitively over. Asserting that there is nothing new is simply laughable today. There are so many permutations of the "new"! Your only task is to guess which of these permutations will crystallize into the genuine mainstream or something else. I am 65 years old, and I am excited again when engaging with art. That hasn't happened in a long time.
Host: That is fantastic. I hope our viewers are experiencing a bit of excitement as well.
