Some cave paintings in Spain may be 64,000 years old. The earliest decorated pottery was made in China and Japan around 18,000 BC.
Meanwhile, somewhere right now, an artist is desperately failing to recover a digital image they stored on a balky computer drive in 2007.
I treasure original art—both cartoons, which are my professional interest, and more generally all of it. It was in the artist’s studio. They touched it. You can see their preliminary layers, study their decisions, grasp their process and mind. I’ve seen fingerprints in 2000-year-old paint. It makes an intimate connection that crosses centuries.
More and more of my cartooning colleagues have transitioned to digital art. They compose on a Cintiq or iPad using programs like Clip Studio or Procreate. I understand. The ease and speed are seductive; so is the “Undo” button.
I’ll always cartoon with ink on paper. Not that I’m right and they’re wrong. Whatever gets the job done. But I mourn what’s lost.
It’s a broader issue. Historians can research the American Revolution or Civil War by reading period diaries and newspapers. Old ads and posters are a treasure trove. Those media are nearing extinction. In a hundred years, nobody will be able to decode a PDF or JPG. Future historians will see the art and culture of the early 21st century vanish into a black hole.
Even if digital copies survive, the tangible connection between artist and audience will be gone. No fingerprints. It will be a profound shame.
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