They said the age of the Renaissance was reborn. With my surname Rivera, I feel like those painters of old, doomed to sweep across history’s canvases forever. There is a word for people of our kind: Apaza, child of the wind. We come after you with machetes, slashing through four centuries, tangled under the vines – until we find … An Indian gives me a word for us: Apaza… lone traveller in the wind. It was not easy.” My parents came from two drastically different worlds and opposed years of cultural shame to give me life.
The rise of digital art has not been subtle. It’s messy, loud, and exhilarating. Every day, new tool new platform, new way of creating. From AR exhibitions in tiny pop-up galleries to AI-assisted illustrations that almost feel alive: art is no longer confined to a physical medium. To me, digital art is not just a career; it’s the way to hold conversations, connect and otherwise play around in ways I never could with canvas and oils.
One of the freshest in my memory is from last month. I was working with a small company that was doing mobile app development in Charlotte-started designs on an interface for a new app that would let users create and share digital artwork directly from their tablet. To see my sketches become ‘real,’ that is, interactive, shareable experiences on the screen was pure magic. Not the magic of “rabbit-out-of-hat” tricks but silent, almost invisible magic-daily accomplishment of creating something from nothing.
One brush stroke there… color gradient there… User from halfway across the country may suddenly watch an image coming to life in real time. The very thought that tech was to amplify, not constrain creativity had thrilled.
I can still remember when I am about to post my digital art for the first time online. I wouldn’t deny, I was partly nervous because the audience is unknown and partly because digital art isn’t accepted all around as a form of art. My very first post gained a few likes only. That slightly crushed me, ‘till someone commented: “Your work feels alive. Keep going.” That tiny speck of encouragement was transformative. It reminded me that digital platforms are letting’s stories out to people that would never step into a gallery, never see that kind of art.
What's cool about digital art is that it’s made creativity available for everyone. All you need to have is a tablet, a stylus, and some curiosity and you’re in. Whereas when I was in high school, to create art, it meant buying supplies, dedicating some physical space to work, and hoping someone would see it in daylight. Now that the art is made digitally, you can instantly test ideas across borders, get feedback, iterate- everything. I have worked with illustrators in Tokyo, animators in Berlin, and coders in San Francisco—all sitting in Charlotte.
It’s not just the tools; it’s the culture around them, sharing, remixing, experimenting. More than once I have caught myself scrolling through interactive galleries, following layers of work built on each other, and thought: this is the future of creativity.
However, there is this tension that cannot be ignored. Anytime everything goes online, there’s that risk of detachment. A painting viewed through a 13″ screen just does not have the same impact as one does when viewing a large canvas in a gallery. Colors shift, details fade, the tactile sensation disappears. I’ve certainly wrestled with this in my own work – how to maintain the emotional depth of traditional art while welcoming what’s possible with digital tools.
The answer, it seems, is in storytelling. Not just pixels but narrative, experience, emotion. If done right, that’s just as intimate as any physical artwork.
One of the most amazing things about working with other people has been sharing my sketches at app development meetings, when we were watching animations coded, and receiving instant feedback from such a varied group of creatives. Ideas bounce around, evolve, sometimes break, and, in doing so, become something richer. The biggest difference now is that instead of watching someone interact with my art over a period of months and travel thousands of miles to make a small change ‘in situ,’ I can watch that happen over a few hours, and look at the color of their eyes rather than just blobs on a small, grainy image. Joyful subterfuge winemaker or somebody having a ball against a grim backdrop? The blurred region’s inhabitants have for so long made colored subterfuge (art’s most controversial matter!) that gives a hint of what the picture really is. Only art encrusted in illusion or illusion incubated in shadows creates reality in image-terms. Only art entertains sensual imagery while giving intellect ualising concept s some slight emphasis.
Things have even impacted the economics. Most of the time, it would be selling digital pieces, offering limited edition NFTs, or licensing designs for interactive experiences that get possibilities opened up for artists like me. I remember my first online sale – a tiny animated piece of Charlotte’s skyline – but the thrill of it was unlike anything in traditional gallery settings. It was not about prestige but reaching someone who truly appreciated the story behind the work.
On some days I will have a stylus in his hand and be awed by the irony- my studio is small, my tools are digital, but the impact feels huge. I can create entire worlds from this tiny corner of Charlotte and then share them instantly with people I’ll never meet. Humbling. exhilarating, and at times just plain overwhelming.
I’m excited. It’s not a niche or a novelty, but something intrinsic to modern culture. The very fact of its emergence speaks to our connectedness, our untapped creative potential as a species in search of newer modes of expression and forms and the willingness to venture into uncharted creative territory. I’ve no clue where it’ll go but know for sure that I’ll be there, tablet in hand, sketching, coding, iterating, and sharing.
Digital art is not only a technological but human endeavor at the end of the day. It’s storytelling with pixels and light, collaboration, experimentation, and the courage to try something new. And for me, sitting in my Charlotte studio, surrounded by sketches, plants, and the quiet hum of creativity, it feels like the future of art is already here.