Pigments to Pixels: How Technology and Innovation Transform Art
Technology and innovation have continually reshaped the way artists work. Each innovation, from paper and pigments to pixels and printers, has expanded what is possible, influencing both technique and artistic expression itself. And technology doesn’t just change how art is made; it also transforms how it’s reproduced, shared, and perceived.
By R.E. Sample
In recent years, the rise of AI has sent shockwaves through the art world. Now, without ever touching pencil to paper—or stylus to tablet—it is possible to generate images with astounding realism and complexity. What once demanded hours, weeks, or even years of human effort can now be produced in moments.
The public response has been intense. Creators, both professional and amateur, have grown increasingly divided over the role of AI in their fields; some have embraced it, while others reject it entirely. But while this disruption feels drastic, it is not without precedent. Technology has always been a double-edged sword, creating new opportunities for some whilst driving others into obsolescence. Like artisans and craftsmen in every field, visual artists have always been influenced by the tools and materials at their disposal. As those tools evolve, so too does the art.
The Renaissance
Since the first moment that a prehistoric human dabbed color onto a cave wall, artists have been looking for more effective—and more efficient—ways to express themselves. The ancient civilizations of the Near East and the Mediterranean produced a plethora of art techniques, from mosaics and enamels to frescoes and intricate cast bronzes. Meanwhile, half a world away, ancient China gave humanity the gifts of paper and porcelain. Even the Middle Ages—often miscast as an age of stagnation—produced radiant stained glass windows and illuminated manuscripts.
Yet, when many of us think of artistic revolutions, our first thoughts are of the European Renaissance. More than a revival of classical ideals, the Renaissance was also a golden age of technological innovation and experimentation.
In the early years of the era, most paintings were executed on wooden panels with egg tempera paint. This ancient medium—made from ground pigments bound with fresh egg yolk—was quick to dry and stubborn to blend. Subtle shading required a time-consuming crosshatching technique, with artists layering countless fine brushstrokes to achieve smooth transitions. Beautiful results could be achieved with tempera, but, inevitably, artists began to look for something more convenient—and they found it in oil.
Oil paints had existed in some form since at least the 7th century, but it was not until the 15th century that they stepped fully into the spotlight. Northern Renaissance masters such as Jan van Eyck pioneered their use, and oils soon spread south to Italy, steadily replacing tempera in popularity. Oils dried slowly and could be applied in thin, translucent layers, allowing artists to blend with ease. They also yielded deeper, richer tones—especially in the darks—lending their subjects a new sense of realism. Without oils, the soft, smoky sfumato technique of Renaissance masters like Leonardo da Vinci would have been all but impossible to achieve.
As paint was undergoing a revolution, so too was the surface upon which it was applied. Canvas—which was being manufactured in abundance for maritime use—began to find favor in artists’ studios, gradually supplanting other supports. It was sturdier than parchment, more portable than fresco, and less prone to warping than wooden panels. It could support large, ambitious compositions, yet be conveniently rolled for travel or storage.
Together, oil and canvas were a match made in artistic heaven. They transformed painting by expanding the possibilities of style, scale, and technique. For the next five centuries, they would reign as the dominant tools of Western art.
But artistic innovation during the Renaissance was not limited to painting. As painters explored new methods, a parallel revolution was taking place in the realm of printmaking. Though the Chinese had pioneered printmaking centuries earlier, the practice only began to flourish in Europe in the early 15th century, with Germany producing its earliest hand-printed woodblock images. Metal engraving, with its finer lines and greater tonal range, followed soon after. Both methods allowed artists and craftsmen to reproduce images with unprecedented ease and speed.
Then, in the mid-1400s, the introduction of Johannes Gutenberg’s printing press streamlined the process even further. Both text and images could now be replicated on a previously unimaginable scale, making them more accessible than ever before. Images that once would have only been seen by a privileged few could now be spread throughout the continent, bringing art to the masses.
The Chemistry of Color
The availability of pigments also had an impact on artistic expression. During the Renaissance, high-quality blues and purples were rare and costly, and were used accordingly. Chief among them was ultramarine, which was made from lapis lazuli mined in Afghanistan. The deep blue pigment was worth its weight in gold, and thus its splendor was often reserved for sacred subjects like the Virgin Mary.
But, thanks to advancements in chemistry, the world of colors radically changed. In 1704, the accidental discovery of Prussian blue, the first modern synthetic pigment, opened the door to a new era.*
In the following centuries, numerous other shades followed: cerulean, phthalo, and even a synthetic version of ultramarine were developed. Each new pigment expanded possibilities and loosened the constraints of cost and scarcity, giving artists more options than ever before.
The Victorian Era
The 19th century was an age of invention, when industrialization and consumerism were reshaping nearly every corner of life—and the art world was no exception. Among the many marvels and innovations of the age was one small, unassuming invention that would revolutionize the world of art: the paint tube.
Before the arrival of the paint tube, painting outdoors was an uncommon and cumbersome affair. Most landscape artists ventured outdoors only to sketch, then retreated to the stillness of their studios to complete their work. There, they ground dry pigments into linseed oil to make their paints, which they would then use to translate their landscape studies into finished paintings. On the rare occasion that an artist did venture outside to paint, they stored their paint in pigs’ bladders tied with string—an awkward and imperfect solution. The artist would pierce the bladder with a needle and squeeze out the paint—but the hole could never be fully sealed again, and the paints would often dry out before use. The bladders were also notoriously prone to bursting during travel.
But when American artist John G. Rand patented the collapsible tin paint tube in 1841, that all changed.
With premixed paints sealed neatly in these portable little tubes, artists were no longer tethered to their studios; they could roam fields, streets, and beaches with their colors ready at hand, capturing the blush of sunset or the golden radiance of the afternoon with a newfound spontaneity. This freedom allowed en plein air painting to flourish—and with it, Impressionism. It is not hyperbole to say that, without the paint tube, the bright, airy landscapes of Monet and the vibrant, swirling works of Van Gogh might never have existed.
Yet, while the paint tube’s influence was remarkable, its impact was modest compared to another 19th century invention: photography.
For centuries, the painter’s brush had been the primary keeper of visual record. Suddenly, a camera could do the work faster, cheaper, and with a level of accuracy that even a master’s hand couldn’t match. Much as today’s artists wrestle with the implications of AI, painters of the 19th century struggled to come to terms with photography. Some viewed it as a threat, others as a tool for reference or study, and others explored it as a medium in its own right.
Artists were not the only ones pondering the effects of photography, however. In The Salon of 1859, the French poet Charles Baudelaire wrote:
“If photography is allowed to supplement art in some of its functions, it will soon have supplanted or corrupted it altogether…” [1]
Others were more optimistic about the role of photography. In her 1857 essay On Photography, the art historian and critic Lady Elizabeth Eastlake wrote:
“For everything for which Art, so-called, has hitherto been the means but not the end, photography is the allotted agent— for all that requires mere manual correctness, and mere manual slavery, without any employment of the artistic feeling, she is the proper and therefore the perfect medium.” [2]
This sea change was both liberating and unsettling for artists. Freed—or compelled—from the task of perfect replication, painters began to explore new ways of seeing. Some, like the Pre-Raphaelites, doubled down on meticulous realism, but for others, the goal of art shifted from imitation to interpretation. Colors grew bolder and brushstrokes grew looser, thus paving the way for modernism and abstraction.
As surrealist André Breton would later say, “The invention of photography has dealt a mortal blow to the old modes of expression, in painting as well as in poetry … Since a blind instrument now assured artists of achieving the aim they had set themselves up to that time, they now aspired, not without recklessness, to break with the imitation of appearances.” [3]
The Twentieth Century
By the 20th century, artistic innovation shifted into overdrive.
Ballpoint pens usurped fountain pens and dip pens. Spray paint and welding, originally developed for industry and construction, were soon co-opted by artists as means of expression. Television joined the movement, too; painting lessons from the likes of Bob Ross and Bill Alexander could now be beamed into any household with a TV set, blurring the lines between performance and instruction.
Even oil paint received a 20th-century upgrade: Liquin and Galkyd, mediums developed to thin oil paint and speed drying, became popular among artists looking to blend traditional techniques with modern efficiency.
Perhaps one of the most transformative newcomers was acrylic paint. Developed in the 1930s and popularized in the 1950s, acrylics were both vivid and durable. They could mimic the richness of oils, but they were conveniently water-soluble and quick to dry. Pop artists splashed them on canvases, muralists spread them across city walls, and hobbyists embraced their approachable, forgiving nature.
The Digital Revolution
By the end of the 20th century, a new transformation was well under way. Computers had begun to revolutionize every other aspect of human life, and art was no different.
From Adobe Illustrator and Microsoft Paint to Procreate and Fresco, digital software became the new tool of choice for many 21st century artists. There was no mess, and no need for storage or even a studio. Artists could now layer, manipulate, and compose with unprecedented freedom. Knowledge of the subtleties of brushes, mediums, and pigments was no longer required; now all one needed was a digital screen and a software program.
With the introduction of 3D printing, even the realm of sculpture was not spared. Artists could now build models digitally, tweak them endlessly, and print them in resin in the comfort of their own homes. What was once a physical, tactile medium had been absorbed into the ephemeral digital world.
The internet played it’s part, too. No longer confined by geography, artists could share their work instantly across the globe. Before long, online communities formed, tutorials proliferated, and galleries gave way to Instagram grids.
Even photography, that old competitor to painting, received a makeover. With the rise of digital cameras, Photoshop, and smartphones, photography became more democratized than ever. Gone were the days of shooting on faith, unsure if you had truly captured the moment until the film was developed. There were no more long hours spent in the darkroom, dodging and burning, editing an image by hand. Today, with a few taps and a swipe, anyone can refine or retouch an image in seconds.
And now, so-called “artificial intelligence” has entered the scene.
The question on many lips today is this: Can AI truly create art? Can a soulless program produce something with soul? Once, our ancestors asked the same of photography—could an image captured by a machine be art? Over the past two centuries, it seems that our collective answer has been a cautious sometimes. In the end, it depends on effort, expression, and the unmistakable presence of a human point of view. How much is the artist guiding and shaping the machine’s output, and how much is the machine simply left to operate on its own?
Perhaps, then, the real question is not “Can AI be used to create art?” That answer ultimately lies in the realm of the subjective. The more pressing question is this: “Will AI diminish the human desire—or ability—to create?”
Of course, the long-term effects of AI on human expression remain to be seen. Some creators will undoubtedly embrace this new tool wholeheartedly—indeed, many already have—but others may turn away from it. It is possible we’ll see a renewed appetite for the tangible: for works that can be encountered in person rather than through a screen. After all, the human desire to stand before a piece of art and observe it in the flesh remains strong. The growing popularity of interactive and immersive art installations suggests that such corporeal experiences may well be the way of the future.
In Conclusion
Art has never been more accessible. With each technological development, the creation of visual art has become faster, easier, and more affordable. As the barriers to entry fall, more people can create, share, and own art than ever before.
But while the breaking down of barriers to expression can seem like a godsend to some, it is deeply unsettling to others. Skill takes time and effort to build, so it’s natural for those who’ve invested in it to bristle when the path is smoothed for others.
Of course, it is easy to shrug off the grievances of such dinosaurs as mere performative self-denial or an elitist rejection of accessibility. And yet, their cries raise profound questions: Is there a point at which ease begins to erode meaning? Is creative expression made more meaningful by the difficulty of its execution, or should its value be measured by the impact it achieves, regardless of how it was produced? As we increasingly rely on machines to generate art for us, are we at risk of losing some intangible human spark?
Like an economy flooded with gold, abundance can reduce value. When creation becomes effortless, does art risk becoming disposable?
And, as we advance into a post-effort era of artistic expression, it is worth remembering that effort itself carries value. The hard-won satisfaction an artist feels after hours or days of struggle, when a creation at last assumes the desired shape, is a joy no machine can replicate. Faster, more efficient methods of creation may yield beauty, but do they enrich the soul of the artist to the same degree?
The rejection of technology may be more than just a Luddite impulse to rage against one’s own obsolescence. It is, perhaps, an act of defiance in an increasingly transhumanist world—a last stand to keep hold of one of our most innate human impulses: the urge to create.
What Charles Baudelaire once said of photography might well be said of all technological progress, before or since: “…if it be allowed to encroach upon the domain of the impalpable and the imaginary, upon anything whose value depends solely upon the addition of something of a man’s soul, then it will be so much worse for us!”[1]
*The earliest known synthetic pigment—Egyptian blue—was used for thousands of years, but after the fall of the Roman empire it fell out of use and it’s method of creation was forgotten.
Author’s note: This article’s featured image is Art Students (detail), c. 1871, Louis Lang (American, 1814–1893) (Photo via The Metropolitan Museum of Art)
Sources and References:
[1] Mayne, J., (ed.) (1964). Art in Paris: 1845-62 (pp. 151-155). Phaidon.
[2] Eastlake, E. (1857, April). On Photography. London Quarterly Review, 102, 442-468.
[3] Breton, A. (1996). The Lost Steps (pp. 60-61). University of Nebraska Press.
Meyer, R. (1985). The Artist’s Handbook (5th ed.). Penguin Books.
Gurney, J. (2010). Color and Light: A Guide for the Realist Painter. Andrews McMeel Publishing.
“Pigments to Pixels: How Technology and Innovation Transform Art” ©2025. R.E. Sample and The Renaissance Garden Guy
About the Author
Born in Scotland to an American military family, R.E. Sample grew up in Texas, North Carolina, and California before settling in Pennsylvania, where she has lived her entire adult life. A professional artist, she works across a wide range of projects, from oil and charcoal portraits of people and pets to botanical illustrations, murals, and, most recently, a book cover. When not in the studio, she can often be found writing, reading, kayaking, or gardening. With a lifelong passion for art and history, she enjoys sharing her work and insights on social media. Readers can find R.E. on Instagram at instagram.com/rsample.art and can read her previous work for The Restorationist at https://restorationist.org.uk/the-shifting-english-aesthetic-a-cultural-reflection-from-across-the-atlantic/
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Awesome article.
Thank you for this.
Agreed. The author outlines a trajectory for the evolving means of creativity that has led to a frightening, uncertain place. Thank you, Annie, for reading Ms. Sample’s exceptional piece, and for commenting here.
Thank you very much, Ann. Glad you liked it!
R.E. Sample has written a fascinating and thought provoking article on changes and technical advancements of art through the ages.
Agreed. The dynamic of change has followed a reasonably measured pace until very recently. The advent of AI’s implementation in the execution of the visual arts implies change at an unprecedented rate. The effects on both creative output and, as the author wonders, the creative process (and its impetus), could be catastrophic. Thank you for commenting here, Rick.
Thank you for your kind comment, Rick!
Such an interesting and inspiring read.
Nothing can come close to what the human hand and mind can create 🎨🙏
Agreed, Roxxy. The piece was carefully researched and beautifully written. The author, who also happens to be a successful, highly-skilled artist, brings up some very important – and highly relevant – points. And she raises some alarming questions, the answers to which could potentially be terrifying and heartbreaking. Thank you for reading this excellent article, Roxxy, and for sharing your thoughts here.
Very true, I’m inclined to agree! Thank you so much for your comment.
Excellent and thought provoking piece! So much in this that speaks to my interest in art history, and certainly hope there will be more features from Ms. Sample. I’m definitely a fan!
I agree, Ann. Her scholarship is impeccable, and the information she imparts is right up a true art lover’s (like yourself) alley. Her speculations regarding the future of artistic creativity are, as you mention, definitely thought provoking. And also more than a little frightening. Excellent thoughts here, Ann – thank you.
Thank you for your kind comment, Ann! I’m so glad you enjoyed the article.
Great article. All the past innovations that were discussed enhanced the artist’s ability to bring a vision to life. I think AI lacks the artist’s hand (and, as you referenced, the artist’s soul) and is just a digital, algorithmic interpretation of his or her vision. Real art must involve the human hand, mind, soul, and vision. AI ony creates wall decor.
Your point is excellent, Kevin. The author lays bare the issue of what essentially amounts to AI’s encroachment upon artistic impetus and execution. Your own observations are spot-on, in my own humble opinion.
Great overview over the centuries and good questions presented to ponder. Will share this with all the art majors in my family!
Agreed. I loved this piece, too, Lisa. As an anti anti-AI kind of guy, the author gave me some serious food for thought, and no small cause for concern. Excellent read.
Thank you very much, Lisa! Greatly appreciated.