As a species, we are natural hoarders, gatherers. We love amassing a trove of prized possessions, from pencil erasers to Pokémon cards, from Beany Babies to Labubus, Funko Pops to Squishmallows; the list is exhaustingly infinite, preying on our “need” to collect and curate. But what do we actually do with them all?
And those are just the tangible treasures… for those of us who’ve spent the past few years accruing crypto art in all its various forms, what about these “non-fungible trinkets” we’ve attained?
Somewhere in a wallet, buried beneath layers of cryptographic dust, lies a JPEG. It is owned, but unseen. Alive, but irrelevant. A digital artifact suspended in a state of quantum uncertainty…
We bought it once—perhaps in a flurry of excitement, or as a gesture of allegiance to a movement that promised to redefine art, ownership, and the internet itself. We minted it, admired it briefly, tweeted about it, and then tucked it away into the cold, silent vault of our Web3 wallets. And there it remains.
But does it still exist?
Not in the way a painting exists, hung on a wall and catching glances. Not in the way a sculpture exists, occupying space and shadow. The NFT exists only as a token—a pointer to a file, a hash, a contract. And if no one is looking at it, referencing it, displaying it, or even remembering it… is it still art? Is it still anything?
This is the paradox of the dormant NFT. Like Schrödinger’s cat, it is both alive and dead until observed. The act of seeing, of engaging, collapses the quantum state. Until then, it floats in limbo—owned but unexperienced.
Wallets have become mausoleums. We collect, but we do not commune. We hoard, but we do not honor. The images we once celebrated now lie in digital sarcophagi, untouched and unremembered. And yet, we continue to buy them. Why?
Is it speculation? A bet on future value? A badge of status in a decentralized tribe? Or is it something more existential—a desire to possess something intangible, to anchor ourselves in a world that’s increasingly fluid and formless?
Of course, there are collectors who do display their NFTs. They own token frames and smart displays - sleek, high-resolution portals designed to rotate digital artworks like a gallery on loop. These screens are more than tech; they’re talismans of belief. Proof that the JPEG is not just alive, but worthy of being seen.
But let’s be honest: the ratio of frame owners to non-owners is vanishingly small. For most, the NFT lives in a wallet, not on a wall. It’s a line of code, not a conversation piece. The frame is a luxury, a niche accessory in a movement that promised democratization. And so, while a lucky chosen few bask in curated light, the vast majority of tokens remain in the dark—unseen, uncelebrated, and un-activated.
It’s not just about access. It’s about intention. If the art was meant to be experienced, why do we settle for possession alone?
The NFT was supposed to be a revolution. A way to empower artists, decentralize culture, and redefine ownership. But somewhere along the way, it became a ritual without meaning. A transaction without experience. A PNG without a gaze.
And maybe that’s the real tragedy. Not that the NFT is dead, but that it was never truly alive. Not until we look. Not until we care.
Because in the end, art is not just what is made. It is what is seen. Felt. Shared. And if a picture sits forever in a virtual wallet, untouched and unobserved, then perhaps it was never art at all.
Until then, the JPEG remains sealed in its cryptographic box—waiting to be both dead and alive in the eyes of its beholder.
Dan | BloqDigital is a lighting designer and digital artist based in the UK, who writes about Art, Technology, Web3 and Culture.
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