What does it mean for an artwork to have no final form? In an art world that often prizes uniqueness and the “aura” of an original piece, modularity introduces a disruptive concept: art that changes, evolves, and invites viewers to become co-creators.
Historically, modular art has been a tool for artists to break free from the static and permanent. Ellsworth Kelly’s colored panels, Sol LeWitt’s wall drawings, or Donald Judd’s repeated forms... These artists questioned the idea of a fixed composition, offering instead a flexible approach where the artwork’s arrangement could change with its surroundings or the viewer’s perspective. Initially, many were skeptical, arguing that modularity generated machine-like or impersonal creations. But over time, it gained recognition as a way to focus on form, process, and the viewer’s interaction with art.
Today, this concept is even more relevant. With technologies like 3D printing, CAD, and digital fabrication, modularity can bring a unique, democratizing power to the art world. Anyone with access to a 3D printer can now own or modify parts of an artwork, reshaping traditional ideas of exclusivity and ownership. This is the foundation of my latest project, Kura Curiosa, where modular pieces allow collectors to download, print, and even rearrange individual parts—making each version uniquely theirs.
In a way, modularity reflects our fragmented, digital culture. Just as our lives are constructed from various “modules”—apps, platforms, bits of media—modular art speaks to this piecemeal reality. Each element in Kura Curiosa serves as both a standalone curiosity and part of a larger story, echoing the fluidity of digital culture.
