Art and technology are often perceived as distant realms: the former is the domain of expression of subjectivity; the latter is the realm of function and objectivity. And yet, from the very dawn of humanity, their histories have been deeply intertwined—like twin souls born from the same need: to survive and to remember. (Need: this concept will return and be expanded upon shortly.)

Early humans had to develop the rudiments of technology when they first felt the urge to crystallize memory. Faced with vast rock walls, primitive people began to feel the need to leave a mark, and so graffiti was born. That moment changed the course of human destiny. First, they had to craft tools to imprint what they had seen: their memories. Particularly hunting scenes. But why?

Hunting represents, more than any other event, the delicate balance between life and death. Life, because without it, there would be no food, and thus, death. But also because the hunt itself was deadly. And here, art took its first step. The first artist in history must have understood the importance of leaving a trace of these moments. And soon after, they had to find a technical solution to achieve their goal.

Thus, a stick, no longer seen as a mere natural object, was transformed into a functional tool.

And then came the ink (let’s call it that). Something that could last over on the rock. Early humans likely experimented with various clays and pigments, failing often before eventually discovering the right mixture. Up to this point, we might speak only of technique. But it soon became clear that technology alone would not be enough.

They had invented the hardware; now they needed the software.

It became apparent that memories could not be transferred in a raw, instinctive way. In transitioning from one medium to another, from visual memory to a physical surface, came the necessity to structure the memory itself. The language of memory was not the same as the language of representation. This marked the first true convergence of art and technology—each forced to interact with the other.

The mind arranges images in a disordered, fluid manner. But that same chaos, once transferred onto a static surface, no longer worked. So the elements had to be reordered, arranged so that even another human, someone without the same experience, could understand, follow, and interpret the story. So the art began to carve out its place in human society.

Once the technique was found, once humans discovered how to use it for their purpose, they began to make representations. But they didn’t stop there.

The spear had already reached a level of refinement that allowed it to perform its task. But hunting could not simply be about lunging at an animal. The strategy was essential. As far as we know, one common technique used for hunting mammoths involved herding them into dead-end paths and attacking from above and below with spears and stones. But with the arrival of rock-wall technology, many things changed.

The primitive humans now had to organize what they wanted to inscribe, to encode memory.

Representation alone was not enough. It was necessary to give meaning to the scene, to create a mechanism capable of burning that image into memory as vividly as possible. Depiction was not enough; it had to signify something. And this, as we later learned, would be called a metaphor.

Thus, the first key insight is that there could be no art without technology and no technology without art.

Humans began to walk with alternating steps—one artistic, one technological—as if to seal the fusion of the two worlds. To move forward together, ensuring the survival of both.

And of humankind itself.