A Brief History of Virtualisation in Developed Countries Appraisal for UK-Based Think Tank on the Arts, February, 2030.

The virtual exhibiting process that began a generation ago is now part of normal recreational life. In the early part of the third millennium, it became clear that the out-moded institutions could no longer deal with the kind of artwork being produced, increasingly in the digital realm, which finally consolidated institutional obsolescence. Disparate groups of art radicals began to work instead in the unrestricted domain of cyberspace and to provide constant access to their work for those who were interested. It was around this time that government-endorsed think tanks like this one predicted the demise of the museum in the face of more exciting pursuits competing for audience attention in the comfort of their own homes.

In the beginning, the audience was slow to adapt and used their home computers to seek other two-dimensional pleasures. But, as domestic entertainment systems became more advanced, courtesy of the electronics giants from Japan battling for sales, totally interactive three-dimensional experiences became available and a 'high art' component was included as part of the package for those acquiring new consoles from the market leaders. This was comprised of the basic architecture of a virtual museum and, using the networked potential of the new machines, provided access to constantly updated artistic content. It is no coincidence that this move towards digitisation in the arts coincided with advances being made by leading architectural offices working with new modelling software, primarily in Europe and on the West Coast of America. Several of them secured major commissions to create museum-like structures for the entertainment industry while the more experimental among them developed entirely new domains, relieved of the obligation to comply with Cartesian space.

In what has become known as one of the most complex deals this century, both legally and financially, the main museum and private collections began in the 2020s to sell the virtual rights to their masterpieces, in many cases for similar figures as the works commanded the first time around. Profits from the sales were used to pay off board members and their shareholders who, no longer motivated by philanthropy, had consistently been running museums according to classical business models. Barely any objections were raised or media attention given to the sales at the time, perhaps due to a deliberate act of suppression by the parties who would profit from these transactions. In any case, corporate involvement in the arts was already so prevalent that intervention on this level was hardly newsworthy. At this point, it is difficult to assess what the future impact of this change will be for the real artworks. Even the movement that became dubbed 'Nouveau Realist', on account of their resistance to the changes taking place, do not seem to have any tangible suggestions about what to do with the thousands of works in storage around the world.

It is difficult to explain the motivation of the corporations in perpetuating high culture as it is doubtful that they felt it to be a threat to their audience figures and the inclusion of this additional software to their packages barely featured in their marketing strategies. Perhaps representing fine art was the best way to demonstrate that the long sought-after Total Realism had been achieved. Some say that the acquisition and appreciation of artistic masterpieces from both East and West was such a tradition in these large companies that those in power - sensing an exodus from the museums in response to their products - could not allow them to supersede fine art altogether (which may jeopardise the future of this project as new generations of executives deviate further from tradition).

Perhaps equally hard to understand is the rationale of the new audience in participating enthusiastically, as they have been shown to do, except perhaps that they felt culturally challenged in an increasingly hedonistic gaming environment. And the kind of work that has been collected for them by the industry-sanctioned virtual museums represents the main canons of art history, repackaged in virtual space, so that generations of children may now experience formerly inaccessible or remote artworks as accurately rendered in pixels as they once were in plaster or paint. In the early days of two-dimensional computer-generated art, there were complaints of sensory deprivation but now the interface is much improved and significantly more interactive than the experience of attending the old museums. Even the social functions of visiting these once-holy places are represented in virtual space - with avatars muttering their words of appreciation or critique, to be overheard or over-ridden by the user - and the former acousti-guide trend evolving into new levels of information, providing access to every detail of the artist and their work if desired.

Ironically, immediately prior to their timely demise, the museums consolidated the position of digital art, introducing it into the discourse, initially by allowing monitors to enter their hallowed walls in real space and ultimately by making virtual version of themselves in which to house new and existing work. The paradigm shift from real to virtual entailed a major transfer of power from arts administrators to designers and programmers capable of uploading and maintaining the content. Only those who were prepared and able to deal with digital artworks maintained their positions. Some trends were difficult to escape, though; old school curators may be heartened to note that thematic exhibitions persist in cyberspace. Curators and artists no longer need to travel frenetically as the majority of interesting work has become accessible online. Inevitably, a new art market has been fashioned from the museum's ashes, offering desirably exclusive downloads to delight the bourgeoisie.

But this is to consider only the most conservative impact of new technology in a dramatically altered cultural landscape. The process that began in response to moves within the artistic community has not yet ended in a wholesale takeover of virtual space by commerce or the old institutions. In the same way that the abundance of video art took everyone by surprise at the turn of the millennium, no one could have predicted how easy open source libraries would make it for artists to render their work. In the early days, media art collectives emerged whose individual members - initially programming and distributing demos from their bedrooms as teenagers - had no formal artistic training and blurred the distinction between artist and engineer (adequately documented at www.). A whole movement is evident that does not rely on the conventions of representation, rather generates work that is specific to its digital site. Several artists are harnessing the potential that a two-way relationship with the viewer provides. In the lineage of art history, just as the earliest games were being developed in the 1970s, conceptual artists were affirming the necessity of the viewer to complete their work. Nowadays, the viewer can literally interact with the finished artwork and make alterations to its final structure.

While formerly radical gestures on the Internet effectively became institutionalised, artists are using the means of digital activists and the protest movement to subvert the knowledge-based economy, invading corporate structures to harvest information, analyse data and counteract propaganda. Where once the museums were exclusive to artists and audiences alike, the most adept hackers are usurping virtual territory and intervening into the most prestigious spaces. In the largely unregulated space of the new networks, yet others are creating even more cutting edge sites than their establishment rivals, with all the legitimacy of 'official' institutions. Cyberspace is the new frontier, the battleground on which conflicting ideologies are being articulated. It is a vast public domain, with all the discursive potential that implies.

Rebecca Gordon Nesbitt