In anticipation of a solo exhibition by artist Nardo at Bitcoin Mena, in collaboration with AOTM Gallery, I sat down with him to explore the intersections of memes, mythologies, and digital culture. Nardo’s work navigates the intriguing space between the tangible form of traditional painting and the fleeting nature of meme culture—two seemingly contrasting mediums that are evolving in tandem with Bitcoin.

The title of your exhibition, Fresh Impact, and the centerpiece painting, Sandwich Artist, both reference Subway-related memes. Notably, Subway became the first fast-food chain to accept bitcoin in 2013—a moment documented by Andrew Torba, who famously used bitcoin to buy a $5 sub in Allentown, Pennsylvania (an ironic detail, given that Torba is now CEO of the social network Gab). This early mix of Bitcoin and meme culture sparked humorous reflections on “spending generational wealth” on footlongs and highlighted themes of currency value over time, as the dollar’s purchasing power wanes while bitcoin’s grows. How does this Subway meme resonate with you, and how does it shape your approach to painting in an increasingly digital age?

I think there is something to be said about quick consumption in contemporary culture—whether it’s fast food footlong subs or internet memes. The attention span of human senses has diminished to bursts of repeated dopamine, where selecting your type of bread, meats, and toppings becomes the most exciting part of your afternoon. Then comes the tireless effort of finishing 12 inches of processed food matter. You repeat this over and over because it’s convenient, and maybe next time, you’ll excite yourself by swapping cheddar for provolone.

However, Subway has developed a systematic experience that feels eternal. Memes and internet behavior function in a similar way. The ephemeral consumption of entertaining or humorous memes acts as the dopamine hit—we share them with friends, they spread at rapid speeds, and then they often die off, leading us to move on to the next. Yet, the success of memes also lies in their systems: cultural iconography, bold fonts superimposed onto captivating imagery, hyper-sharpened visuals, deep-fried aesthetics, or low effort applications. Memes rely on visual and cultural layers—bread, meat, and toppings.

I think, as it relates to Bitcoin, we should really confront its experiential nature in the exact moment of exchange. To have purchased a footlong for $5 worth of Bitcoin in 2013, only to view it today in 2024 as ~$4,300, is both absurd and somewhat painful—but the experience is eternal. The very act of using digital internet money in exchange for physical, consumable goods feels almost alchemical.

Evolutionary biologist Richard Dawkins coined the term “memes” to describe units of cultural transmission, likening their spread to gene replication. Memes also resemble viruses in how they propagate through social networks, blurring the lines between genes and viruses as both can integrate into DNA and influence evolution. You and I have joked that memes—and memecoins—are akin to the fast food of digital culture, serving as cybernetic junk food or street drugs. Do you consider memes to be a low art form? Is the buildup of studio trash made famous by painter Francis Bacon or the outlandish waste and detritus of Dash Snow’s 2007 “hamster nest” installation somehow related? What are your thoughts on contemporary artists like Christine Wang, who replicates notable memes in her recent painting exhibition, “Cryptofire Degen,” at The Hole in New York? What happens when a digital meme becomes a physical painting? 

This all ties back to what I discussed earlier—I am interested in slowing down the process of consumption. To meticulously hand-paint a meme in oil and present it as such can be a little jarring. Similarly, considering trash as form or content, rather than something to be discarded, fascinates me.

After the user has consumed their lunch and doom-scrolled through countless memes on Twitter, what remains as the detritus of all that? The whole experience can feel like nullifying brain rot—a diminishing of structure and existence within passive chaos. Perhaps, though, that is the liminal mindset necessary to birth the most viral ideas.

My introduction to cybernetics came from Japanese animation series like Ghost in the Shell (1995-2014), which explore cyberpunk themes such as internet-connected minds, hackers, and cyber viruses, echoing Dawkins’ ideas about memes and cultural transmission. The series highlights concepts like “ghost-hacking” and “thought viruses,” which replicate across networks and influence societal behavior, aligning with Dawkins’ notion of self-replicating cultural units. Given your recent exploration of the “skibidi toilet” meme phenomenon, what insights have you gained about how this meme has propagated across social networks and shaped the collective consciousness of younger audiences?

The Ghost in the Shell connection isn’t far removed from the world as we know it now. Much like the premise of that “fiction,” our fleshy brains are nestled within a cybernetic façade of digital personas and communications. We practically live vicariously through a digitized shadow-self—a projection of what we think we could become. This aligns with why I often say, “You become what you meme.”

I am deeply intrigued by the phenomenon of American youth becoming obsessed with new memes that older generations are unable to compute, such as Skibidi Toilet. I think it is in this fracturing of sensibility that new languages are born, while old mythologies are repackaged in contemporary ways. Skibidi Toilet is the Iliad of the Internet.

Beyond Ghost in the Shell’s exploration of cybernetics, the seminal anime series Neon Genesis Evangelion intersects with the Age of Aquarius concept through its themes of interconnectedness and collective consciousness. The series delves into the merging of individual identities, echoing how “hive mind” behaviors in contemporary internet culture reflect the rapid influence of shared information and memes. In your artwork Sandwich Artist, you highlight the tension between individual artistry and the pressures of representing a faceless brand. How have you observed this shift over time, and how can artists engage with collective ideas while preserving their individuality in today’s digital culture?

The Sandwich Artist piece utilizes a well-known meme template, yet through various digital alterations—specifically the literal scribbling out of pre-existing text—it takes on the feel of graffiti and eventually becomes my own. I like this piece for how it represents an individual manifesto of my work and reflects how I think about my artistry as a whole. Sure, consistent branding and aesthetics are great for sales if done right, but I’m more interested in how my work exists within a long enough historical timeline. The hive mind desires a brand to rally behind, yet history yearns for individual artistry.

We’ve discussed the term “subway” in relation to submarine sandwiches, but it also evokes the idea of underground transportation. Japan famously studied mycelial growth patterns to optimize its subway and train systems. Similar to fungi, memes propagate and connect individuals in a vast, decentralized network, evolving as they move from one “host” to another. This fungal comparision highlights how memes adapt and spread dynamically, mirroring natural systems of growth and communication. How do you think artists can consciously navigate this memetic landscape of propagation, host vessels, and network dynamics?

The lifespan of most internet memes moves so rapidly that it’s difficult to grasp them before they vanish into a shallow grave. Among the few that manage to take hold of the collective consciousness, I find it fascinating to analyze how they connect to humanity’s past on a metaphysical level. Trends and symbols have remained consistent throughout human history; they simply resurface in different forms as time passes.

Efficient memes rely on efficient systems for delivering information. As artists, we should remain conscious of history and metaphysical symbolism, as this awareness can help us uncover our own primordial self through the mirror of memes.

Ripcache, a pseudonymous artist, explores themes of surveillance and privacy through a 1-bit pixelated aesthetic. By examining the impact of modern surveillance in centralized and decentralized systems, Ripcache’s work examines trade-offs of the advancing digital age. Their recent series, “Hyperscalers,” was featured on the main stage at Bitcoin Amsterdam, with a private sale facilitated by UTXO Management’s OTC desk to collector Brissi, marking a key milestone in their career and the greater ordinals ecosystem.

We sat down with Ripcache to discuss his art.

Ordinals on Bitcoin create new ways for audiences to engage with digital art. In a world increasingly dominated by surveillance, how does this impact your views on ownership, visibility, and control over art?

Ordinals challenge the status quo about ownership and control. In a way, they democratize access to certain forms of art. In the past, a lot of the art world has been about exclusivity. Artwork hidden away in private collections or in storage, accessible only to a select few. This exclusivity is like a centralized database with limited entry.

In contrast, inscribing art on bitcoin makes it universally accessible. Sure, you still might not own it, but at least anyone with an internet connection can look at it and verify the work without intermediaries. This accessibility and transparency challenges traditional power structures in art ownership and curation. With that said, in an era of pervasive surveillance, this openness also raises questions around privacy and the potential for art and provenance to be co-opted or misused. It’s a delicate balance between visibility and control and advocating for a future where art is both accessible and respectful of individual privacy (for the artist, collector and wider public).

As technologies like blockchain and AI continue to shape the future of digital art, how do you see the relationship between art and surveillance evolving? Could AI offer an alternative narrative to the surveillance-heavy world we inhabit, or only deepen it?

AI and blockchain are actively reshaping our perceptions of surveillance and privacy. While AI does have immense creative potential, in that it can enable new forms of creation and interaction, it also poses risks. The biggest risk is amplifying surveillance capabilities by collecting and processing vast amounts of data, predicting behaviors, and potentially stifling spontaneity.

It’s tough to say definitively, however. AI could deepen the surveillance state but it also has the potential to offer alternatives. Artists already use AI to explore themes of privacy and identity, reclaiming some control over the narrative. And maybe it’s a bit cliche, but I think crypto and bitcoin provide a counterbalance by enabling decentralized and increasingly more anon interactions. With ordinals, artists can share their work with collectors all over the world without centralized oversight, promoting a culture of openness while safeguarding individual freedoms. As this tech evolves, I think it’s crucial that we actively shape them to enhance rather than diminish our creative and personal liberties.

Incorporating motifs like CCTV and drones into your work raises questions about the tension between the peer-to-peer aspect of Bitcoin and the omnipresence of surveillance. Are you concerned that systems meant to decentralize power may still be co-opted by regulatory forces or contribute to an increasingly digital panopticon?

The risk of decentralized systems being co-opted is a real concern. My use of motifs like closed-circuit TV cameras and drones is an attempt to highlight this tension. These symbols represent the watchful eyes of surveillance, prompting viewers to consider how technologies intended for empowerment can be repurposed for control.

Financial transparency on bitcoin is empowering. It has the potential to hold institutions accountable, but it can also expose personal data if not carefully managed. There’s a paradox where increased openness can lead to decreased individual privacy. To prevent decentralization from contributing to a digital panopticon, it’s important to advocate for technologies that prioritize user privacy, like zero-knowledge proofs, and to stay vigilant about regulatory developments.

Art can play a role in this discourse by bringing these issues to the cultural forefront and by encouraging proactive engagement with the cypherpunk ethos as well as the second and third order implications of technology.