Within the current construct of reality, a question arises: what can we rely on in making judgments? What is better to define, and what should be left unresolved so that it may continue to develop without being constrained by definitions that could bind it? Such an experience might resemble a leap into an anti-gravitational drive in the hope that we would not age. More likely, however, within the current construct of reality we would experience the effect of “spaghettification.” Yet this construct still provides us with a space for experimentation and observation. What happens “if”? And it is precisely free art that seems to offer the safest place to pose such a question.
That which cannot be named or defined has been explored by many movements — from Sumerian art through sacred art, mystical iconography, medieval symbolism, to Romanticism and Surrealism. Perhaps most intensely, however, this confrontation appears in contemporary art, which has opened itself most fully to the unknown. The unknown is present in every act of creation and is a part of the work like any other element. Even in purely figurative works it has its place — for example in the works of Vincent van Gogh or Claude Monet, whose series demonstrate that reality never appears the same. Martin Kippenberger or Wilhelm Sasnal in turn, destabilized meaning through incompletion and reduction.
At first glance, abstraction appears to be closest to the unknown. Yet here a paradox emerges: if a work is abstract by its very nature, the unknown becomes conscious. Paradoxically, a figurative painting that has undergone an open creative process allows for a more direct encounter with the unknown. This suggests that the ability to work with the unknown lies primarily in the process rather than in the final result, which can often be misleading. But at this point we begin to speak of energy — a notion that remains highly speculative within our construct of reality.
The unknown is, however, an uncomfortable concept for humans. In attempting to control pragmatic reality — where everything is understandable, useful, and therefore “safe” — we have moved toward a position that demands control and definition even in areas where nothing definitive exists and where such efforts may even be counterproductive. When I attempted to discuss this topic on a quantum physics forum on Reddit, my account was blocked. On Instagram I received a comment asking: “Isn’t this something like postmodernist Dadaism?” Perhaps — temporarily. On a metaphysics forum, the discussion centered on whether the concept of the unknown is something metaphysics should address. Paradoxically, when a comment appeared that could have developed the topic further, I lost the strength to confront it, and I have been postponing my response for over a year.
Particularly in twentieth-century art, there were clear attempts to confront the concept of the unknown, yet paradoxically even these attempts became defined. The definitions that emerged — often during the artists’ lifetimes — contributed little beyond enriching discourse and providing topics for intellectual circles, while potentially having a negative impact on the creative process itself. Substances used by artists could radically alter their working methods and their responsiveness to critics. For example, Jackson Pollock moved from open experimentation toward a more defined abstract language. Although he himself rejected the distinction between abstract and figurative painting, Clement Greenberg labeled him a formalist. Over time, Pollock shifted from unconscious wandering to a more controlled form of automatism, where his freedom became predictable. On the other hand, Harold Rosenberg attempted to preserve the openness of the process, yet the very term “Action Painting” defined a method. While this suited the market and the audience, Pollock himself later felt like an “illustrator of Pollock.” In such conditions, the viewer often perceives the work not as a space for exploration but as confirmation of a definition. In a radical position stands Frank Stella, who eliminated the unknown entirely from his process. His statement both closes and opens interpretation: “What you see is what you see.”
Looking beyond art, it points to the freedom of art as a unique safe space where one can experiment with the unknown without consequence. Yet I am aware of the paradox in this claim: art is a foundation of culture, and culture exists independently of the physical laws that organize matter, time, and causality, and thus define the framework of empirical experience. Through the need for definition, culture becomes the ultimate human construct, shaping our perception of reality through belief, language, narratives, and ideology. I do not claim that we create reality through thought, nor do I deny it. Does responsibility lie precisely in this pluralism?
The unknown has always had its place in art. It is the feeling of fascination with freedom, of breaking away — yet paradoxically, humans quickly submit to a new construct. We struggle to endure the tension of uncertainty. Within a work of art, many elements interact, forming a field of the unknown. The unknown itself can be intensified or reduced, thereby harmonizing the work. Yet once defined, we can never know what was lost. It is a conscious play with tension. Over time, every definition fades and becomes burdensome. A work must then endure time so that layers of constructs may allow new interpretations. The artist, however, cannot wait. And yet, over time, the aura of the unknown returns — and in this lies the task of restorers attempting to recreate “constant change.”