I've always been interested in exploring technique in relation

Hear the words of Hito Steyerl, artist and seeker of truth: “I’ve always been interested in exploring technique in relation to technology.” In this confession lies the eternal bond between the hand and the tool, between the spirit that shapes and the instrument that amplifies. For technology alone is but lifeless matter, and technique alone is but unformed discipline; yet when the two meet, creation is born, and the visions of the human soul find their form in the world.

Technique is the wisdom of practice—the patience of the craftsman, the discipline of the musician, the eye of the painter. It is the way the hand learns to obey the spirit, the way repetition refines instinct into mastery. But technology is the extension of this mastery into new realms: the brush becomes a camera, the stage becomes a screen, the chisel becomes the digital code. What Steyerl teaches us is that art is not only the subject of technology, but also its interpreter—that every new tool invites us to rediscover the limits and the possibilities of human skill.

History testifies to this union. When the ancients first forged bronze, it was not enough to have the metal; they needed the technique of casting, shaping, and tempering. Bronze without knowledge was nothing but ore. But with technique, it became swords, sculptures, and vessels of beauty. In the Renaissance, too, the arrival of oil paint was technology, but it was the technique of layering, glazing, and perspective that gave rise to masterpieces. Technology provided the medium, but technique revealed the meaning.

Consider also the birth of cinema itself. The Lumière brothers possessed the technology of the camera, but it was the technique of framing, cutting, and timing that transformed it from mere recording into storytelling. Likewise, Charlie Chaplin wielded the machinery of film, but his technique of gesture, silence, and timing lifted it into universality. Thus, Steyerl’s words carry the wisdom that no technology, however advanced, can become art until it is wedded to human technique, to the skillful hand and the discerning eye.

Yet her words also carry a warning. In an age where technology advances faster than ever, there is danger in forgetting technique. For the temptation of machines is to believe that their power alone is enough—that with automation, art will create itself, and skill may be abandoned. But without technique, the tool is empty, and without the human touch, creation becomes hollow. Steyerl reminds us that it is only through the conscious exploration of the bond between tool and hand, between code and craft, that true meaning arises.

The lesson is thus: Do not fear technology, nor worship it. Instead, explore how your own techniques, your own hard-won skills, may converse with the tools of the age. Ask yourself not only what machines can do, but how you may guide them with discipline, imagination, and vision. For every generation is judged not by its tools, but by what it creates through them.

Practical wisdom stands before you: if you are an artist, master your craft, but learn also the technologies of your time. If you are a thinker, sharpen your ideas, but also understand the instruments that carry them. If you are a creator of any kind, do not rely only on the power of machines, but refine your technique, so that your humanity is not swallowed by automation, but shines more brightly through it.

So let Steyerl’s words echo as a reminder for all ages: explore technique in relation to technology. For only when the two are woven together does creation rise to greatness. The tool without the hand is mute, and the hand without the tool is limited. But united, they become the voice of the human soul, speaking across time, across culture, across eternity.