Digital Decadence: The Art of Falling Apart at SuperRare Offline

Apr 10

Written By DAB

By Cansu Peker

Exhibition on view:
April 3 – 24, 2025

Curated by:
Mika Bar-On Nesher
An Loremi

Location:
Offline by Superrare
243 Bowery
New York, NY

Yesterday, I found myself wandering the streets of the Lower East Side of Manhattan looking for a gallery that didn’t seem to want to be found. No flashy signage, no sandwich board on the sidewalk, not even a logo on the door — just a quiet, anonymous building that could’ve been anything. A dentist’s office? Appointment-only bridal shop? Secret society? But that’s part of the charm, I think.

Once you step inside, you’re pulled into another world. The unmistakable glow of the SuperRare neon sign welcomes you in, and the space opens up into something closer to a cyberpunk speakeasy than a traditional art venue. Digital Decadence: The Art of Falling Apart is the inaugural exhibition at Offline, SuperRare’s first physical gallery space. Curated by Mika Bar-On Nesher and An Loremi, the show features works by All Seeing Seneca, Andrea Chiampo, The Cowboy Killer, FVCKRENDER, Jack Kaido, Omentejovem, Pho, Ruben Wu, Sasha Stiles, Terrell Jones, and Zhuk.

*Swan Songs by Terrell Jones (left) and Digital Decay by Pho (right)*

A dramatic staircase led me downward (both literally and thematically) into the main gallery, where enormous digital screens showcase the artworks. One massive digital print hangs beneath a stunning sunroof, flooding the room with natural light that softens the high-tech glow. Each piece echoes that strange paradox we’re living through right now: a time of both technological ascension and emotional burnout. Doomscrolling, digital identity fatigue, crypto booms and busts by day and night — the show doesn’t shy away from the messiness of our current moment. Instead, it leans into it.

*HEART MANTRA: The last lit room (2025) by Sasha Stiles*

The whole concept revolves around this brilliant inversion: we build machines that are designed to never pause, to run endlessly, reliably, unfeelingly. But humans? We fall apart. And maybe, that’s our defining feature. The ability to break is part of what makes us who we are. And, as this show suggests, it’s also what makes us artists. When everything else is stripped away; when skill becomes automated, when the body breaks down, when the markets crash, what remains is the human will. The impulse to make meaning. To create. To dream something up and try again. To rebuild.

*The Day We Witnessed Creation by All Seeing Seneca (left) and DISTORTED REALITY by FVCKRENDER (right)*

One of the works that really stuck with me was by Ruben Wu, who’s well known for flying drones over natural landscapes to paint otherworldly halos of light into the sky. Seeing his digital photography in motion and on such a large scale was mesmerizing. His landscapes feel ancient and futuristic, down to earth and alien, all at once.

But the real highlight of my visit was unexpectedly running into Andrea Chiampo, whose work I’ve admired for a long time and have previously spotlighted on DAB. He couldn’t have been kinder.

We talked about his piece, a beautiful print of blockchain code. He calls it a “relic from the future” — textured, faded, heavy with memory. It’s a tribute to an artwork that no longer exists, but still lives on the blockchain. It’s about decay, but also endurance. A digital fossil.

I told him it reminded me of an explosion — like the Big Bang, frozen in time. But he offered a different interpretation: to him, it’s more like a tunnel. A passageway into the unknown. That’s interesting to think about – whether it’s collapse or expansion, there’s movement. A forward momentum. Always.

That, to me, captures the spirit of Digital Decadence. The show is about fragility – the digital kind as well as the human kind. It asks hard questions, like: What happens when machines outpace us? What parts of ourselves are worth preserving? And maybe most importantly: When everything falls apart, what can we build from the ruins?

The exhibition serves as a reminder that even in the most fractured, burnout-heavy, algorithm-run corners of the internet, there’s still room for meaning. There’s still space to make art. To connect. And, to begin again.