Last December, during the Christmas season, I visited Munich Cathedral in Germany and had a bizarre yet mysterious experience. Whenever I travel to Europe, I make it a point to visit churches, as their artistic elements and architectural structures leave a profound impression on me. As an art lover, I often find myself in awe when standing before medieval paintings or crafts, realizing how magnificently human civilization has flourished over time. Munich Cathedral was no exception. As I admired the beautiful stained glass, I imagined the process of its creation—the craftsmen shaping the glass, adding colors, firing it in the kiln, and carefully refining each detail.

Then, suddenly, a sound struck my mind with overwhelming force. After a moment, I realized that it was the grand and sacred sound of a pipe organ. As the music echoed through the cathedral, I was engulfed by an emotion I had never felt before. For a fleeting moment, an intense urge arose within me— to reclaim my faith and become part of the Catholic community. When the music stopped a few minutes later, I was left in deep shock. I had never expected to experience such a profound emotional awakening. 

Art, in this sense, seemed far too complex to be dismissed as mere visual pleasure. It was a word that resonated more with inner turmoil than with simple visual stimulation. As I walked out of the cathedral I reflected on this strange experience and pondered the history of art. Art has always been one of the most fundamental and essential forms of self-expression in history. From the moment ancient hunter-gatherers painted on cave walls and danced with joy, to the times when religious believers created sculptures, poems, and music as offerings to their deities, and even to the moments when writers, despite their deepest sorrows, composed empathetic works filled with beauty—art has long served as a refined and creative means for humanity to convey emotions and self-awareness. By sharing it with others, these emotions could be collectively experienced.

And I, too, could not escape this collective experience. In that cathedral—where people clasped their hands in prayer, admired sacred paintings, and lit red candles in reverence—I found myself immersed in the same divine experience of love that those around me must have felt. I found myself in the devotion and reverence with which devout Catholics composed music, painted masterpieces, and dedicated their art. As an undeniable member of humanity, I could not help but be moved. It was as if eternity itself had reached out to me, transcending time and space.

I deeply resonated with this sense of connection and returned home. I promised myself that I would visit more art exhibitions in Korea and seek out even more artistic experiences. However, I found myself facing yet another dilemma. What I saw in the art museums in my motherland was more like Instagram addiction than emotional resonance and deep reflection. Taking pictures for social media, people acted as if they were standing on a conveyor belt, continuously replacing the art pieces like machine parts. Something was seriously wrong.

Sometimes, when I watch reels, I come across comments at the top of the section saying things like, “Historians will skip our generation” or “We are living in the most brain-rotted era in history.” Brainrot refers to the low-quality internet content and its negative effects on a person's mental state. Well… do you guys agree with these comments? 

I would say—without a doubt—I TOTALLY AGREE. As Gen Z, the last generation in human history to be born before social media, I can definitely feel the difference between life before and after its rise.

The fact that people around the world now have a platform to create new cultures and share their lives signifies the astronomical expansion of popular culture’s universality. However, at the same time, it also suggests that we have become increasingly vulnerable to the preferences and standards set by others. Think about it—did you ever check the comments before watching a video? Or, after watching, do you find yourself influenced by public opinion, even changing your thoughts to align with it?

One of the most thought-provoking discussions I have ever encountered is Theodor Adorno’s theory of the culture industry. He argued that popular art exists as a business driven by profit, where everything is monopolized, replicated, and standardized. As a result, people passively and mechanically consume culture, losing their individuality and critical thinking in the process. But what does this discussion of popular art have to do with the deep-seated issues I felt so strongly while standing in a museum?

Unlike Adorno, I do not believe that popular art itself is inherently wrong. However, the real problem lies in how people consume it in modern society—through superficial, formulaic patterns. A single work of art can evoke countless interpretations, yet people apply the same approach to consuming popular art to all forms of artistic experience. They book a ticket, dress up as stylishly as possible, take photos, edit them, and post them on social media. But in this process, there is little to no effort or space left for personal interpretation of the artwork.

How tragic is it that we could stand before a masterpiece and feel nothing at all? These works are extraordinary legacies, born from the layered contexts of human history, stained in time itself. Yet we risk overlooking their essence.

That is why I propose that we develop our own ways of engaging with art. Instead of impatiently recording it, let’s consider the purpose of the piece. Let’s be slower, more thoughtful audiences, acknowledging that the piece itself has traveled a long way. Let’s take the time to appreciate the emotions it evokes before rushing to post it on Instagram for fleeting joy. 

In that cathedral, I felt the grandeur of 15th-century Holy Roman Catholicism. I imagined the artists crafting paintings and sculptures of Saint Mary, the scene of the duke commanding the cathedral’s construction, and the rise of the Gothic style—how its blueprint, framework, and construction sequence unfolded.

As a result, I heard the voices of souls reaching across time and space, leading me to one of the most profound realizations of my life: that I, too, as a part of this vast human history, want to create something that moves and resonates with people. That I want to become someone who carries on the legacy of human culture—someone who, like stained glass, leaves a lasting mark on time. 

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