Why do some artists record Bitcoin transactions on the blockchain and consider them art?

Leo MBA.
Leo MBA.
Digital currency investor.

To put it this way, it sounds quite mystical, but the principle is actually similar to what artists did hundreds of years ago; only the "pen" and "paper" have changed.

You can understand it like this:

1. This is an "everlasting monument" that will never fall.

Imagine how ancient people would ensure something lived on for eternity. They would carve words onto stone tablets because stone is sturdy and not easily destroyed. You can think of Bitcoin's blockchain as a "super digital stone tablet" in the digital world. Once a transaction record (which can contain a small piece of text or code) is inscribed, it's almost impossible for anyone to modify or delete it. It will exist as long as the Bitcoin network does.

So, when artists "carve" their messages, manifestos, or short poems onto the chain via transactions, they are essentially building a digital monument. What they want to express can, in theory, coexist with human civilization. This "eternity" itself is full of artistic charm. It's an act of defiance against oblivion.

2. This is a new "canvas" and "pigments."

Artists are always seeking new mediums for creation. Initially, they painted murals in caves, then came parchment, canvas, oil paints, and later cameras and video recorders. Every time a new technology emerges, artists will try to use it for creation.

The Bitcoin blockchain is one of the most cutting-edge "canvases" of our time. It's not for painting pictures; its characteristics—decentralization (not controlled by anyone), public transparency (anyone can view it), and immutability (no cheating possible)—are unique "pigments" in themselves. Artists use these characteristics to express concepts that traditional art forms cannot. For example, for a work about "eternal commitment," saying "I love you" ten thousand times might not be as impactful as carving "I love you" onto the Bitcoin chain, because it technically guarantees the indelible nature of that "promise."

3. What's important is not the "painting," but the "act of painting."

Often, the focus of this kind of art is not whether the string of seemingly random transaction records you see on the chain is aesthetically pleasing, but rather the artist's "act of putting the record on the chain" itself. This is a form of "conceptual art" or "performance art."

It's like when an artist once signed a common urinal and sent it to an exhibition, calling it the artwork "Fountain." People were shocked, but later understood that he wasn't saying the object itself was beautiful, but that his subversive act of "choosing it, naming it, and displaying it" constituted the art.

Similarly, when an artist chooses to use the Bitcoin network—a global, controversial, and financially-driven system—to carry a purely artistic message, the act itself raises questions: What is value? What is eternal? What is the relationship between technology and humanity? This act itself is the artwork.

In summary:

Artists consider Bitcoin transactions as art not because the code itself is beautiful. They value the blockchain medium's eternity, public nature, and immutability. They are using a new, highly contemporary way to "carve stone tablets," "make manifestos," and "perform conceptual art." It's a romantic way to express philosophical thoughts with technology, like launching a "digital message in a bottle" into the universe that will never disappear, inscribed with their innermost feelings.