Works of art, in their digital form.

The museum wanted the visitor to feel the painter’s compositional decisions from the inside rather than read about them.

Mona Ardeleanu’s paintings are taken apart into collage elements: a canvas editor with a circular touch selector built for museum screens. A finished work goes into the shared gallery, but only after an antivirus scan and human moderation.

Brenken’s „Signale" holds to rules rather than to brushwork: a hard-edge composition in three reds, perfectly symmetrical. A wall label can describe those rules but it cannot let anyone feel them.

The painting was reimplemented as a live system: four points to drag, four parameters, and a composition recomputed in real time. The original stands beside it as the reference, always within reach, and when all four parameters line up the painting rewards it with an animation.

Brâncuși’s polished bronze lives on light and viewing angle. A cheap 3D model would have killed it.

All of it is real photography: a circuit around the sculpture through 12 angles and three camera heights, then the „Black Cube": three studio lamps and an exposure wheel, 96 mapped states, each resolving to an actual frame shot in the museum.

Meckseper’s vitrine is a critique of consumption arranged as a shop window. How do you translate it into an online shop without losing the message?

A fake webshop with products in a tidy advertising tone. Scrolling advances a video of breaking glass frame by frame; at the end the shop redraws itself, permanently turned to the backs of its cardboard displays.

Wellmann’s prints are instructions for making sounds with your own body. The museum wanted the visitor to try, not to read.

A quiz through ten sound poems. The backend records only the question and whether the answer was right, with no identifier of any kind, and the feedback message is computed live from the answers of every visitor so far.

Laib’s Wachsraum lives on presence: the smell of wax, muffled sound, half-darkness. How do you give that to someone who cannot go in?

Fourteen real 360° stations shot inside the chamber itself, a step-by-step walk with an on-screen joystick for the kiosk, and sound as the core: two atmospheres that cross-fade at the threshold, plus a produced guided meditation in two languages.

Leibl’s painting is a single painted hand, a fragment of a destroyed portrait. How do you pull a visitor into a work that is only part of a whole?

The Hand-O-Mat: the kiosk camera photographs the visitor’s hand, gesture recognition runs in the browser itself, and the collection answers with every hand from two collections making the same gesture, out of a cloud of 154 hands across 112 works. The photograph never leaves the device.