Authenticity in Digital Art: What Makes an Original?

“If it’s painted in Procreate, how can it be an original?”
It’s one of the most common questions digital artists hear. Beneath it lies a larger concern: in a world where images can be infinitely copied, how do we define authenticity?

In traditional media, originality seems obvious. A painter’s canvas, a sculptor’s stone, a printmaker’s plate, each carries the unrepeatable trace of the artist’s hand. From there, reproductions (posters, prints, photographs) are considered separate from the original object.

Art history has long reinforced this divide. Walter Benjamin’s 1936 essay The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction argued that an original work carried an “aura”, its unique presence in time and space. For Benjamin, this aura diminished when art could be reproduced mechanically. But what happens when the canvas itself exists only as code?

For digital artists, the “original” exists as the working file — for instance, the layered Procreate (.procreate) or Photoshop (.psd) file. This file contains the full process: every stroke, adjustment, and correction. It cannot be flattened into a JPEG or PNG without losing that depth.

This makes the layered file equivalent to a painter’s canvas: the true, unrepeatable source. Everything else (a print, a screen image) is a reproduction of that origin.

A persistent misconception is that digital art is “less real” because the tool is modern. Yet, just as oil paint was once a disruptive new medium in the 15th century, digital brushes are simply another extension of the artist’s hand.

Procreate and other tools respond to pressure, tilt, speed, and gesture. They capture hesitation, decision, and revision. The authenticity lies not in the material (pixels vs pigment) but in the human choices encoded in the work.

Authenticity in my own practice often emerges through materiality. I don’t leave my work only in the digital file; I bring it into the physical world. Some pieces are printed on wood, allowing the natural grain to interrupt the smooth surface of the image. Others are translated onto fabric, where folds and texture create subtle distortions that make each print unique.

In doing this, the work becomes more than digital output; it becomes an object with its own physical presence. The image interacts with the surface in a way that can’t be replicated twice, the same way oil behaves differently on canvas than on board.

This approach echoes artists like Alexa Meade, who became known for painting directly onto people and environments so that reality itself becomes her canvas. She collapses the divide between 2D and 3D, asking viewers to reconsider where an “original” begins and ends. Similarly, digital artists who translate their works onto unconventional substrates — wood, metal, textiles — are expanding what originality can mean in the digital age.

Digital art also parallels photography and printmaking, both of which faced the same debates about authenticity. A photograph can be endlessly reproduced, yet its value lies in the edition: the numbered print, the signature, the provenance. Ansel Adams’ silver gelatin prints, for example, still command extraordinary value because they are traceable to the artist’s hand and intention.

Digital artists now use similar systems:

• Limited edition prints: signed and numbered, often paired with a Certificate of Authenticity.

• Digital certificates: blockchain-based COAs and NFTs have entered the art world, from Christie’s sale of Beeple’s Everydays in 2021 to smaller artist-led solutions.

• Context and statement: authenticity is strengthened by documentation of the artist’s intent, not just the image itself.

Collectors and viewers alike want to know what makes a piece theirs. Owning a signed print or certified digital edition is not about pixels, but about trust: the trace of the artist, the recognition of their labour, and the assurance that the work has a unique source.

Authenticity in digital art is not defined by scarcity of materials but by traceability, authorship, and intent.

Digital art doesn’t erase authenticity; it asks us to rethink it. The “original” is not diminished because it exists in code rather than canvas. Instead, it expands the field of what art can be, making space for new forms of originality that still honour the artist’s vision.

When you purchase digital art, whether as a file, a print, or a certified edition, you are not buying pixels. You are investing in the artist’s vision, process, and voice. That remains authentic, no matter the medium.