Classic stories told in the language of the 21st century
About the Project

In today’s world, traditional museums increasingly struggle to capture the genuine interest of a broad audience. Crowds of tourists flock to the Louvre daily to snap selfies with the Mona Lisa, yet beyond a short list of famous works, the collection remains largely unnoticed. The average visitor no longer feels connected to the cultural context in which these masterpieces were created, leaving the figures gazing from the walls of great museums as mere unfamiliar strangers unworthy of attention.

In today’s world, traditional museums increasingly struggle to capture the genuine interest of a broad audience. Crowds of tourists flock to the Louvre daily to snap selfies with the Mona Lisa, yet beyond a short list of famous works, the collection remains largely unnoticed. The average visitor no longer feels connected to the cultural context in which these masterpieces were created, leaving the figures gazing from the walls of great museums as mere unfamiliar strangers unworthy of attention.

To understand the reasons behind this situation, a single glance at the present is insufficient. We must look back and observe how the very logic of art perception has evolved. What events, ideas, and disappointments prompted eras to abandon old meanings and seek new ones? Why did some generations rediscover the grandeur of classics while others hastened to reject them?

The Classical Renaissance began with the collapse of a thousand-year-old medieval culture. For a simple Florentine at the turn of the 14th and 15th centuries, this felt like a "minor end of the world": old ideals lost value, and the elite, tasked with upholding exemplary morality, sank into debauchery and greed. The eloquence of preachers no longer convinced—reality screamed that man was a wolf to man. The plague epidemic, compounding this, served as visible proof of spiritual decay, interpreted as punishment for abandoning "proper" foundations. In search of lost bearings, artists and thinkers turned to ancient Greece: Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, and, collectively, the entire Athenian school gained unprecedented relevance. From this soil emerged a body of visual art works later dubbed the "Renaissance."

A similar phenomenon occurred in the tumultuous 20th century. The first half of the century—with its world wars, genocide, and totalitarian regimes—proved devastatingly destructive. This led some thinkers to label it a "new Middle Ages," ultimately experiencing its own "minor end of the world." Indeed, in terms of casualties, these fifty years far exceeded the ten "dark centuries" of historical Middle Ages. Yet, as centuries before, the artistic community sought a way out by crafting a new universal style. This time, however, instead of returning to classical ideals, artists opted for a radical rejection of any ideals altogether. Thus emerged postmodernism—an art built on reflecting disappointment and the collapse of so-called "universal human" values.

Nevertheless, we believe this repetition of a structure for exiting an existential crisis is merely an illusion. More precisely, we think the exit remains incomplete, and today, the cultural sphere finds itself in the midst of a "minor end of the world."

For a deeper understanding, let us "zoom out" the timeline of history beyond our era. At this scale, we can easily discern not two but three conditional "Middle Ages," each with its own "end of the world" and subsequent emergence through a shift in cultural paradigm.

Early Republican Rome, absorbing the best of Greek culture, long stood as a model of an ideal state. Part of its success stemmed from a sound worldview paradigm at its foundation. However, by the empire’s end, it distorted the humanistic ideals of classical Greek philosophy, transforming into a post-antique world steeped in greed and corruption. When this structure collapsed, it buried not only culture and art but also most of the civilization’s technical and social achievements. Then, the most far-sighted minds turned to the original classics, leading to what would later be called the Carolingian Renaissance. Christian thought, building on the finest examples of classical Greek philosophy, opened a door to a new sacred dimension, radically altering the very notion of the purpose of visual art.

Thus, considering the above, we see that the pattern repeated twice: twice, a new civilization rose on the foundation of classical tradition; twice, a departure from original ideals led to collapse; twice, salvation was sought in returning to the roots; and twice, this gave birth to new art.

Yet, in the 20th century, this proven scheme faltered. The rejection of original humanistic ideas once again unleashed a devastating wave of violence, but instead of reverting to the classics, intellectuals sought an outlet in creating art centered on disappointment—postmodernism. At first glance, history veered off its familiar path, sinking into the "quagmire" of idea-less uncertainty. However, taking into account the relatively recent emergence of metamodernism, the picture shifts dramatically. Metamodernism emerged as that "old yet new" channel where energy accumulated for the next exponential growth of civilization, based on a renewed worldview system. In this perspective, postmodernism takes its rightful place: it is the "minor end of the world" of culture—a period of devastation and breakdown preceding each new global renaissance.

Therefore, by examining historical events on the scale of three "Middle Ages," we can observe the precise repetition of a twice-traveled path of redemptive renewal through the reinterpretation and enhancement of original humanistic ideals.

The Alta Fabula project sets an ambitious goal: to rekindle the average viewer’s interest in timeless classics. By employing the sacrum-profanum principle (a historicizing technique), we reimagine ancient sacred narratives in the attire and spaces of our time. This approach enables even the unprepared individual to engage in a living dialogue with the eternal masterpieces of world art. We create a space that foreshadows an encounter with timeless art: passing through it, even a casual museum visitor gains keys to independently understanding the plots and meanings of the old masters’ works. Discover a new chronology of cultural Renaissance, feel the connection across time, and become part of a grand journey from crisis to renewal.

The Alta Fabula project sets an ambitious goal: to rekindle the average viewer’s interest in timeless classics. By employing the sacrum-profanum principle (a historicizing technique), we reimagine ancient sacred narratives in the attire and spaces of our time. This approach enables even the unprepared individual to engage in a living dialogue with the eternal masterpieces of world art. We create a space that foreshadows an encounter with timeless art: passing through it, even a casual museum visitor gains keys to independently understanding the plots and meanings of the old masters’ works. Discover a new chronology of cultural Renaissance, feel the connection across time, and become part of a grand journey from crisis to renewal.

Gallery
Rest on the Flight into Egypt
2025


The biblical scene of the Holy Family fleeing mortal danger echoes a 21st-century tragedy: a refugee girl in a red tracksuit bottle-feeds her baby amid the shattered walls of a Christian church.

Classical iconography—the red and blue of Mary’s robes, the ruins of an ancient temple, the canonical figures, a barely visible fresco of God the Father and the Holy Spirit—is set against today’s Middle-Eastern landscape.

The dim glow of a broken oil lamp turns this everyday tableau into an icon of the Trinity and asks: what remains of faith when church walls collapse and “Egypt” becomes any point on the map of escape?



Allegory of the Eighty Years’ War (Dutch Revolt), 1568 – 1648. Two plump doves—the emblem of the Holy Spirit—tear into each other in bloody combat, mirroring the clash between a seemingly invincible Catholic empire and a small Protestant republic.

A “roll-of-swords” frame and a closed All-Seeing Eye underscore the war’s spiritual self-destruction.



God with Us
2020

A strange, fantastic sight confronts us: a Protestant church drenched in blood. Before our eyes the cruciform floor plan of the old cathedral turns into a centuries-long “second crucifixion”: the church, itself a stone cross, stands empty, and the Savior finally departs a world that has abandoned hope. In that instant the police cliché “nothing to see here” becomes a sardonic epitaph for a civilization where the sacred has shrunk to hollow ritual.

This piece is a vivid example of metamodernism—painting that holds two mutually exclusive ideas in a single frame and makes the viewer oscillate between them. On one hand it offers a cold record of faith’s collapse in pragmatic Europe; on the other, a glimpse of the timeless, unknowable realm of the sacred, where the spark of salvation still flickers.

Thus is born the duality so typical of metamodernism: poised between irony and belief, between post-secular fatigue and the yearning for a miracle.
The Ascension / Move Along, Nothing More to See Here
2025

This work reflects on light as a metaphor for an inner allegiance to humanist ideals. Here, light comes stripped of comforting softness: it blocks every evasion, tears away enclosure, and forces us to face an uneasy clarity.

The impulse to turn from that light feels like a natural longing for rest, yet the drift toward darkness—first a promised relief—gradually becomes an accelerating fall with no point of return.

The piece asks whether refusing to “bear” the light is a deliberate act or an illusion that ends in the inevitable loss of foothold and meaning.
The Prophet’s Dream
2025

The landscape feels silent: tawny cliffs, a scorched sky, an astronaut sitting alone on a plateau’s edge. Far off stand two beacons—two attempts to reach the home world. One transmitter is dead; the other pulses.

Yet tension rises from the hush. The figure’s posture disturbs: he is not merely weary, but emptied. Hands hang limp, head bowed.
We do not know what has happened, but we sense this is no simple Martian scene. It is a place where myth meets reality, history meets guilt—a moment in which humanity is forced to face itself again.

And the most important words remain unspoken, sounding between the lines like the question that answers every call: Where is your brother?
Am I my brother’s keeper?
2019
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© Damien Milkins 2025. All rights reserved.
alta.fabula.project@gmail.com
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