As I am completing the two-year project archiving the life and work of Babs Haenen, I keep asking myself: what will archives look like in the decades ahead? How will people experience them – on shelves, on screens or in entirely new forms? And will archivists still be needed or will artificial intelligence eventually take over completely? Some answers are already beginning to emerge.
In the U.K., the ARCHANGEL project, a 24-month socio-technical feasibility study challenged this problem. This project was delivered through the years 2017-2019, as part of the University of Surrey’s Distributed Ledger Technology (DLT) and co-designed by the National Archives. It aimed to test the idea of creating digital ‘fingerprints’ for files, so that any later alteration would cause a mismatch with the original fingerprint, immediately revealing the change. It was a simple yet powerful way to safeguard trust in digital records – like a notary stamp for memory.
In the U.S., the Smithsonian Research Institution has been scanning thousands of objects into detailed 3D models, from small fossils to the Apollo 11 Command Module. Anyone can explore them online – rotating, zooming or even stepping inside through virtual reality. These projects suggest that archives are becoming less about static storage, and more about dynamic spaces that people can enter and experience.
But technology is only part of the story. The deeper shift is cultural. Artist archives are no longer limited to finished works and official papers tucked away in boxes. Increasingly, they also include fragments of daily life: notes, sketches, photographs, conversations, even fleeting social media posts. What once seemed disposable now offers invaluable insight into the creative process and the world that shaped it.
Artificial intelligence and digital platforms are beginning to weave these fragments together. Instead of isolating works, archives can now reveal patterns showing how ideas, collaborations and influences travel across artists, eras and continents. Creativity starts to appear less as the act of a solitary genius and more as a web of shared inspiration.
When I picture tomorrow’s archive, I no longer see endless rows of binders. I see immersive rooms alive with images, voices and textures. I imagine saying, “Show me photos from Babs Haenen’s years in Japan,” and watching them appear, surrounded by reflections from scholars and future generations. And in that vision, archivists are still present – guiding, interpreting and ensuring that context and authenticity endure.
Technology will certainly change the tools we use. But archives will remain what they have always been: places where memory, connection and legacy meet – only now, transformed into living, but more interactive, worlds of discovery.
