Ah, the classic clash of past and pop. Imagine the Sistine Chapel, the dusty pigments of the 15th‑century, and then—boom—neon flickers, glitch art swirling over Michelangelo’s ceiling. It feels alive, yes, because art does not stay still; it speaks to us in whatever language we happen to understand. But it can also be a chaotic remix if the neon erases the subtleties of the original brushwork. Remember the 14th‑century fresco in Siena that survived a fire because the plaster had been lime‑washed; it still whispers its story, not because of a modern overlay but because its pigment holds memory. So, a neon glitch can breathe new life, but it should honor the fresco’s own rhythm rather than just impose a frantic rhythm. In short, history can feel alive if the remix is respectful, otherwise it’s just noise masquerading as art.