Ewww, I love it. When did illustration get so gross?

Opening Instagram can feel like stepping into a world of stylised, sanitised imagery, where harsh realities are carefully omitted and imperfections are buffed out to a hyperreal shine. But of late, the platform’s developed a slimy, sweaty, subversive streak, as artists across disciplines – from digital painting and 3D design to AI-assisted generative art – embrace clashing colours, exaggerated textures, and revolting motifs that disturb and draw you in at the same time. Welcome to the gross-out renaissance.

Of course, illustration that veers into the grotesque is nothing new. You can see it in the Aubrey Beardsley drawings that scandalised Britain in the late 1800s (“If I am not grotesque, I am nothing,” he boasted); in Ralph Steadman’s twisted satirical caricatures; and in the bizarro Ren & Stimpy Show that debuted in the early 90s. But in our current moment, this style seems increasingly mainstream, as creators compete for the favour of social media algorithms and the attention of fickle users.

In this context, the popularity of the grotesque was perhaps inevitable. A 2010 study published in the Journal of Consumer Research found that grotesque ads in fashion magazines were more likely to capture viewer attention and retain viewer attention for longer than traditional ads – proof that the conventional can get boring quickly.

“Pursuing something that is more provocative and spicier, so to speak, is part of our nature,” says Seoul-based illustrator SillDA. “We know we’re attracted to things that are outside our usual orbit of imagination, the ‘likes’ that we cannot see in our daily lives.”

But for creators, it’s rarely a case of weird for the sake of weird. SillDA says her own illustrations – such as a diamond ring about to be hammered into a white-gloved knuckle; or a spider emerging from an open eye, reading to be crimped by an eyelash curler – are abstract representations of her own emotional states, balancing light and dark.

“I don’t like seeing or drawing works that portray the hideous as hideous or grotesque as grotesque. So I could say that the purpose of my illustration is to portray ‘beautiful pain’ and ‘painful beauty’, and that I’ve always employed beauty to effectively convey pain. And in such a depiction of pain, I find beauty again.”

Multidisciplinary artist Beth Frey, who works between Mexico City and Montreal, creates watercolours, sculpture and video works that challenge expectations of the female body. (In an early series, chubby-limbed girls with deranged smiles wee, fart, bleed and spit with seeming abandon.) But the figures she creates for her Sentient Muppet Factory project using DALL-E 2 – such as a tomato-headed woman crying into plate of pasta; a beauty queen with a wet, disembodied mouth for a head; and an anthropomorphised heart being solemnly ordained – seem to have hit a particular nerve.

To Beth, grotesque images can act as an antidote to the numbness induced by the “beautiful, bland and beige” lifestyles we’re shown online. “When we’re looking at technology and our relationship to technology, we sometimes neglect to talk about how it relates to the body, and what it means that we’re just staring at screens all the time. I find myself almost disconnected from my body,” she says. “Maybe there’s a need or a desire to come back to the weirdness of being in a body, and feeling odd or uncomfortable. The disgust or humour or whatever the reaction to the image, it does hit you in a way that brings you back to the visceral body.”

In her own unabashedly feminine practice, founded on a palette of pinks, cutesy motifs and biomorphic shapes, Incheon digital artist Ram Han has started inserting visceral textures to counter the “emptiness” that proliferates in a lot of 3D paintings. “I want to express virtual senses such as feeling soft and squishy when touched, or sharp and painful when pricked, or warm and cold. I want viewers of my work to be able to imagine these textures and sensations in a more vivid way,” she says.

On the other hand, Beth says, the grotesque can be seen as a rejection of suffocating norms of our visual culture, especially for communities that are frequently objectified and policed. With AI in particular, “I was thinking of the possibilities of technology as ways to liberate, to create new forms and new ways of being,” she says. “This is a rebellion against the status quo, and these beauty standards of how we're supposed to be and fit in as productive members of society. Mixing it all in with humour is always a big part of that, and I think that also makes it accessible.”

Similarly, South Korean 3D animator and art director Damo – whose humorous creations include a two-legged figure with red dancing boots, a humanoid octopus, and all manner of possessed puddings – has made it his mission to celebrate imperfection. “I want everyone who sees my work to believe that it‘s okay not to be perfect. Nobody is perfect in this world, and we are okay to live without that,” he says.

The embrace of subversive art can also be seen as a response to the times we live in. Researchers at the University of Washington found that consumers who “view the world as dangerous, and those who desire autonomy,” as well as those experiencing boredom and loneliness, showed greater interest in “carnivalesque” (read: rebellious, fun, nonjudgmental and sexual) brands and experiences. And given the state of the world, is it any wonder those numbers are on the rise?

“It's interesting that the things that seem to resonate the most with folks [on TikTok] aren’t the polished and beautiful things. It's more authentic and raw, and more real stuff,” says Portland painter Bijijoo, who has grown a cult following sharing paintings of cartoonish, mottled monsters on the platform. (Harper’s Bazaar described his recent show at London’s Saatchi & Yates gallery as a “fever dream of imagination and art history.”)

“There have been so many crazy things going on in the world the last few years, and maybe [the rise of grotesque art] is a reaction to that: just wanting to come face-to-face with something uglier,” he continues. “It's almost like a coping mechanism. A beautiful painting of flowers is maybe not something you would relate to as well as a cartoony, creepy thing.”

This resonates with Ram, too. “Filtered images that are only beautiful actually evoke less interest in those of us who live in the present era. Images that convey fear, unease, and a slight sense of discomfort, as if our world is not always a happy paradise, have the power to captivate us for longer,” she says. “I believe that many people, myself included, tend to feel curious about uncomfortable emotions and [want] to learn something from them.”

While each of the artists could identify elements of the grotesque in their own work, none explicitly sets out to shock. Rather, their hope is that their work will provoke thought, express something personal, or simply make people laugh. The grotesque is a tool, but not the whole point.

“Visually provocative content will eventually grow old despite its form, or the medium through which it’s manifested,” SillDa says. “Creativity must be in constant motion or else the audience will find a pattern, and eventually be bored.”

One period’s provocation is another’s status quo.