Between origin and expressiveness: The return of strong cultural symbols in the art world

Anyone who has scrolled through exhibitions, biennials, off-spaces or even just social media in recent years will quickly recognize a recurring motif: artists are increasingly using strong symbols to make complex questions of belonging, power and identity visible.

A seemingly simple piece of fabric – often rectangular, clearly designed, and highly visible – becomes a stage on which stories of migration, colonial history, resistance, or personal biography are told. This is precisely where the question begins. Why are artists increasingly using flags as a means of expressing identity and culture? And why is this format gaining new relevance in an age of hybrid identities and global crises? Instead of merely marking national affiliation, these symbols are transformed into multifaceted spaces of signification where contradictions, ruptures, and hopes overlap.

At the same time, a new material culture is emerging around these symbolic forms: designs are created in the studio, developed digitally, graphically refined, and finally translated into high-quality textiles. Individual designs, small print runs, and custom formats can be realized, for example, through specialized flag who precisely transfer artistic ideas onto fabric, thus literally carrying them into the public sphere. This results in objects that are simultaneously artworks, statements, everyday objects, and documents of social negotiation processes.

The core of the phenomenon lies in this tension between private narrative and collective symbolism, and will be examined below from historical, aesthetic, political, and production-technical perspectives.

Historical Roots: How Symbols Shaped Collective Identity

Before contemporary art deconstructs, distorts, or reassembles symbols, it is worthwhile to look back: In many cultures, banners, coats of arms, flags , and similar symbols carriers of collective identity for centuries . They marked affiliation with ruling houses, city-states, religious groups, or military units and made hierarchies visible in the truest sense of the word.

In a European context, heraldic coats of arms represent genealogical continuity, while in other regions flags were integrated into rituals, processions, and festivals, thus establishing a close connection between community, territory, and symbol. This history continues to shape the intuitive understanding that certain colors, shapes, and symbols are more than mere decoration—they embody power relations, boundaries, and collective memories.

With the rise of modern nation-states, this symbolism took on a new dimension. National flags became emotionally charged symbols, evoking both patriotic fervor and radical criticism. Revolutions, independence movements, and liberation struggles used redesigned banners to mark their distance from colonial and authoritarian regimes.

Especially in postcolonial contexts, it has become clear that the creative potential of symbols is always also a political terrain. Those who create them help determine how a collective presents itself both internally and externally. When contemporary art takes up this tradition today, it therefore not only quotes historical forms, but also the long, often conflict-ridden struggles for the power to define meaning and interpretation that are inscribed in these motifs.

Contemporary art practice: individual stories on fabric and in space

In this situation, artists use symbolic forms reminiscent of classic flags to tell stories of individual life paths:

Migration stories, diasporic perspectives, queer identities, or experiences with racism and classism are captured on fabric through colors, shapes, and graphic symbols.”

From the standardized national emblem emerges a kind of personal or collective biography in the form of a banner, which hangs in exhibition spaces, is carried through the urban landscape, or is incorporated into performances . Precisely because the format is so familiar, the disruption is all the more striking when, for example, national colors are broken, inverted, or combined with unexpected symbols.

The artistic practice ranges from strictly graphic works to hybrid installations in which fabric panels, video, sound, and performance intertwine. Flag-like objects can be arranged in rows or spread out on the ground. They can also be draped over bodies or attached in unusual locations—such as courtyards, rooftops, or places where no official symbols would otherwise be seen.

This shift in perspective changes the focus: it's less about the representation of a state and more about who is represented and what experiences are reflected in the canon of collective images. In this sense, many projects can be interpreted as attempts to identify gaps. These gaps are to be filled with new, self-determined symbols, no longer imposed from above but designed by those directly affected.

In curatorial practice , it is noticeable that these works are often shown in broader thematic contexts: exhibition formats on topics such as "Borders , "Diaspora , "Queerness , "Postcolonialism," or "Climate Activism" use flag-like objects to make discourses spatially tangible. There, visitors can not only react aesthetically but also engage physically with the works. For example, they can walk past long rows of banners, walk under fabric panels, or interact with installation elements.

Such projects are often accompanied by outreach formats like workshops, discussions, or collaborative creative processes in which people develop their own symbolism. This reveals that contemporary art not only produces finished works but also initiates collective processes in which identity and culture are constantly renegotiated.

Three international artists who use the medium of textiles and the form of the flag to renegotiate identity, migration, and belonging.

They all transform the fabric – traditionally a carrier of coats of arms and national colors – into an “archive of touch” that stores personal and political stories.

Yinka Shonibare CBE (Great Britain / Nigeria)

Main topics: Postcolonialism, class issues, the construction of "authenticity".

Yinka Shonibare is perhaps the most central figure when it comes to the deconstruction of national identity through fabric. He does not use classic flags, but replaces their function with a specific graphic cipher: the "Dutch Wax" fabric.

The graphic code: Shonibare uses colorful, seemingly "African" batik fabrics. The catch: These fabrics are a product of colonial trade routes – originally developed in Indonesia, industrialized by the Dutch, and then marketed in West Africa. The fabric itself is a lie about its origin and authenticity.

Artistic practice: He creates sculptures, sails, and installations (such as The Nelson Ship in a Bottle ) in which these fabrics wave like flags of a hybrid nation. He addresses classism and racism by dressing Victorian aristocrats in these fabrics or using them as sails for the ships of explorers.

The message: Identity is never pure; it is a complex web of global trade, power, and appropriation.

Sara Rahbar (USA / Iran)

Key topics: Forced migration, the trauma of exile, geopolitical dissonance.

Sara Rahbar, who fled Iran for the USA as a child before the revolution, works directly with the physical form of the flag. Her Flag Series (2005–2019) is a monumental work of diasporic art.

The graphic cipher: It uses the US flag (Stars and Stripes) as a literal base and “infects” or complements it with textiles from the Middle East, traditional embroideries, but also with military straps and painful objects.

Artistic practice: Her flags hang on the wall like heavy, burdened hides. They are collages of fragmentation. The hard lines of the US flag are interrupted by organic, chaotic, or handcrafted elements of the "Orient."

The message: Here, the migration story is not told as a successful integration narrative, but as a painful seam. The flag becomes a battlefield where the longing for belonging clashes with the reality of exclusion.

Jeffrey Gibson (USA / Choctaw-Cherokee)

Main topics: Queer identity, Indigenous history, intersectionality.

Jeffrey Gibson (US representative at the Venice Biennale 2024) combines the visual language of indigenous peoples of North America with the aesthetics of queer clubs and political protest.

The graphic cipher: Gibson uses geometric abstractions reminiscent of traditional Cherokee weaving patterns or parfleche painting, and mixes them with neon colors, fringe, and beadwork. He often integrates fragments of lyrics from pop songs or activism as graphic slogans.

Artistic practice: His works often hang as enormous, flag-like tapestries or stand in the room as sculptural garments. They are reminiscent of powwow regalia, but also of the "Pride Flag." In doing so, he creates safe spaces for bodies marginalized by racism and homophobia.

The message: Visibility is survival . His "flags" celebrate difference and loudly demand space for an identity that is both indigenous and queer and does not have to choose between tradition and modernity.

Between protest and belonging: Political messages and cultural self-assertion

Few other symbolic forms are as closely linked to political movements as the flag, and this is precisely where many artistic works begin. When artists use flags in demonstrations, performances, or interventions in urban space, artistic practice and activist strategies merge. The familiar images of protest marches covered in banners representing, for example, climate justice, feminist causes, or anti-racist struggles have long since become part of a collective visual memory. This memory is then perpetuated by the media, social media, and cultural institutions.

Art projects take up this visual language, exaggerate it, subvert it ironically, or radicalize it through unexpected iconographic breaks. In doing so, the familiar codes of protest aesthetics themselves become the subject of reflection: Who is allowed to speak for whom, which symbols are included, and which stories remain invisible?

Groups whose voices have been historically marginalized often use their own symbols to force visibility and practice cultural self-assertion. Flag-like forms, representing, for example, queer, Indigenous, migrant, or anti-colonial perspectives, are displayed in public and form a counter-canon to traditional, mostly nation-state-based symbolism. This is not merely about the visualization of demands, but about the experience of gathering under a shared symbol, recognizing oneself in it, and experiencing strength.

The emotional dimension is immense: Anyone standing in a street, in front of a parliament or in a square, surrounded by symbols that take their own lived reality seriously, experiences belonging in a way that goes far beyond abstract political debates.

At the same time, art also reflects the dangers associated with powerful symbols. Nationalist, exclusionary, or authoritarian movements use flags and similar symbols to draw borders, mark opposition, and stage enemy images. Many artistic projects address this appropriation by distorting, fragmenting, or transferring problematic symbols into entirely different contexts. This results in works in which familiar colors and patterns remain recognizable but lose their original authority.

Art makes visible that symbols do not convey fixed meanings, but are politically contested fields. In this respect, the question of why artists increasingly use flags as a means of expressing identity and culture the following: It always leads to an examination of the responsibility that comes with working with powerful symbols.

In this field of tension, flag-like symbols fulfill at least three functions: They bundle emotions, mark belonging, and create visual anchor points where discussions about power, justice, and future prospects can dock without getting lost in abstract formulas.”

Materials, design and production: from studio to specialized manufactory

The artistic work with symbols doesn't end with the design on paper or in a graphics program. What's crucial is how ideas can be translated into material that can withstand windy outdoor spaces, neutral white cubes, or improvised off-spaces. Fabric quality, weave, seams, printing process , lightfastness, and choice of format directly influence how a work is perceived.

Thin, transparent materials can emphasize fragility and vulnerability, while heavy, robust textiles signal stability and durability. Metallic foils, reflective surfaces, or multi-layered applications create additional layers that appear different depending on the light and add further levels of interpretation. A graphic idea thus becomes a multifaceted object that interacts with space, wind, bodies, and gazes.

In the reality of artistic production, collaborations with specialized workshops, textile printers, and manufacturers are playing an increasingly important role. Many artists lack the technical infrastructure to produce large-format, museum-quality banners themselves. Platforms and providers like pheno-flags precisely transfer individual designs onto fabric, enabling custom formats, small print runs, special colors, and diverse finishing options.

This expands the range of what can be achieved with a limited budget: from individual, hand-numbered artworks to series used for community projects, festivals, or entire exhibition designs. Production thus becomes a collaborative process in which technical expertise and artistic intention are closely aligned.

A tabular overview illustrates how different the contexts are in which flag-like objects are used today, and what effect they can have questions of identity

context	Artistic use	Impact on identity and culture
Political demonstration	Large-format banners, clear messages, strong colors	Visibility of concerns, collective self-empowerment
Museum / Gallery	Installation-based hangings, distorted or fragmented forms	Reflection on history, power relations and claims to interpretation
Community projects	Co-creative design with local groups	Strengthening local narratives, reappropriation of symbols
Festivals / Urban Space	Temporary use of squares, facades, bridges	Temporary recoding of public space, invitation to dialogue
Digital / hybrid formats	Combination of physical banners with projections and AR	Expansion of identity discourses into virtual and global spaces

Such constellations make it clear that production is not merely about technical implementation. Every material choice, every hem, and every eyelet contributes to the meaning: If a banner is made to withstand wind and weather for years, it conveys a message of permanence and endurance. If a fragile material is deliberately chosen that fades, frays, or disintegrates, transience becomes part of the concept.

The question of whether a work is conceived as a unique piece, in a limited edition, or as an openly reproducible object directly touches upon economic and institutional conditions. Collections, museums, and private buyers react differently to a rare, unique piece than to a series that potentially circulates in many hands. Thus, the creative field is once again linked to questions of power and ownership, which are firmly inscribed in the history of powerful symbols.

What role will powerful symbols play in future art?

Looking to the near future, there are many indications that flag-like symbols will gain even more importance as an artistic means of expression. Political polarization, the climate crisis, increasing migration, digital networking, and the parallel existence of contradictory realities create an enormous need for images that condense complex relationships in a legible yet multifaceted way.

Symbols reminiscent of classic flags fulfill precisely this function: they are recognizable from afar, convey emotion, and simultaneously offer scope for artistic differentiation. Especially in an age where algorithms curate floods of images, strong, clear forms can become visual anchors around which attention is focused and discourses develop.

This also increases the responsibility of art. Anyone working with symbols that are historically burdened or politically contested must be aware of the implications. Projects that address the question of why artists increasingly use flags as a means of expressing identity and culture will in the future increasingly reflect on the conditions of their own circulation: Which images go viral, which remain trapped within the institutional framework of the art world, and which are appropriated by commercial or political actors?

At the same time, new technological developments – from augmented reality and generative image systems to sustainable textile innovations – are opening up further avenues for experimentation. Art will likely produce even more hybrid forms in which physical banners, digital layers, and performative practices intertwine.

The interest in symbols is not a nostalgic return to past forms, but a reaction to the present. In a world where identity is no longer understood as a rigid category, but as a process of negotiation, symbols become mobile stages for this negotiation. They can wound or empower, exclude or invite, harden or open.

Precisely for this reason, it remains crucial that artistic practice is aware of this tension and creates spaces in which symbols are not merely reproduced, but critically examined and reinvented. In this sense, flag-like artworks are less answers than questions – questions about who "we" actually are, who could ever stand under a common symbol, and who will be allowed to help shape these symbols in the future.