Featured Artist: Georgina Pollard Biographical Note

As energy, the paint does not restrict itself to my process, and our dialogue has turned to the form of a shared ecology—Georgina Pollard (Artist Statement, A-M Gallery)

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Georgina Pollard, Mistint (2014), acrylic house paint, 45cm x 60cm (each), Newtown; image courtesy of the artist.

Georgina Pollard is an artist who works with reclaimed house-paint as a weaving or sculpting material. With a background in theatre, Pollard finds a relationship between theatre philosophy and paint—in the way that paint can take on a life of its own in process—like an object or prop in a stage performance. When Pollard is responsive to paint in this way, the art-object she makes is a kind of record, or transcription, of the gestural dialogue she has shared with paint, in context of place and time. Pollard describes her work as highly self-aware. Gestures, action and reactions in drips, drops, lines and layers express subjects in process: paint becoming-subject and an identity in flux with/in a shared ecology.

Pollard is co-founder of Cementa Arts Festival, with artists Alex Wisser and Ann Finegin. Cementa is a contemporary visual arts festival held in Kandos, regional New South Wales (inland from Sydney, toward Mudgee). Since 2013, the festival has been held biannually, and has achieved giving regional and city-based practising artists the opportunity to experiment with their proposed material or text in a landscape very different to the urban experience. At the heart of Cementa is the idea that artist-shared spaces are naturally generative.

The festival facilitates bringing artists together, and making more things happen—especially in the region. Clandulla State Forest, for example, opened as Clandulla State Gallery to exhibit The Survey Show (2014), curated by Margaret Roberts. Along a winding track through the state forest, visitors experienced artworks made for the bush setting. Pollard exhibited in this group show with her work Chandelier for Ants (2014), a branch painted with toffee, made to disintegrate as ants swarmed and consumed the artwork.

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Georgina Pollard, Chandelier for Ants (2014), toffee and found branch, exhibited at The Survey Show (2014), Clandulla State Gallery; image courtesy of the artist. Photo credit: Alex Wisser.

Pollard’s collection of recent solo shows—Through Line (2011; A-M Gallery, Sydney), Through Line II (2012; At the Vanishing Point Gallery, Sydney) and Through Line III (2014; A-M Gallery)—are named after Stanislavsky’s description of characterisation. A ‘through line’, according to Stanislavsky, links character objectives, irreducible to the performance or narrative. Through lines can be interwoven with other through lines, including the ‘lines’ of props and other elements of stage design. The performance as a whole is a network of through lines, and, in the sense of being interwoven, like a fabric. So when we look at Pollard’s work, we are ‘reading’ a deeply personal nonverbal dialogue—as all conversations are at heart—between the artist and paint.

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Georgina Pollard, Song, Sung (2014), house paint and curtain fabric, 1.1m x 2.4m; image courtesy of the artist.

Pollard’s work is about being receptive to the paint, or, better, how it responds to her, in context of their shared environment. So, each work is a dialogue and index: gestures, weather, gravity, accidents, interruptions, and so on, are all recorded in the making until the performance comes to an end—the paint facilitates the action.

When Pollard talks about her relationship with paint she describes a dialogue that is full of stops and stops much like the fabric of inner thought: ‘sometimes the paint stops when I’m not ready for it to stop’; ‘it chooses different pathways’ to me; ‘it’s like watching a tear go down someone’s face’; ‘paint comes out more confused than you’d like it to’; ‘when it starts strong, I can determine the pattern’; ‘when it slows and deteriorates, it’s outside of my control’; ‘the wind blew it, and it stuck to itself, turning into this other being’. ‘We gesture more when we can’t find the words’ to express our inner thoughts.

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artwork by Georgina Pollard (2013), house paint; image courtesy of the artist

Pollard has exhibited with Modern Arts Projects (MAP) in the group show, Eco-Spirit held at Morton House in the Blue Mountains, curated by Jaquelene Drinkall (2014). MAP open in venues chosen for their architectural history, making something more of the art experience by bringing to the fore place and design. Pollard has had work exhibited at INDEX., Factory 49, Kaleidoscope Gallery, ESP Gallery, Mary Place Gallery, Oxford Art Factory, among other places. She held the Newtown Art Seat 2013/2014. Other honours include: the Callen Art Prize (Highly Commended), Fisher’s Ghost Prize (Finalist), and Marrickville Contemporary Art Prize (Joint Winner). Pollard has held the position of co-director at INDEX. and At the Vanishing Point Gallery. At the former, she co-curated a retrospective for the artist Melanie E Khava in 2011. Following art residencies in Hill End and at Kandos Projects, Pollard moved into what is becoming a regional arts hub.

These kinds of regional hubs don’t happen overnight, and they can be difficult to sustain. After working on the inaugural Cementa, Pollard and Wisser opened Coffee Concrete, a café located in Rylstone’s community gallery, which is about local food and local art. They are dedicated to opening up spaces for artists, bringing artists together from all over, and bringing audiences to experience art in the Mudgee region. As part of the next Cementa Art Festival (2017), for example, Wisser is opening Future Lands, a new art residency, which is about making links between art and agriculture. When Pollard talks passionately about what artists can accomplish given the space—any kind of space—to materialise their ideas, or make links between art and other areas of thought, it’s easy to think of her artworks, which are about being receptive to the environment and responding with humility. ‘My network with the object is about an awareness of its capabilities’, and ‘we are capable of empathising with our environment, as it empathises with us’ its way, said Pollard. She shows us how paint can be receptive, promiscuous, reproductive, much like the process of coming to a new idea.

Whose afraid of Ellsworth Kelly is the working title for Pollard’s latest collection in process, drawing upon the concept of making art as an index of its environment.

 

– Ashley Haywood

Diverse and thought-provoking: Zalehah Turner reviews the 20th Biennale of Sydney

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Willing to be Vulnerable Lee Bull 2015-6, Embassy of the Real, Cockatoo Island, 20th Biennale

Displaying the work of over 83 artists from 35 different countries, in a diverse range of mediums, the 20th Biennale of Sydney is an impressive display of contemporary art’s power to transform the surrounding space and immediately engage the audience in thought, contemplation, and discussion. Appropriately named, Embassies of Thought, the Biennale’s seven major exhibition spaces, include Cockatoo Island, the Art Gallery of New South Wales and Carriageworks as well as, several ‘interstitial’ or in-between spaces. All address the theme ‘the future is already here- it is just not evenly distributed’, a quote attributed to science fiction writer William Gibson, as related to concepts ranging from the real to the spiritual.

According to Art Director, Stephanie Rosenthal, “The Embassies of Thought in the 20th Biennale have been conceived as temporary settings without borders, representing transient homes for constellations of thought.” With the themes of each venue inspired by their individual history and the in-between spaces exploring the distinction between the virtual and the physical, key concepts, not only of the work of William Gibson, but the Biennale in general, the work of the artists explore important concerns of today and encourage the participants to do the same.

Rosenthal suggests that, “We’re asking visitors to consider our interaction with the digital world, as well [as] our displacement from and occupation of spaces and lands.” She stresses that all though many of us were experiencing a heightened sense of the digital within our physical spaces, those on the other side of the Digital Divide, were dealing with extremes in poverty as well as, social and political problems.

Of Cockatoo Island, home to Embassy of the Real, Rosenthal claims that “the artists selected for this Embassy explore neither the digital nor the physical, but the space where they both overlap- an in-between space.”

Employing reflecting metallic surfaces, glass, plastic and light as well as, material, Lee Bull’s futuristic installation, Willing to be Vulnerable certainly utilises what Rosenthal claimed was the best metaphor for the Embassy of the Real: ‘the mirror’. Immediately impressive, the site-specific work occupies the vast 1640 square metre industrial space of the Turbine Hall and references the utopian visions of early 20th century modernity from a post-modern perspective. South Korean artist, Lee Bull claims that, “Our plans about Utopia are undoubtedly going to fail but [that] doesn’t mean we should stop dreaming about it” and striving towards it.

While, close by, choreographer, William Forsythe engages the audience in an interactive dance, as the participant moves instinctively between the spaces of elegant, swinging pendulums in Nowhere and Everywhere at the Same Time. If completed, the journey inevitably leads one to the smooth, fluid curves of Camille Henrot’s bronze sculptures and the absurdly monumental MadeIn series by Xu Chen, both of whom work in mediums that are well suited to the space with its disused industrial remnants, original sandstone walls and dark history.

Untitled Lip Sync # 225, the one off performance of boychild on opening night, Ming Wong’s 24-channel video work, Windows on the World [Part 2] and A Painting with History in a Room Filled with People with Funny Names by Korakrit Arunanondachai all equally engage the audience with digital mediums, installations, and performance.

Stephanie Rosenthal points out that, while the artistic work is spread across various venues, each with their own conceptual theme, there is an interconnectedness between the spaces, particularly, concerning certain work. For instance, the original sketches for the costumes for the 1913 Russian futuristic opera The Victory Over the Sun by Malevich are on display at the Embassy of Translation, the Museum of Contemporary Art. In addition, as part of the Biennale, Justene Williams and the Sydney Chamber Opera will perform an interpretation of the opera at The Embassy of the Real. Rosenthal claims that for the MCA, “the primary focus [of the] Embassy is on modes of working that revisit historical material and address how this material can be translated into a language appropriate for the twenty-first century.”

As with all of the Embassies, Rosenthal’s interest in both visual and performance art is obvious. In one of Adam Linder’s ‘Choreographic Services’, Some Proximity, Linder and Justin Kennedy respond to the space around them at the MCA, while reading from the childlike writings of Holly Childs scribbled on paper and tacked to the walls around them. Downstairs, Parade, a cinematic adaption of Linder’s earlier work, itself, a reinterpretation of the 1917 experimental ballet of the same name, performed by Shahryar Nashat plays on a loop. Outside, the walls are decorated with Wall Carpets by choreographer, dancer and textile artist, Noa Eshkol.

However, as well as, exploring the concept of translation within art and performance overtime and their relation to history, the Embassy of Translation addresses the problematic nature of the history of the land on which it is situated. A series of six new paintings by Sydney-based artist Daniel Boyd depict Pemulwuy, a Bidjigal man who was active in the fight against the British colonisation. As well, existing as one of the Biennale in-between spaces in the MCA forecourt, Richard Bell has created Embassy, a restaging of the original Aboriginal Tent Embassy from 1972.

Further work that addresses the Embassies and their relation to the Gadigal People of the Eora Nation is on display at the Art Gallery of New South Wales, the Embassy of the Spirits. Multidisciplinary artist, Nyapanyapa Yunupingu of the Gumatj people has created an installation of tall wooden poles with detailed patterns and texture from her mark making in a dimly lit space. As well, Savage, Gutchen, Oui-Pitt, Griffiths, and Gaemers of the Erub Arts, working with the conversation group GhostNets Australia, have reclaimed a fishing net and decorated it with traditional weaving techniques with their beautiful and delicate work, SolWata. Surely, Rosenthal could have worked with the first peoples to commission something similar to SolWata, at the threshold of the Embassy of Spirits rather than, the colourful threads of Shelia Hicks’s Transforming the Column, which is thoroughly lacking in any deep spiritual connectedness, particularly to this land.

Interestingly, the work that best expresses the concept behind the Embassies of Thought as Rosenthal’s “safe spaces for thinking” is Abstraction of Confusion by Taro Shinoda, itself, a response to the deep spiritual and emotional conflict within Australia and the first people. After visiting Yirrkala, Arnhem Land, Shinoda was inspired to create a space for contemplation, particularly of the spiritual energy within us, known as ‘Ki’ in Japanese. By using white clay and red ochre, Shinoda has managed to recreate an entire room as an immersive installation, which will change over time.

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Abstraction of Confusion Taro Shinoda, 2016, Embassy of the Spirits, Art Gallery of NSW

The diversity of mediums employed in the work and cultural backgrounds of the artists throughout the Biennale is impressive, not to mention, Rosenthal’s desire to blur the line between art and performance. Dogwalk by Mella Jaarsma is an installation of 12 costumes made from the skins of sacrificed sheep, cows, and goats originally used in religious practices in parts of Muslim Indonesia. The title is both a reference to the catwalk, where fur embodies decadence and money, and the actual act of waking a dog, as performers parade around the room in her costumes complete with bright red harnesses, as if waking each other.

Unlike, other venues, Art Space, The Embassy of Non-Participation, has grown out of the combined work of two artists, Brad Butler and Karen Mirza. Originally entitled the Museum of Non-Participation, the collaborative, thought provoking, multidisciplinary work began in 2008 and will end with the Sydney Biennale.

The Embassy of Transition, Mortuary Station was a nineteenth century funeral station, and as such, is the most interesting of all venues with its particularly intriguing history. For Charwei Tsai it gave her a chance to explore the themes of the cycle life, death, and rebirth from a Tibetan Buddhist perspective. Tsai created a delicate, evocative installation with large spiralling incense sticks inscribed with parts of a Tibetan text across the platform, in a work entitled, Spiral Incense Bardo and scattered dried leaves and seeds across the train tracks in A Dedication to Those Who Have Passed Through Mortuary Station, Sydney. Outside, Marco Chindetti explores the way in which the myna bird will eventually, and inevitably, devour casts of the artists own body made from birdseed.

Carriageworks, the Embassy of Disappearance, explores themes of absence and memory, as well as, disappearing languages, history, and landscapes. Stephanie Rosenthal felt strongly that several of the art works at Carriageworks had managed to “recapture something that is lost” in a way that is particular to art’s “unique memorialising function.” However, the most outstanding work at the Embassy of Disappearance is Lee Mingwei’s Guernica in Sand. As the title suggests, Mingwei recreates Pablo Picasso’s Guernica with sand on the floor of the Embassy of Disappearance. However, Mingwei wanted to shift the focus from the pain of destruction to “the creative power of transformation” using the lens of impermanence. With this in mind, Mingwei intends to allow the audience to walk through his painstaking work one day, after which, he and his assistants will sweep their footprints and the work away in abstract strokes with bamboo brushes.

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Willing to be Vulnerable Lee Bull 2015-6, Embassy of the Real, Carriageworks, 20th Biennale

Once again, the Sydney Biennale, which originally started in 1973 and is in its 20th year, impresses with its visual, multi and transdisciplinary contemporary art through its seven Embassies of Thought and several in-between spaces.

-Zalehah Turner

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Zalehah Turner is a Sydney based poet currently completing her Bachelor of Arts in Communications majoring in writing and cultural studies at the University of Technology, Sydney. Zalehah is an Associate Editor of Rochford Street Review. https://rochfordstreetreview.com/2016/02/09/welcome-zalehah-turner-rochford-street-review-associate-editor/

The 20th Biennale of Sydney opened on 18 March and will run until, 5 June. Many  of exhibitions and events are free but some require booking. Check the website for further details: https://www.biennaleofsydney.com.au/20bos/

Territories Within a Political Ecology: Ashley Haywood reviews ‘Hell Broth’, ‘All of Them in There’ & ‘Automated Reasoning Paradigm’ at Firstdraft

Firstdraft gallery exhibitions for February are open from 3-26 February 2016.
Hell Broth artist talks 25 Feburary 2016 6-7 pm at Firstdraft: 
13-17 Riley Street, Woolloomooloo NSW 2011.

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Firstdraft’s February 2016 exhibitions—Hell Broth, All of Them in There, and Automated Reasoning Paradigm—trade and share and dream in territories within a political ecology (capitalist, socialist and other economies acting within the human Umwelt). There is linkage between the shows, each interrogating in their own way the consumer currency of things and no-things: literature, algorithms, social feeds, time, sadness, conspiracies, arrangements, the personal and the crowd, who likes it, who takes it, who eats it, who is turning away—from what?

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HELL BROTH
Curated by Astrid Lorange and Vaughan W. O’Conner (2016)
– with Lily Chan, Aston Creus, Mashara Wachjudy, Eddie Hopely, Hamishi Farah, Ivan Ruhle, Zoë Sadokierski, Giselle Stanborough and Tom Melick.

Broth is a stock. A water-based brew with bones and some vegetables, which is usually made in preparation, an ingredient in itself, for something more: a recipe belonging to a recipe—to what end?

Astrid Lorange and Vaughan W. O’Conner’s curatorial writing, installed alongside the exhibited artworks, is an index and introduction, is poetry and paratext, inciting the potential of lists. The artists incorporate, theoretically or materially, the concept of the list as form, and, to some degree, the concept that there are other kinds of contemporary art that work politically to deny expectations of art. Collectively, Hell Broth invites ‘revolt’ and togetherness.

In addition to Lorange and O’Conner’s curatorial poetry, they reproduce the prose poem ‘What resembles the grave but isn’t’ by Anne Boyer as a collective artist’s statement, which is an influential paratext to the group show. Boyer’s recent collection (Garments against Women, 2015) pursues an understanding of (the endlessness of) survival, and scarcity beyond survival, from the negative and the alone in the capitalist economy of not-enough hours to be, and to be revolted and radical—to even read.

You are not alone consuming Hell Broth. You may be the bit in ‘What resembles a grave but isn’t’ where you are not alone:

… falling into holes with other people, with other people, saying “this is not our mass grave, get out of this hole,” all together getting out the hole together, hands and legs and arms and human ladders of each other get out of the hole that is not the mass grave but that will only be gotten out of together …

 

Firstdraft, Feb, 2016

Photo of Hell Broth installation Gallery 1 (of 2); clockwise from the left: Hell Broth curatorial writing, SCHEHERAZADE by Lily Chan & Aston Creus, War Memorial by Clare Milledge, and, hanging centre, Apologies by Hamishi Farah, Firstdraft, February 2016. Image by Zan Wimberley.

 

When can and will we, together, resist wearing corporate logos and insincere apologies (thinking of Hamishi Farah’s work Apologies)? When can and will disillusionment become collective action, be more than looking out from, and away from, windows (Zoë Sadokierski’s 26 Views from the 7-train and 17 Views from the Trans-Mongolian, and Eddie Hopley’s c)? When will we, together, care about increasing rates of extinction (Zoë Sadokierski and Kate Sweetapple’s Avian Taxonomy works), increasing rates of anthropogenic disasters and mutations (Clare Milledge’s War Memorial)? When will we, together, take back the 24/7 hours given to our personal care and surivival, the hours we give to our own personal dystopian adventure (Lily Chan and Aston Creus’s SCHEHERAZADE)? (These are a few of the exhibited works that do cross-talk, are listing together.)

‘In the kitchen I was chopping vegetables and thinking about how discourse is a conspiracy, then how discourse is a conspiracy like ‘taste,’ then how taste is a weapon of class’ writes Anne Boyer (Garments against Women). You are more or less consuming art in the gallery space, but the ‘taste’ of Hell Broth is not palatable by necessity. These works are not the kind of conversational pieces that can be used to divide and exclude at dinner parties, but the kind that can potentially excite ‘revolt’ and togetherness.

Hell Broth resists closure and isolation in the process of combining ‘lists’, like ingredients, and in the act of making, like cooking or incantation, especially when that act is shared and amplified with others as it is here. Hell Broth is accumulating, is ‘More than the sum of parts by way of intensity’ (Lorange & O’Conner), emerging by way of small differences/disturbances with/in the whole complex twenty-first century capitalist body.

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ALL OF THEM IN THERE
Kuba Dorabialski

All of Them in There is a video installation and essay film (2016), shot in Serbia, Macedonia, Bulgaria and Romania during October 2015.

Kuba Dorabialski presents a political ecology in an architectural landscape. All of Them in There is a filmic dialogue between city and household, where concrete, walls, multilayered floors and staircases, repetitive balconies and windows, are (ex)changed via the crowd, observed by the narrator.

The narrator’s voice could belong to a 1960s laboratory demonstrator, or an extended Werner Herzog documentary ‘epilogue’ (e.g. the end of Cave of Forgotten Dreams), mingled with Elias Canetti’s literary narrator who speaks as if to a stranger outside the human race in Crowds and Power (1960). Kuba Dorabialski positions you, along with his character narrator, outside the crowd, observing the life of the crowd. They can’t see you, though they are like a singular multi-eyed organism, like all the windows to their apartments, looking at each other, making one.

According to the narrator, according to Canetti, the crowd is a pack at best, a mob at worse. The crowd is inherently violent. The crowd is unpredictable in that they are so predicable that any sudden course change in direction is seen as violent to those in the privileged position of being outside the crowd—‘so you put the crowds in, you put them in, you stand back, and you survey the crowds before you’. You are in suspense, waiting, you who are sitting outside the crowd, waiting, watching the predictable mob so capable of (un)mediated sudden violence. You become surveillance.

Dorabialski presents the labour of the crowd as singular, as if labour were indistinguishable, as if the labour of the crowd delivered a singular product—wealth—so long as there is no violence.

What are they all thinking? The crowd, according to Canetti, desires growth, density, equality and direction. So you give them what they want: ‘You put the crowds in, you put them in … All of them in there’. They like it in there, the narrator will tell you. ‘They actually really like it … Their animal nature actually likes it best like this’. Do not appeal to their animal nature, the narrator will tell you. The crowd cannot exist if it is allowed to spread, allowed to be in the forest, the woods, the meadow.

Smaller details and rituals are accentuated by the stillness of the buildings: a caretaker walking up and down external stairs, checking that the outside doors to each floor are locked, a pink rug being shook over a balcony, a woman leaning out her window, walking past her window in a mass of windows. And moving clouds, too, seem of great importance.

The problem with surveillance is that you slowly start putting yourself ‘in there’ and maybe you’ll stop registering difference. And what they’re thinking is what you’re thinking, and maybe when you make eye contact you see yourself looking back wherever you turn. And maybe things start to get disturbing, get really disturbing after a time, and maybe you want to be liberated (Dorabialski gives homage to Chantal Akerman, who died while this film was being shot, and this viewer’s thoughts went to Akerman’s film Jeanne Dielman, 23 quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles).

A singular pigeon is perched on a rooftop. More pigeons arrive. They become a flock. They take flight, circling the rooftop. More arrive, and the flock becomes waves in the sky (pigeons take turns as navigator dependent on skill). And maybe ‘to produce works that belong to everybody’, and maybe every living thing, we have to make new opportunities from within, so writes El Lissitzky, who continues in The Reconstruction of Architecture in the Soviet Union (1929):

One of our utopian ideas is the desire to overcome the limitations of the substructure, the earthbound … The idea of the conquest of the substructure, the earthbound, can be extended even further and calls for the conquest of gravity as such. It demands floating structures, a physical-dynamic structure.

Katy B Plummer writes for Dorabialski’s artist statement (after listing the many things ‘it’s about’): ‘I don’t know what it’s about. // I really don’t know. // You tell me. / You tell me.

Flight. I want to say, flight. The final image inspires, without spoiling the ending, desire for strange flight together.

 


All of Them in There (37 minute UHD video, 2016) video excerpt, curtesy of the artist.

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AUTOMATED REASONING PARADIGM
Kynan Tan

Kynan Tan’s video installation Automated Reasoning Paradigm (2015) examines, as Kynan states, ‘human relationships with digital technologies’, and, creatively, how ‘computation senses the human’. Automated Reasoning Paradigm incorporates multiple texts, including audio-visual renderings of computational data, and interviews with artists/thinkers. The following quotes were transcribed while viewing the video artwork.

‘What is your data profile’, what is your data body (this viewer’s term); what are your ‘abstract complications’ and complexities based on ‘algorithms that society runs on’ and in turn powers more algorithms? Your data body serves servers serving your body: ‘algorithms talking to algorithms’. Your data body grows like a living thing (which may be the best way this viewer can begin to relate to her data body, or profile).

Servers need their electrical circuitry consistently kept moderately cool to survive. Your data body relies on an atmospheric temperature of around twenty-one degrees Celsius—a highly productive temperature for data making in life. As long as the hardware can breathe, your servers serving your data body will thrive between eighteen to twenty-seven degrees Celsius. This viewer knows little of her irreducible data body and the extent of her complexities—is this a problem? Therein is the felt and stated urgency behind Kynan’s work.

Our general lack of understanding of technology, or, better, our inability or unwillingness to consider ‘computational processes occurring beyond our perception’ does not neglect culture’s ability to grow. Algorithms have each other for company; code can play all day, and is continually fed by us, is continually growing and becoming more complex. Website source code visualisations (there are a number of examples online) look like botanical illustrations; similarly, software artists’ (e.g. Casey Reas) endless emergent visualisations can be easily associated to biological structures. What we may be denying culture is healthy growth. Just how is your data body is being used without your awareness or consent for lack of understanding?

Where does biology stop and technology begin in terms of a data body? (This viewer is coming from the idea that culture is a complex, nonlinear and evolutionary symbol/system of relations, of which we are an irreducible part (e.g. biosemiosis, cybernetics, emergence, complex feedback systems).) Mingling code visualisations with quotes from academic concepts and news headlines, Kynan also introduces fiction (e.g. quotes from Don DeLillo), increasing the potential for conspiracy, the potential for humanness in the nonhuman and visa versa. What is being used against my (data) body? Are my bodies co-evolving into artificial intelligence? Am I more than biological and digital information? Me_allow_edits=true/false? Automated Reasoning Paradigm is disturbing, inspires questioning, and does successfully guide the viewer toward their unknown.

Firstdraft, Feb, 2016

Installation and still image of Automated Reasoning Paradigm (2015) by Kynan Tan, 3 channel video, 2 channel sound, 14:40 loop; centre screen is a quote from White Noise by Don DeLillo: ‘It’s your whole data profile. I tapped into your history. I’m getting bracketed numbers and pulsing stars.’ / ‘What does that mean?’ / ‘You’d rather not know.’; left screen: data like pulsing stars; right screen: image of artist Andrew Brooks. Image by Zan Wimberley.

 

– Ashley Haywood