Buy Happieness
Michael Mandiberg has just finished assembling a handsome installation of his work at Eyebeam.
Mandiberg's one dozen separate pieces consist primarily of old, found books cut with a laser, handsomely shown individually or assembled in groups of two or more and placed on the artist's own constructions.
Mandiberg goes where no laser cutter has ever gone before. Some of the work physically and dramatically distinguishes important newly-established contemporary technologies from their aging or defunct antecedents (many of which could once have been described as cutting edge themselves), The result is a visual dialogue charged with the passage of time and composed in the empty spaces we see "written" in and on various kinds of reference books.
One piece, a work in progress (surprisingly, lasers take their time), is titled "We have never had a year of peace". When finished it will comprise the three volumes of the "Encyclopedia of the Third World", lying on their spines next to each other, open at a random page in the middle where the artist has deeply burned the name and year of every war fought by this peace-loving republic since 1890.
Another body of work consists of a wall display of cast-off volumes describing how to make money. Mandiberg has "whittled" with a laser into their hard front covers to describe the logos of, according to the artist, "all of the failed banks of the Great Recession" (...)
via James Wagner
syn·es·the·sia syn·aes·the·sia (sĭn'ĭs-thē'zhə)
n.
A condition in which one type of stimulation evokes the sensation of another, as when the hearing of a sound produces the visualization of a color.
A sensation felt in one part of the body as a result of stimulus applied to another, as in referred pain.
The description of one kind of sense impression by using words that normally describe another.
by Terri Timely
A short story that beautifuly depicts a possible path in our present to future leap.
He worked with computers; she worked with trees, and the flowers that took hold on the sides of the Mountain.
She was surprised that he was interested in her. He was so smart; she was so ... normal. But he was interesting; he always said something new and different; he was nice.
She was 25. He was older, almost 33; sometimes, Jack seemed very old indeed.
One day they walked through the mist of a gray day by the Mountain. The forest here on the edge of Rainier glowed in the mist, bright with lush greens. On this day he told her about the future, the future he was building.
Other times when he had spoken of the future, a wild look had entered his eyes. But now his eyes were sharply focused as he talked, as if, this time, he could see it all very clearly. He spoke as if he were describing something as real and obvious as the veins of a leaf hanging down before them on the path.
"Have you ever heard of Singularity?" he asked.
She shook her head. "What's that?"
"Singularity is a time in the future. It'll occur when the rate of change of technology is very great--so great that the effort to keep up with the change will overwhelm us. People will face a whole new set of problems that we can't even imagine." A look of great tranquility smoothed the ridges around his eyes. "On the other hand, all our normal, day to day problems fade away. For example, you'll be immortal."
She shook her head with distaste. "I don't want to live forever," she said.
He smiled, his eyes twinkling. "Of course you do, you just don't know it yet."
(On...)
Artists have something to accomplish in this society. Regardless of forms or media, our times require the presence of art and the commitment of artists to contest the values of this world. We need musicians and writers, painters and dancers, photographers and actors, web designers and dramatists We need artists who speak truth to power, who connect us to human realities that technologies shroud and the prevailing forces of political and corporate power would have suppressed. But where are these artists?
Oh, there are an abundance of individuals trained and skilled in the arts. They rush stages and "networking opportunities" everywhere to showoff their chops, to promote themselves to the next level, to grab a headline, to meme their way into fame or greater fame and a millionaire lifestyle. They push, they tug, they bully, they whore themselves without limit, delivering work that is as tiresome and irrelevant and vapid as their ethics.
...what is clear is that West, Rhianna and Jay-Z would like us to see them as individualists and rebels. But they are neither. They are outlandish, I'll give them that. However, individualists and rebels don't contort and distort and exploit themselves in order to pander to markets and audiences, nor do rebels become millionaires. In fact I will posit an idea that should be obvious but may shock and, even, cause outrage: One cannot become wealthy or maintain wealth and be in rebellion against the forces and values of this society. To be rich, to even be merely "well off" in America today, requires a compromise of ones principles and identity to the point of irrelevancy. We may take this logic one step further: To be rich and powerful in today's America is to be a slave.American culture is a wasteland of prosperous "artists" producing little of any enduring consequence. The corrupting influence is money. Whether we look at young successful "artists" or at the repackaging of old successful artists, it's all the same. Money is the single constant and degrading factor.
So what should the serious artist do? What position should that artist take when counterculture is mainstream and money is the single motivating force in that stream?
Poet. Lover of academy and porch.
