LIFT UP YOUR TANKS (TOPS) AND FLUTTER YOUR BACKLASHES

http://www.monocle.com/monocolumn/2010/12/22/the-digital-backlash-begins/


VIDEOMOTHERFUCKING FLEAMARKET
ARMY KARAOKETHONS AND AVON-LADY
HOT-CHICKS WITH PUCCI-PRINTED
CHEVY VOLTS AND HERMES TRUNKS.
CUTE SHOES FOR THE U.S. MILITARY'S
ASK AND TELL SET AND BALLISTIC-GRADE
POLYCARBONATE SUNNIES FOR THE REST
OF THE GRUNTS. THAT'S WUZUP

MILITARY CONTRACTING IS DEPRESSION-PROOF.
FABULOUS FOLIAGE GREEN AND COY COYOTE BROWN.
MIU MIU RAZZLE DAZZLE CAMP BEVERLY HILLS
ELASTIC-POTHOLDER-WEAVE TANKS (TOPS).

PLEASE KILL THE CHILDREN. WON'T YOU HELP?

THEY GROW UP FAST: STUDENTS #1 & #2 NEON SCULPTURES

"They Grow Up Fast: Students 1 & 2" explore via viciously loaded imagery the reality of child trafficking. The only archetype that universally elicits a more emotional response than imagery of children is imagery of children under duress. Kids are biologically keyed triggers of joy in the human psyche. The flip-side of that joy is primal sadness. "They Grow Up Fast" exploits these emotions via life-sized, animated neon sculptures of a male and female student each seated at a school desk. In a nearly real-time depiction of how frequently and quickly a child somewhere on this planet is plucked from the life she knows and thrust into a parent's darkest nightmare--each student becomes a gender-specific caricature of how trafficked children are most often exploited.

 

The girl--once donning a rainbow-print sundress, hair tied up in a bow--is alternately presented bare-breasted with her blue bow replaced by a disembodied hand tugging at a tuft of hair. The boy--arm raised at his desk, primed to answer a teacher's question, dressed in a t-shirt depicting a shooting star with a rainbow tail--becomes a ski-masked child soldier in a communist flag shirt with a grenade clutched in his raised hand. The pieces continue to perpetually drill this imagery into a viewer--over and over--every couple of seconds at the electronic mercy of a set of mission-specific neon control circuits.

 

Child trafficking is wrapped in candy colored, flashing neon light and presented as a three-dimensional cartoon tableaux. To a viewer, these objects are fantastic...unreal--they're not children. They're vulgar simulacra. What might be a tear-jerking clip from a Rwandan village in a UNICEF commercial almost immediately elicits laughter here at just another sick toy exciting our enchantment with technology and design. In a culture of un-ending wars, box-office-smashing films regaling torture, omnipresent porn, child beauty queens, grade school cosmetic surgery and sexting suicides--are we actually still susceptible to universal archetypes like sadness and joy or are we now merely trained to emote to news broadcasts, trending-topics and Save The Children commercials?

 

 

THEY GROW UP FAST - STUDENT #1 / GIRL ( NEON SCULPTURE )

THEY GROW UP FAST - STUDENT #2 / BOY ( NEON SCULPTURE )

 

digital looting isn't destroying culture

RE: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/12/science/12tier.html?pagewanted=1

I'm just as guilty of all of this as anyone, but I couldn't help having these thoughts and feeling inclined to record them last night after reading the article linked above. If nothing else, it's inspired me to become more conscious of what wellsprings the things I create come from. Hopefully it or the text below does the same for someone else.

 

 

The real problem with Culture and The Digital transcends commerce. Ultimately, we're becoming a less experiential mass. The electronically social are convinced they're experiencing culture and are actively engaged in the scenes and discoveries they study and repost second and third-hand via blogs. The Digital Hive and those invented by it have little to show for themselves in terms of unique discovery. These personalities lack access to--or even awareness of--the pieces of culture never digitized. The Hive can't connect dots visible only to those who've explored, collaborated, observed and invented first-hand.

The limits of our Digital Extended-Consciousness are set by our abilties to recall and recount the textures of our collected physical interactions and observations. The ubiquity of opportunities to smell, feel, taste and fuck have somehow been shelved in favor of fashionably sterile transmissions watched, read and heard. Opportunities to engage the entire quiver of senses now exist as massively staged, predictably curated midways of pseudo-experience intended to be documented and distributed virally for virtual consumption. Texture is all but lost. Memories of events not cached in people's gmail, RSS aggregators, iphones and twitter timelines fade ever-faster. Where are all of the Harry Smiths since Harry Smith? They exist, but they're silent--conscious that the value of the culture they've collected is cheapened by surrendering it to the attention-deficient binary-breeze.

That's what the internet is, right? It's just this box--this bunch of different looking boxes--packaging what haphazardly falls willy-nilly from the binary-breeze. It's just a box that people throw shit into, rifle around in and steal from--that's it. It's fostered in all who've observed it an ever-increasing, unreasonable sense of entitlement and that's just the reality anyone creating anything must face. The real damage that Digital Culture is inflicting on Physical Culture isn't monetary. It's creative. Artists are lazy. Musicians are lazy. Writers are lazy. Theoreticians are lazy. Anthropologists are perhaps the laziest of all. Few people are living in the physical and raping it for all its damp, vivacious beauty. We're a population of socially-retarded academes caught-up in researching nuggets of the esoteric and obscure--the same nuggets every other asshole is compulsively researching nightly til 4AM. Creatives re-eximine and re-hash--in lock-step--these same once-interesting ideas.

As to Lanier's pet-issue--music--look to music's underground since the web has errupted. It's there that the concepts lifted one-generation further by mainstream producers are all initially collaged. Electroclash was likely the first mongoloid child of bookmark-based scene-sequencing. More crucial even than Larry Tee was the internet in proliferating that truckstop abortion. Likewise, Noise has crossed the tipping-point. Multigenerationally xeroxed mimes mimic the sounds and pixelated youtube videos they dig from the click-worn bins of Web 2.0. There are those who continue to explore and experiment--to channel the Free borrowed so liberally from Jazz, but their efforts are almost immediately parroted by scores of others who effortlessly pull/ execute/ post/ repeat. Look at this sad and sorry Cold-Wave revival happening right now. It's appropriate that a band like Cold Cave--knocking off pre-Emo 80's synth-pout was selected as the soundtrack to a commercial for a brand once known best as the source for cheap, knock-off 80's electronics.  All of the post-Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs/way-post Sue Tissue nuevo-nowave Brooklyn churn makes the list too--and that list continues. Look then at the mainstream--even at just one example. Lady Gaga--perhaps the most successful synthesis yet of web-born, web-built, meta-mash-up-regression--pilfered the personalities of performers already twice-removed from something more-or-less unique. Very few performers deliver anything authentic--styles or concepts lifted from life instead of bookmarks--because, sadly, those bookmarks are somehow now *life*. THAT is where culture is being killed.

People steal music because there's nothing worth buying. Everything on offer for heist has been stolen and re-thieved twice already. Theft-bare shelves aren't the problem, valueless stock is. Culture is supported when it demands that consumers live and not even the most miniscule of micro-payments will change that.

 

stories like this happen when i take the bus:

what's in your ear?
a hole. a big hole.
give me your card. I'll put it away.
no! it's my card. I'll hold it. here. it's your card now!
can I touch your ear?
sure.
show me the other one. little hole! I dropped my cheese. do you think it's dirty? mom, is my cheese dirty?
maybe a little.
can I hold your beard? mom, do you wanna hold his beard?
ok, I think that's enough touching on the first date.
but, I can hold it. I can hold it, right?
you're pretty independent, huh?
I'm silly!
yeah. I'm silly too.
can I hold your beard?
you mean touch, right?
no! hold it! like a monkey!
ok. quick.
ROOOOOAAARRRR!
ha. she just touched his nose! have you ever had a girl love you this much?
oddly, yes. all the time. punishment for not having kids.
look! I'm standing on the seat!
yeah! in the same spot your cheese fell! what if some other little lion stood in that spot before you?
dirty cheese! ROOOOOOAAARRR! i'm a tiger, not a lion! I can tie my shoes.
they have no laces.
I could tie them if they had laces. mom, I can tie them, right?
no, honey. you don't know how to tie your shoes.