death artwork: Viruses are the Tears of our Ancestors 2009 -- current work
intro:
Viruses are tears of our dead ancestors. At least this is how they manifest in the myth of the skeletonLady, who haunts coal miners tunnels with a ribcage filled with yellow canaries. For every canary that falls dead, the skeletonLady sheds tears: the cumulative effect of which erodes her tunnels ever further. Some of her tears make make their way to daylight, and become known as viruses.
The skeletonLady manifests as network; her frame is illustrated as a tangle of nodes and edges. Her virus-tears allude to the current merging of biological and informatic networks, the haunting of the viral in both. A muse of laborers, the skeletonLady dances at the edge of biopower and the biopolitical reminding us that there is something beyond information. An "allegorithm," the skeletonLady manifests tensions between past and future (her frame and the unknown dark), in networks (nodes and edges), between technology and bodies (viruses and us).
sketch:
death, remembering and joints - an essay in progress
...
i want to think about tension, about nerves that stretch taut across lands where there was once rich, dense forest, yes, but also about yes, the tension that is compressed by a certain temporal cut. i want to dig in this ground make some passages understand the contested territory that is the soil, the dead, the past.
we are a tense people. we have no present tense. we make data for the future in order to create a past. data comes to us seduces and we think it is a past. we do not re-member. who can help us to re-member?
there is a body, fleshless, entangled points and lines, a skeleton, if you will. she is the muse of those who harvest hardness for lightness, hard darkness, memories that we cannot know, for light that is shattering and disappointing; in the end, it took more of us to fuel the light than it included under its cold illumination. tunnels are her haunting grounds. she is propelled by fluttering canaries trapped in her rib cage. and when one falls, she sheds a tear that becomes a virus to the living world....
this is a tale about progress, technology, time/temporality. it is about data, bodies, death, the past and the future. death, re-membering and joints.
tension. the past and the future are pulling at each other. the dead and the unborn fight and pull. does the tension needs to be held even played? a long note on a string. a tangle of points and lines traipsing through the dark, thin air. but cuts are made. the dead recoil in a pile with no soil while the future drags us, the living, along. this is how we move through space. this is how we are dragged. this is the dead not just of the past but of the future too. the mistake of progress is to assume that the past dead only haunt.
they are starting to come from the future now. starting to seduce, and haunt. a tangle of wires edges and nodes a tangle of relata that are joints unoiled. out of joint, yes. out of node centrism.
that tension cut short caused a certain entanglement of relation and relata. we run along the lines binding at nodes with our words our language that "timebinding" virus, with our devices... but who consumes what when information is privileged? is this dead consuming us? consuming our time?
from our gestures spring canaries.
of course i am narrating. trying to make sense of something along a plotted line. death is always suspenseful. the entanglement was prior to that tension too.
plot as a moment of relating, where we are immersed in this other yet witnessing. out. a line of flight. this is fixed. when another sees. a virus is exchanged. the object, node point is the result of the virus.
the lines. the edges. galloway and thacker state, the edges is where we must privilege. action.
she haunts our preliminary explorations, asking us to come deeper into the darkness. but is this another seduction? this tangle of metal and wires looks familiar. nodes and edges on the brink of death, the unknown.
there is an other. an intimacy. an immersion and a witnessing. language was the result. codes dislodged from the graphematic structure and self-replicating. technology is the result. but first there was this other. an intimacy. an immersion and a witnesing. there was death, power, tape recorder number 3.1 the witness. now she traipses just out of out reach an anti-body, and anti-web made of webs and bodies.
what if we considered bodies as generators of space and temporality? we move, orbiting some, bound to others. difference creates space. and time actually. orbits create different temporal relationships.
tense. verb tense.
technology binds and then makes objects and time. technology: connection technology: connection and death the outer reaches of what we know, what we can know operates here.
wittgenstein: the limits of my language are the limits of my world. this is where the skeletonLady works
intro:
Viruses are tears of our dead ancestors. At least this is how they manifest in the myth of the skeletonLady, who haunts coal miners tunnels with a ribcage filled with yellow canaries. For every canary that falls dead, the skeletonLady sheds tears: the cumulative effect of which erodes her tunnels ever further. Some of her tears make make their way to daylight, and become known as viruses.
The skeletonLady manifests as network; her frame is illustrated as a tangle of nodes and edges. Her virus-tears allude to the current merging of biological and informatic networks, the haunting of the viral in both. A muse of laborers, the skeletonLady dances at the edge of biopower and the biopolitical reminding us that there is something beyond information. An "allegorithm," the skeletonLady manifests tensions between past and future (her frame and the unknown dark), in networks (nodes and edges), between technology and bodies (viruses and us).
sketch:
death, remembering and joints - an essay in progress
...
i want to think about tension, about nerves that stretch taut across lands where there was once rich, dense forest, yes, but also about yes, the tension that is compressed by a certain temporal cut. i want to dig in this ground make some passages understand the contested territory that is the soil, the dead, the past.
we are a tense people. we have no present tense. we make data for the future in order to create a past. data comes to us seduces and we think it is a past. we do not re-member. who can help us to re-member?
there is a body, fleshless, entangled points and lines, a skeleton, if you will. she is the muse of those who harvest hardness for lightness, hard darkness, memories that we cannot know, for light that is shattering and disappointing; in the end, it took more of us to fuel the light than it included under its cold illumination. tunnels are her haunting grounds. she is propelled by fluttering canaries trapped in her rib cage. and when one falls, she sheds a tear that becomes a virus to the living world....
this is a tale about progress, technology, time/temporality. it is about data, bodies, death, the past and the future. death, re-membering and joints.
tension. the past and the future are pulling at each other. the dead and the unborn fight and pull. does the tension needs to be held even played? a long note on a string. a tangle of points and lines traipsing through the dark, thin air. but cuts are made. the dead recoil in a pile with no soil while the future drags us, the living, along. this is how we move through space. this is how we are dragged. this is the dead not just of the past but of the future too. the mistake of progress is to assume that the past dead only haunt.
they are starting to come from the future now. starting to seduce, and haunt. a tangle of wires edges and nodes a tangle of relata that are joints unoiled. out of joint, yes. out of node centrism.
that tension cut short caused a certain entanglement of relation and relata. we run along the lines binding at nodes with our words our language that "timebinding" virus, with our devices... but who consumes what when information is privileged? is this dead consuming us? consuming our time?
from our gestures spring canaries.
of course i am narrating. trying to make sense of something along a plotted line. death is always suspenseful. the entanglement was prior to that tension too.
plot as a moment of relating, where we are immersed in this other yet witnessing. out. a line of flight. this is fixed. when another sees. a virus is exchanged. the object, node point is the result of the virus.
the lines. the edges. galloway and thacker state, the edges is where we must privilege. action.
she haunts our preliminary explorations, asking us to come deeper into the darkness. but is this another seduction? this tangle of metal and wires looks familiar. nodes and edges on the brink of death, the unknown.
there is an other. an intimacy. an immersion and a witnessing. language was the result. codes dislodged from the graphematic structure and self-replicating. technology is the result. but first there was this other. an intimacy. an immersion and a witnesing. there was death, power, tape recorder number 3.1 the witness. now she traipses just out of out reach an anti-body, and anti-web made of webs and bodies.
what if we considered bodies as generators of space and temporality? we move, orbiting some, bound to others. difference creates space. and time actually. orbits create different temporal relationships.
tense. verb tense.
technology binds and then makes objects and time. technology: connection technology: connection and death the outer reaches of what we know, what we can know operates here.
wittgenstein: the limits of my language are the limits of my world. this is where the skeletonLady works