Tardigrades, or moss piglets, are water-dwelling micro-animals that are virtually indestructible. They crawl about slowly, happily munching on an abundance of tiny delicious plants and bacteria. They can been found everywhere, in hot springs, under layers of solid ice and deep under the sea and can survive the most extreme environments, even the vacuum of space. But recent studies have found that these peculiar piglets may come under threat of climate change, distressed by a combination of rising temperatures and radiation. If they can’t survive, who can?
Cosmic Sugar is a trance inducing interactive physics sandbox. It visualizes natural forces in a way that is similar to sand grains on metal surfaces revealing hidden cymatics. It responds in completely unique ways to the personalities and interactions of each individual artist.
Face Race is an indie-arcade homage to the classic SkiFree that you control with your face.
My work is rooted in a continuing exploration and application of electrical, mechanical, and technological tools. I work with a variety of physical and digital media to make performative and expressive devices, installations, and objects.
This piece was spawned from the urge to salvage a discarded toaster, a healthy fear and appreciation of late 1960s exposed coil space heaters, the comfort of an electric blanket, the unsettling feeling winter approaching, and a desire for motion.
In my artwork, I experiment with a wide range of media that allow me to explore the often surprising connections between space and time, which includes concepts of motion, causality, and delayed action. I often incorporate circular shapes and cyclical movements into my sculptures to reflect my interest in narrative structures whose endings signify a return to the beginning. Borrowing techniques from industrial design and architecture, I take advantage of recent technological advancements in digital fabrication methods (e.g., computer-aided design, illustration software and rapid prototyping machines) in order to build physical objects in the world and expand upon a centuries-old craft of mechanistic art. Finally, my work utilizes various materials, both for practical considerations of continued motion, as well as aesthetic juxtaposition.
The bottom, indifferent to our intentions, has no use for the order we require on the surface. There, resting quietly, are the remains of old ideas, hopes, fears, love, and delusions; cast-off or lost, waiting to be rediscovered. Or not.
DIODE LOGIC IN 4:4 — an experimental work at the intersection of embodied games, live performance, interactive fiction, and dance — pushes us both as creators and participants to step outside of our comfort zones. In particular, we are eager to explore dance’s transportive power, its ability to cultivate intimacy between strangers, and its potential to transform participants into performers — generating a set of choreographic movements to be interpreted by spectators.
I have been inspired by the recent explosion of indie games. I think that part of the reason for this trend is that the problems that needed to be solved to produce early video games on the available hardware and software were solved so many times, in so many different ways, and so long ago now, that those solutions have managed to “leak out” onto the internet where they are generally available to interested programmers.
Given that technology has come so far in such a short time, and that those original problems were so well solved, indie/retro game developers are in a position to adopt “known solutions” to classic game programming problems relatively easily. They’re then free to spend their time working on unique and interesting twists on traditional game mechanics. These twists are often inspired by an even more recent surge in creative coding, generative art, and interactive media brought about by widespread computer fluency.
My work explores these techniques and ideas, and attempts to treat “the internet” or rather, the modern multiplicity of internet-connected devices, as the platform and medium of their expression.
Three years ago, I’ve experienced much personal transformation through dance and meeting my true self. Soft, watery and ever-changing, the HEART series is inspired by this positive experience. A metaphoric universe, the images are structured loosely on my internal raw energy cultivated by dance. These feminine and surreal images reflect a secret garden of fertile thoughts. The dancers are portrayed as monumental statues exuding strength and femininity.
Gabriel, whose birth name was Fransisco, lived in Assisi between 1838-62. He rejected the path of his professional family . Instead devoting himself to a pious life. His mother, an extremely religious woman, died when Fransisco was 4. Perhaps this led to his path of spirituality. Fransisco found strength in Our Lady of the Seven Sorrows. A meditation that helped guide him to the creation of the Passionists.
Pope Benedict XV canonized Fransisco as St. Gabriel of Our Lady of Sorrows. A name derived from the nick name the old ladies gave him in Italy “My angel, Gabriel”.
I didn’t start a religious order, but I made this art. Below left is my personal shrine to Our Lady of Sorrows, and my pious mother.
NONECK
Gifs are theoretical infinite loops, but any medium for playing them goes EOL eventually. Gifs are chronoglyphs, koans reduced to bits.
From June 19th 2017 to October 31st 2018, I posted a piece of work every day on my personal instagram. Originally, I posted daily pieces in order to force myself to learn programs like Cinema 4D and After Effects. As I worked harder and got more familiar with the programs I was working with, I felt myself trying to push what I was making further and further, making flashier and more complex renders each day. As I got busier in my personal life, thought, the prospect of a daily product that I posted every 24 hours instead of something that I could invest more time into became more of a burden in short bursts than a learning opportunity. I started to care less about building intricate scenes, and more on graphical elements that not only took a small amount of time to set up, but didn’t require huge time investments for my computer to render out. I cut corners, I posted work quickly just to check it off my list of chores, and the glow of inspiration the project originally held for me started to fade. Finally, October this year, I chose to end the project in order to more efficiently spend my time learning at a pace that doesn’t make me feel rushed, and allows me to experiment without guilting me into producing visuals. While it’s something I profoundly enjoyed and would encourage others to try, I didn’t find it to be something that could be sustained while also continuing to learn.
In quantum physics, decoherence refers to a process by which two components of a complex entity come to evolve independently from one another. This is one of the underlying themes explored with this series. Each print holds two states that cannot be seen at the same time but yet exist concurrently. They play with the limitations of visual perception and force the viewer to questions assumptions on reality.
In daylight, each print displays a composition of fine black lines. When exposed to UV light or in the dark, a second state appears revealing surfaces or volumes of light. Once both of those states have been witnessed, separately, the very first impression of the print cannot be reproduced as the sight of the second state affects the viewer irreversibly. The series therefore also reflects on the concept of entanglement, as one cannot see the print in a state without thinking of the other. The entanglement of the two states exists permanently in the viewer’s mind.
Earliest Memory is a living archive of people’s first recollections from all over the world. The archive is accessed through dialing the phone number 1-504-MEMORY-3. Callers can choose to hear a memory (randomly generated from the database) or to submit their own earliest memory in the form of a voicemail.
Listening to the archive reveals the different truths and questions unearthed by self-narratives. Some people relay a story—it is rehearsed, a kind of fable of self. Other people share memories that are more like distant impressions or flashes of consciousness, describing the sensation of water or the color of a carpet. Doubt often creeps into the recordings; it causes hesitations, or compels people to wonder aloud about the veracity of a detail. After hearing many memories, themes emerge. Some themes are predictable, like the birth of a sibling, others are more surprising, like the number of people that remember just sitting still and watching dust motes or snowflakes. Although based in “story,” the archive suggests something less linear—the overall ambiguity of memory seems to conjure different possible pasts and futures.