Shorelines
Erika Verzutti

Given that meaning is never fixed but always changing, Erika Verzutti experiments with the ethics of images.

We live in a world of fake news, photo manipulation and images circulating online without consent. Most of our daily experiences are filtered through the veil of social media as algorithms fluidly adapt to our interests and needs, creating a relentless stream of images.

Brought to a halt by a pandemic, our society consumes images and information at an unprecedented speed. As a result, it is impossible to keep up with what is real and that which is false creates fertile ground for political instrumentalization.

Although ethics should guide how we produce and share images, they are intrinsically subjective, contextual and fluid. And each individual perceives them differently.

How do we engage with this context, both as creators and consumers?
25.05.20
TUESDAY


Make up of the future, I mean, present
26.05.20
Picture I took in the movies
of #Bacurau the film
26.05.20
#braziliandystopia #forabolsonaro
26.05.20
MONDAY


Lucas Bourgeois Kardashian
25.05.20
Sunny Outside
25.05.20
Science, Research
25.05.20
25.05.20

Davide Stucchi

Absent bodies is an archive of soundtracks and recordings captured during the aggregation rituals of the fashion system: the catwalks. If there is something that has never changed in decades of eclectic evolution, it is that models walk. Walking knowing that you are being watched by an audience is an important factor, which continues to justify the presence of the catwalk as the focal point of a fashion show.

Each track is a collage–songs, camera shutters, the voices of the audience and finally the applause–which tries to reach those bodies that cannot be seen here. Absent bodies manifest themselves and can be heard moving. 7 soundscapes, an auditory-only fashion week, whose events span back and forth in time from 2000 to 2020.
24.05.20
Absent Bodies VII, Magliano, Fall 2020, 11'12"
24.05.20
Absent Bodies VI, GmbH, Fall 2019, 14’24”
23.05.20
Absent Bodies V, Prada, Spring 2013, 15'18"
22.05.20
Absent Bodies IV, Dior Homme, Fall 2013, 10'17"
21.05.20
Absent Bodies III, Moschino, Fall 2014, 12’10”
20.05.20
Absent Bodies II, Hermès, Fall 2016, 11'50"
19.05.20
Absent Bodies I, John Galliano, Fall 2000, 17'30"
18.05.20

aaajiao

Everything is a stream.
It's a mantra I've only just learned about responsive programming, and instead I'm a little concerned that it also seems to be claiming that everything can be generalized by data, that humans seem to be getting closer to the truth of our expectations, and that we have new tools. For me the truth is death, and for the human community, that is what truth really is.
17.05.20
Day 6

Come on, let's be players and we can still see the truth.
16.05.20
move the mouse pointer
16.05.20
Day 5

When we get into it, we may face a propaganda brainwashing like never before.

party
15.05.20
15.05.20
Day 4

In the BOT seeing, we're in the midst of the final media rampage.
14.05.20
14.05.20
Day 3

By becoming a user, we reconstruct the memory system in a BOT way.
13.05.20
13.05.20
Day 2

as User, We achieved time travel on a small scale.
12.05.20
12.05.20
Day 1

When we become users.
11.05.20
11.05.20
11.05.20

Yuri Pattison

Before things changed slowed stopped I was preparing a solo show for The Douglas Hyde Gallery in Dublin, due to open two weeks ago.

On March 23rd the UK entered a form of soft lockdown, ‘only go to your job if you cannot work from home’ being the official government guidance resulting in a fractured new normal with business as usual for many. Long before all of that I had already stopped going to the studio, the experience of friends in Hong Kong and mainland China made me very aware of what was about to happen. The future was postponed, portions of works in progress came home, we did what we could we do what we can.

An ongoing work, sunset provision, conceived for scenarios now alien, was reconfigured and went online as a preview for the dates TBC exhibition. Days began to run into one another, time passing took on new textures, dreams became vivid.

Over the coming week I will be posting screen recordings of this live work (details here) alongside connected memories and fragments from my archive.
A daily screen recording of sunset provision (2020 ~ ), produced for the engine, The Douglas Hyde Gallery, dates TBC. More information on the work here.
10.05.20
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10.05.20
Today:
who owns time?
10.05.20
10.05.20
10.05.20
A daily screen recording of sunset provision (2020 ~ ), produced for the engine, The Douglas Hyde Gallery, dates TBC. More information on the work here.
09.05.20
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09.05.20
Today:
* A synonym for the term destructive cult
09.05.20
09.05.20
A daily screen recording of sunset provision (2020 ~ ), produced for the engine, The Douglas Hyde Gallery, dates TBC. More information on the work here.
08.05.20
uRADMonitor A3 82000204 - HW:108 SW:75 8.00MHz


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08.05.20
Today:
deep deoptimization,
08.05.20
08.05.20
A daily screen recording of sunset provision (2020 ~ ), produced for the engine, The Douglas Hyde Gallery, dates TBC. More information on the work here.
07.05.20
uRADMonitor A3 82000204 - HW:108 SW:75 8.00MHz


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07.05.20
07.05.20
07.05.20
A daily screen recording of sunset provision (2020 ~ ), produced for the engine, The Douglas Hyde Gallery, dates TBC. More information on the work here.
06.05.20
uRADMonitor A3 82000202 - HW:108 SW:75 8.00MHz


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06.05.20
Today: Thinking about the future of time.

"Before time became standardized, clock masters used “True Time”. The day work began and ended with the sun. This time period was divided into 12 equal hours. This meant that these hours would vary with the seasons, as the length of daylight changed. Each town would have their own variance of this “True Time”. Eventually, cities adopted “Mean Time”, which is how we think of time nowadays. Astronomers used the Earth's rotation and the stars to calculate the time, and divided the day into 24 uniform and equal hours. Geneva was the first city to adopt mean time in 1780, followed by London in 1792, Berlin in 1810, Paris in 1816, and Vienna in 1823"

Slow/Elastic/End/times
06.05.20
06.05.20
06.05.20
A daily screen recording of sunset provision (2020 ~ ), produced for the engine, The Douglas Hyde Gallery, dates TBC. More information on the work here.ss
05.05.20
uRADMonitor A3 82000204 - HW:108 SW:75 8.00MH


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05.05.20
today: modelling the future ~
who are the "superforecasters";
the architects?;
the citizens?

www.youtube.com/watch?v=XbJOlOSjeJk
05.05.20
05.05.20
A daily screen recording of sunset provision (2020 ~ ), produced for the engine, The Douglas Hyde Gallery, dates TBC. More information on the work here.
04.05.20
uRADMonitor A3 82000204 - HW:108 SW:75 8.00MHz


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04.05.20
Today: memories of the kind of sunsets, coloured by industry, that scratch the throat.
04.05.20
04.05.20



Magali Reus

A couple of weeks before my sculptures were destined to ship to Dallas for my exhibition at The Nasher Sculpture Center (the making of which had been absorbing most of my time and mind over the past 12 months), it became evident that due to escalating global crisis, this would no longer be happening on the initially planned date of April 15.

I am currently in Amsterdam, self-isolating in a small apartment. With the Rijksmuseum closed and only 2 minutes away, it sometimes feels as though the ghosts of the museum have drifted into my living space.

The domestic has become a new framework upon which my new routine hangs: work is imagined through virtual means, the fruit bowl a new appendage or extension of nature’s gracious bounty, the windows an interrogative portrait of people-at-home, my neighbours, who perform in pantomime the same mirrored gestures as myself. Early morning coffee is a triumph and time continues its mysterious progressions through light and dark.

During the forthcoming 7 days, I will share some of the works currently left behind in my London studio. Virtually re-imagined as simulacra versions of their real finished selves, these depictions are projected shells, pieces of proxy emotion and identity who take the roles of substance, weight, shadow and colour and perform them with new intent, with new desperation to convince that the world of touch is not erased, but simply paused until we can welcome it with greater responsibility. Our worlds are often held intact by the great electric grid of consumer product; here these worlds combine and move together, equal comic protagonists in a rearranging of personal matter.

Alongside these virtual renders I will also be sharing other sources of inspiration and reflection: fragments, words, images and thoughts of others that propose human buoyancy and great elasticity of spirit.

Day 7. Sunday
03.05.20
Grain of Wind, 2020
(with mop and bucket)
Please use cursor for 360 degree viewing
03.05.20
Napolina, chopped tomatoes in rich tomato juice, 400g
03.05.20
Apricots, 2020
(with toilet roll)
03.05.20
Biona, pinto beans, 400g
03.05.20
Hammock, 2020
(with bath towel)
03.05.20
La Gondola, sardines in marinated sauce, 120g
03.05.20
The Greenest Grass, 2020
(with casual clothing)
03.05.20
Connétable, sardines à l’ancienne, à l’huile de olive vierge extra au citron, 120g

03.05.20

Day 6. Saturday



Still Life
Karen Archey
April 2020



The first was Corwin. He came in, unannounced, hitching a ride in on some fresh oregano I’d just plucked from the garden. I was making caponata for lunch.

“TWENTY SECONDS,” recited J, my German partner, who was unloading groceries and sanitizing his hands after every item he touched. “You know the virus can live up to 24 hours on cardboard? THREE DAYS on plastic?”
I grunted with approval. He retreated to the safety of his home office, promising to resurface shortly for lunch.
I washed the oregano and prepared to chop it for my caponata mélange. The moment I reached for my knife Corwin shimmied out of the bundle of herbs: a flash of beige in the green, a realization of slime. This is how Corwin wriggled his way into our lives.
With affection I put him on the kitchen windowsill atop some vegetable scraps on a paper towel, vowing to build him an environment later. His tendril-like eyes peered up at me as if to ask, “Are you a bird, sent to kill me?” No, little Corwin, you are home.


Habitat building for backyard discoveries is written into suburbanite DNA, mine included. Though learning this tool of the cul-de-sac trade is generally relegated to certain periods in life marked by wide-open days and an unmitigated (if short-lived) curiosity for one’s everyday environment. For most of us this means childhood, spare certain periods of extreme quiet in adulthood, which in my experience are generally only marked by crisis or failure, or at least a seismic shift. My friend Mari told me about a prominent Turkish philanthropist and human rights activist, Osman Kavala, who had been jailed by the Erdogan government for made-up charges. During his time in prison he found two snails that he cared for over the course of months, and later gave them to his lawyer as he was released from prison. Before he could return home, upon his release he was immediately re-arrested for different, equally made-up charges, losing his snails and last semblance of joie de vivre alongside his freedom.

Sometimes life is still. In my case a dozen years ago, the stillness came through an uprooting. Having just graduated from college, I spent the summer of 2008 at an art residency in rural Pennsylvania with no internet, hanging out with bored artists and the residency owner’s ten-year-old son. One day later in the summer we collected every frog from the residency pond, the owner of which happened to be an avid naturalist. (That move was not a win, you see, as the frogs were in mating season.) After being read the riot act for disturbing frog sex I was permitted to keep one tadpole, a giant hunter green tapioca bubble with a tail. He was named Peabody, after the nickname of the frog-expert residency master. Much to the dismay of the linen-clad residency owners, in a feat of brand-identity-treachery I had been frequenting the local Walmart in my pick-up truck for snacks. Peabody inherited as his new home a plastic Utz pretzel container, vacuum-formed to look like a barrel and filled with pond water and a lily pad. Over the next three months, Peabody grew from a tadpole to a pollywog, and then a full-fledged frog. His Utz barrel strapped into the front seat of my father’s pick-up truck, he accompanied me from Pennsylvania back to my parent’s house in rural Ohio, where I contemplated my next moves after university against the backdrop of the looming Great Recession.
02.05.20
02.05.20
In the rhythm of a structureless evening, hours pass by: caponata eaten, reality TV watched, bath taken, ceiling stared at. “FUUUUUUUCK,” I cried. My partner—who has built up a dramatic jumpiness over the years from frequently sleeping while being on call at his night shift job—jumped, vigorously. It dawned on me that I had left the snail on the windowsill five hours earlier.
“Shit! I forgot something important on the windowsill.” I had a penchant for being cryptic in moments of urgency.
“What…important? The vegetable scraps? I threw those away.”
“You didn’t see the snail in there! SHIT!”
“Oh. I thought you were protesting the trash can and just decided to lay vegetable scraps next to it rather than inside it. I threw them away.”
“You MURDERED a snail!”
Immediately rifling through the garbage we found the small terrestrial gastropod mollusk crawling out of the half-full can, making it almost to the brim. It may have taken a few hours but Corwin had managed to find his way out from under lunch and dinner debris and almost on his way to kitchen freedom. “Resilient little guy, isn’t he?” J remarked.
It’s easy to like Corwin. Something about the unusual quickness and activity of this snail is easily anthropomorphized as verve—Corwin’s got style.
After some deliberation, it was decided against a standard-sized pickle jar with a single dandelion leaf—that would be too akin to a jail cell—opting instead for a more roomy, globe-like flower vase that came with a 1-800-FLOWERS bouquet that my mom tele-sent for my birthday. We filled it with weeds and the oregano that Corwin surfed in on, which through days of careful study we interpreted to be his favorite. We found ourselves retrieving untold kilos of soil with cerulean Ikea bags at a neighborhood mound of “gratis teelaarde” dropped off behind a Bijlmer high-rise by a local farmer. J lovingly microwaved the soil before introducing it to the flower vase for fear of contaminating our beloved snail with disease. The large blown glass, globe-like shape of the terrarium likened it to a looking glass or crystal ball. The hours we spent gazing through this lens to an even more still life were in search of the unanswerable questions that peppered the past weeks of uncertainty: When will I see my mother again? Will anyone I love get sick? What will work be like when the museum is allowed to reopen? Will my sourdough attempts ever fully rise?
J is an anxious snail father, and greets each morning with a new concern. Investigative Googling soon commenced, “WHAT DO SNAILS EAT?” “SNAIL FAVORITE FOODS.” “SNAIL LÖWENZAHN.” “SNAILS SLUGGISH?” “SNAILS TERRARIUM VENTILATION.” “SNAILS CO2 TERRARIUM VENTILATION.” “SNAIL HOUSE-BUILDING NEEDS.” “SNAIL REPRODUCTION.” “SNAIL POOP OR SNAIL BABIES?” “SNAIL FOAM DISTRESS SIGNAL.”
Our daily walks, which heretofore had come to define the most “social” part of our days, became snail-finding missions. Second came Med-19 (named in honor of my favorite, very sassy, childhood pet cat “Mediterranean,” who T.S. Eliot certainly would’ve classified as a “glamour cat.” Admittedly we skipped Med-2 through 18.) Then there was Edoard Magellan. Then Seven of Tine (we had been watching Star Trek, and this snail was small—tiny, barely perceptible even, and very soon and unfortunately lost during a moss change-out. God bless Seven of Tine, wherever she may be.) Then came Herma (actually not named after our neighbor, if she is reading this). Then Big Bertha, who as you might guess, was quite large. We unearthed branches and turned up logs, plucking them off the underside of the decomposing bark and the brick wall behind some ivy. They had slimed themselves over in the winter to hibernate, emerging as dark, dangerously dehydrated, and extremely hungry. Waking up hibernating snails became a sort of guilty expertise, shadowed by the feeling that our terraria may not be as plush or necessary as we would like to think—for snails, at least in Dutch and German, already have houses.
02.05.20
An excess of time can result in an unprecedented and undesirable amount of introspection. Though imposed rather than chosen, quarantine feels eerily akin to ennui. The guilt inherent in adjusting to a lower activity and productivity level is difficult to untangle from a more purposeful self-isolation and other telltale signs of depression—or at least this is what my therapist tells me over Skype. I wonder if the Dutch masters started painting their rotting fruit and tulips due to an abundance of time, studying the class-aspirational flora and fauna brought into their kitchens. I imagine day-to-day life to be similarly still in the 17th century, a period that we must not anymore call the “Golden Age” as it marked the dawn of global capitalism and the subjection of millions of people to colonial terror. In a way it’s these centuries-dead gentlemen rooting the globe for coffee and spices who are responsible for getting us in the situation we’re in now—truly at home nowhere, miserable for a lack of work, upended by free time.
Having confessed an outsized sense of ennui, and my confusing new snail protectorate, my friend Mari gently suggested that maybe what I’m experiencing—what we’re collectively experiencing—is not boredom or ennui, but actually grief. To feel grief you must have lost something that you had greatly valued, and the process of grieving is one of re-evaluating the self in relationship to and without that thing, whether it be a partner, pet or parent. Or more abstractly, an opportunity—a long-planned exhibition, commission, or even the loss of a lifestyle. A curator’s life of around-the-globe budget air travel to attend biennials or give short lectures seems all but over, which is a forfeiture we should be able to live with. But the fact that today all talks, screenings, performances, protests and other forms of public assembly weigh physical health against what could be described as spiritual health for the creative non-religious, is both truly crushing and inevitable. And yet many of us are attempting to carry on as “normal” as possible, supplanting exhibitions and art fairs to the internet. This behavior seems to miss the point that—barring art actually intended for the internet—the internet is really just a supplement, and no replacement for aesthetic experience and interpersonal interaction. Yet I empathize with all of us grasping at straws. The pandemic is not a momentary setback, but surely a historical moment that will disrupt our lives and business-as-usual for years to come. The issue with mourning the abstract is that it’s difficult to tell what you’ve actually lost and when you’ve lost it, and the result is an anxious white noise.
My last few weeks have been defined by reshuffling my long-held understanding of the sequence of my own life events while wading through practical tasks: updating spreadsheets and proposals, coaching relatives on canceling hotels and AirBnbs, asking for venue deposits back, sending out a morose cancellation email on saccharinely twee Paperless Post stationery designed to look like real papyrus. Shudder. As the sense of productivity I’d assigned to my own life sifts through my fingers, I had tried to hold onto the almost Calvinist notion that this will somehow make me stronger. As if pandemics exist to deliver individual life lessons.


It is our sixth week of snail-keeping, and since I’ve started writing this essay we’ve taken in two more snails whose shells we accidentally damaged while trimming our ivy hedge, quarantining them in a new hospital ward. Corwin and the gang have nearly doubled their size, and while we take this as a good sign, we toy daily with the idea of setting them free.
For me, the novelty of our snail family admittedly fades and reignites in leaps and starts; for J, he continues to be enraptured with equal turns of delight and fear. He has become an expert in filtering out conflicting information on snail-keeping from Google. We have graduated the snails to an EXO-TERRA FAUNARIUM, a plastic terrarium with proper ventilation slats, given J’s concerns about CO2 build-up in the bottom of the flower vase. The looking-glass character of the habitat gone, the snails feel more like an elementary school science project than a contemplative still life. The old glass vase is back in the garden next to the fateful oregano, still filled with microwaved dirt and covered in snail turds shaped in the letter “u.”
02.05.20
02.05.20

Day 5. Friday
01.05.20
Beetle, (West), 2020
01.05.20
Beetle, (South), 2020
01.05.20
Beetle (East), 2020
01.05.20
Beetle (North), 2020
01.05.20
Day 4. Thursday
30.04.20
Poetry by Jack Underwood, Happiness, Faber & Faber. ISBN 978-0-571-31361-7
30.04.20
Jack Underwood, "Happines", in Happiness, Faber & Faber. ISBN 978-0-571-31361-7
30.04.20
Jack Underwood, "Spring", in Happiness, Faber & Faber. ISBN 978-0-571-31361-7
30.04.20
Jack Underwood, "The Good Morrow", in Happiness, Faber & Faber. ISBN 978-0-571-31361-7
30.04.20
Jack Underwood, "My Steak", in Happiness, Faber & Faber. ISBN 978-0-571-31361-7
30.04.20
Jack Underwood, "Letter of Health", in Happiness, Faber & Faber. ISBN 978-0-571-31361-7
30.04.20
Jack Underwood, "Love Poem to Myself", in Happiness, Faber & Faber. ISBN 978-0-571-31361-7
30.04.20
Day 3. Wednesday
29.04.20
Clay (Mushrooms), 2020 - Please hold down cursor for enlargement
29.04.20
Clay (Fiber and Leaf), 2020 - Please hold down cursor for enlargement
29.04.20
Clay (Wolf), 2020 - Please hold down cursor for enlargement
29.04.20
Clay (Mist), 2020 - Please hold down cursor for enlargement
29.04.20
29.04.20
Day 2. Tuesday
28.04.20
28.04.20
Day 1. Monday
27.04.20
Bonelight (Cascade), 2020
27.04.20
Bonelight (Autumn Glory), 2020
27.04.20
Bonelight (Midsweet), 2020
27.04.20
Bonelight (Quinault), 2020

Works courtesy Magali Reus. 3D animation: Adam Sinclair. 3D modelling: Joseph Hazelwood-Horner


27.04.20
29.04.20


Rindon Johnson

7-7-7

I don’t have much to say right now, it isn’t my job to say very much right now. When we realized we would be inside, I set up the live stream in the living room. For this week, my family and I drew on a half cow and I cut it in 7 pieces, I’ll put it back together day by day. I’ve got 7 cuts from the nets and 7 questions too. Here some spare questions: What exists in the continuous present? We can’t just make and make and make and expect to make our way out of this? Can we? Let something sit in the sun for a long while, hang some things up and just look at them? Where was I? Who needs help?
The live streaming is no longer available

Waiting to touch the skin of a stranger. 52°31'N / 13°23'E, UTC +2
20.04.20
7. Sunday
Neither, not nothing?
16:57:11, 52°31'N / 13°23'E, UTC +2
26.04.20
The John Wright Trio, South Side Soul, 1960
26.04.20
6. Saturday
If I don’t ask how will I understand?
17:43:49, 52°31'N / 13°23'E, UTC +2
25.04.20
Lee Konitz at Storyville, 1954
25.04.20
5. Friday
How didn’t we end up here?
17:21:24, 52°31'N / 13°23'E, UTC +2
24.04.20
Elizabeth Cotten, pt 1
24.04.20
4. Thursday
What separates us from them?
18:27:11, 52°31'N / 13°23'E, UTC +2
23.04.20
Connie Converse, Talkin' Like You (Two Tall Mountains)
23.04.20
3. Wednesday
What was normal?
16:41:53, 52°31'N / 13°23'E, UTC +2
22.04.20
Exuma - Live Concert on Soul! PBS TV, 1972
22.04.20
2. Tuesday
Is the dog the brother of the fox?
15:36:16, 52°31'N / 13°23'E, UTC +2
21.04.20
Cab Calloway and His Cotton Club Orchestra, Reefer Man, 1931
21.04.20
1. Monday
Time, the people’s will?
11:37:56, 52°31'N / 13°23'E, UTC +2
20.04.20
Yasmin Williams, Restless Heart, 2019. Night Owl | NPR Music
20.04.20


Formafantasma

Day 7
Sending a whatsapp message - So far away so close - 0.02 g CO2

We distanced ourselves from the world, but we are equally rooted in it. Human pervasiveness on the planet goes beyond our bodies. Digital tools allow us to recreate lost proximity with other humans but invisibly extends our presence on Earth far beyond our homes.

Seven posts documenting seven digital daily actions we are increasingly doing while in lockdown and their outcome in the environment.

*The CO2 equivalent grams reported are to be considered an approximation. The figure is derived from the average file size downloaded/uploaded expressed in GB is then converted in KWh using a factor of 0,5KWh/GB (extracted from an average considering 14 studies in the last 20 years). The result is converted in gCO2 with an estimate of 505.2 gCO2/kWh from the European Environmental Agency for the Netherlands in 2016.


19.04.20
18.04.20
Day 6
Having 30 minutes of conference call - 222 g CO2

Having 30 minute of conference call - 222 g CO2
We distanced ourselves from the world, but we are equally rooted in it. Human
pervasiveness on the planet goes beyond our bodies. Digital tools allow us to recreate lost proximity with other humans but invisibly extends our presence on Earth far beyond our homes.

Seven posts documenting seven digital daily actions we are increasingly doing while in lockdown and their outcome in the environment

*The CO2 equivalent grams reported are to be considered an approximation. The figure is derived from the average file size downloaded/uploaded expressed in GB is then converted in KWh using a factor of 0,5KWh/GB (extracted from an average considering 14 studies in the last 20 years). The result is converted in gCO2 with an estimate of 505.2 gCO2/kWh from the European Environmental Agency for the Netherlands in 2016.


18.04.20
17.04.20
Day 5
Reading an ebook - Donna Haraway, Staying with the trouble, 2016 - 1.5 g CO2


We distanced ourselves from the world, but we are equally rooted in it. Human pervasiveness on the planet goes beyond our bodies. Digital tools allow us to recreate lost proximity with other humans but invisibly extend our presence on Earth far beyond our homes.

Seven posts documenting seven digital daily actions we are increasingly doing while in lockdown and their outcome in the environment.

*The CO2 equivalent grams reported are to be considered an approximation. The figure is derived from the average file size downloaded/uploaded expressed in GB is then converted in KWh using a factor of 0,5KWh/GB (extracted from an average considering 14 studies in the last 20 years). The result is converted in gCO2 with an estimate of 505.2 gCO2/kWh from the European Environmental Agency for the Netherlands in 2016.


17.04.20
16.04.20
Day 4
Watching a movie - Teorema, Pier Paolo Pasolini, 1968 - 738 g CO2

We distanced ourselves from the world, but we are equally rooted in it. Human pervasiveness on the planet goes beyond our bodies. Digital tools allow us to recreate lost proximity with other humans but invisibly extends our presence on Earth far beyond our homes.

Seven posts documenting seven digital daily actions we are increasingly doing while in lockdown and their outcome in the environment.

*The CO2 equivalent grams reported are to be considered an approximation. The figure is derived from the average file size downloaded/uploaded expressed in GB is then converted in KWh using a factor of 0,5KWh/GB (extracted from an average considering 14 studies in the last 20 years). The result is converted in gCO2 with an estimate of 505.2 gCO2/kWh from the European Environmental Agency for the Netherlands in 2016.


16.04.20
15.04.20
Day 3
Listening to music with Spotify - Città Vuota, Mina - 1963 - 1g CO2

We distanced ourselves from the world, but we are equally rooted in it. Human pervasiveness on the planet goes beyond our bodies. Digital tools allow us to recreate lost proximity with other humans but invisibly extends our presence on Earth far beyond our homes.

Seven posts documenting seven digital daily actions we are increasingly doing while in lockdown and their outcome in the environment.

*The CO2 equivalent grams reported are to be considered an approximation. The figure is derived from the average file size downloaded/uploaded expressed in GB is then converted in KWh using a factor of 0,5KWh/GB (extracted from an average considering 14 studies in the last 20 years). The result is converted in gCO2 with an estimate of 505.2 gCO2/kWh from the European Environmental Agency for the Netherlands in 2016.


15.04.20
14.04.20
Day 2
Posting this photo on your IG - 0.5 g CO2


We distanced ourselves from the world, but we are equally rooted in it. Human pervasiveness on the planet goes beyond our bodies. Digital tools allow us to recreate lost proximity with other humans but invisibly extends our presence on Earth far beyond our homes.

Seven posts documenting seven digital daily actions we are increasingly doing while in lockdown and their outcome in the environment.

*The CO2 equivalent grams reported are to be considered an approximation. The figure is derived from the average file size downloaded/uploaded expressed in GB is then converted in KWh using a factor of 0,5KWh/GB (extracted from an average considering 14 studies in the last 20 years). The result is converted in gCO2 with an estimate of 505.2 gCO2/kWh from the European Environmental Agency for the Netherlands in 2016.


14.04.20
13.04.20
Day 1
Sending an email - 0,2 g CO2

We distanced ourselves from the world, but we are equally rooted in it. Human pervasiveness on the planet goes beyond our bodies. Digital tools allow us to recreate lost proximity with other humans but invisibly extend our presence on Earth far beyond our homes.

Seven posts documenting seven digital daily actions we are increasingly doing while in lockdown and their outcome in the environment.

*The CO2 equivalent grams reported are to be considered an approximation. The figure is derived from the average file size downloaded/uploaded expressed in GB is then converted in KWh using a factor of 0,5KWh/GB (extracted from an average considering 14 studies in the last 20 years). The result is converted in gCO2 with an estimate of 505.2 gCO2/kWh from the European Environmental Agency for the Netherlands in 2016.


13.04.20

Jenna Sutela

Belly / Box / House / Bundle

Borrowing its title from Ursula K. Le Guin’s The Carrier Bag Theory of Fiction (1986), Jenna Sutela’s selection of video, sound, texts and images—including two of her original works—presents meditations on interspecies and species experience during the pandemic.
12.04.20


Jenna Sutela, Let's Play: Life, 2015
Voice: Steven Phillips-Horst
12.04.20
Based on the Let’s Play commentary format, the audio piece Let’s Play: Life depicts a computer playing through the Game of Life, which is a cellular automaton that simulates systems in the real world.

12.04.20
Arakawa and Gins, Bioscleave House (Lifespan Extending Villa), completed in 2008
11.04.20
“As you step into this house fully believe that you are walking into your own immune system.”
—From the introductory leaflet for Bioscleave House (Lifespan Extending Villa) by Arakawa and Madeline Gins.

While our world just shrank into the confines of houses, cities, countries, and continents, it also expanded to involve all of us in the same airspace, under the same condition—one humanity, interconnected with the wider environment.
11.04.20
Anne Boyer's “This Virus” on Mirabilary, March 10, 2020
10.04.20


Gregory Whitehead: A World of Lips, 1992
10.04.20
"The problem with bodies is the reason for antibodies, and the problem with antibodies is no body at all."
10.04.20

Markus J. Buehler, Coronavirus spike protein spectra including interaction with human ACE2 receptor, 2020
09.04.20
Listen to the virus! A sonic comparison between two different coronavirus protein spikes. The one heard second, with a lower frequency spectrum, is from COVID-19.
09.04.20
Venkatesh Rao's “Plot Economics” on Ribbonfarm, March 9, 2020
08.04.20
Michael Marder in The New York Times, March 3, 2020


08.04.20
Hayao Miyazaki, Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind, 1984
07.04.20
At the outset of Hayao Miyazaki’s Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind (1984). Princess Nausicaä is shown under a transparent eye lens from the exoskeleton of an Ohmu, a giant creature existing in the Sea of Corruption, a toxic ecosystem taking over the world. She is watching deadly spores fall like snowflakes around her, seeing nature from multiple perspectives, including that of Ohmus.

07.04.20


Jenna Sutela, Holobiont, 2018

Featuring: Tarren Johnson, Nile Koetting, Ming Lin, and Colin Self

Planetary Protection: Gerhard Kminek and Life, Physical Sciences and Life Support Laboratory at the European Space Agency

Ferments: Markus Shimizu



Camera and Video Editing: Mikko Gaestel

Sound Editing: Martti Kalliala

Recording: Ville Haimala, Adam Laschinger, and Gold Mountain



Supported by Kone Foundation and expanding on a performance for Serpentine Marathon 2017.
Thank you Ella Plevin and Elvia Wilk



The video Holobiont considers the idea of embodied cognition on a planetary scale, featuring a zoom from outer space to inside the gut. It documents Planetary Protection rituals at the European Space Agency and explores extremophilic bacteria in fermented foods as possible distributors of life between the stars. Bacillus subtilis, the nattō bacterium, plays a leading role. The term “holobiont” stands for an entity made of many species, all inseparably linked in their ecology and evolution.



06.04.20

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