Grennan & Sperandio – looking for ‘reality’ in the world of art

invisible city - a comic book project by grennan and sperandio

Deitch Projects – the gallery of uber-art-scenester Jeffrey Deitch – is launching ARTSTAR, a reality TV show based on the lives and practises of contemporary artists:

ARTSTAR is the first-ever unscripted television series set in the New York art world. Selected from this open call, eight artists will have the opportunity to participate in a group exhibition at Deitch Projects, and may have a chance to land their own solo exhibition with Deitch Projects. ARTSTAR will document these eight artists as they interact with leading critics, collectors, curators and artists in New York, while making new artworks as part of a historic collaborative exhibition at Deitch Projects.

My first response is glee, as I’d imagine the programmes would be a glorious litany of tantrums, egos, posing and naked desire. But looking through the (limited) information on the website, I see that Christopher Sperandio, part of the artistic partnership Grennan & Sperandio, is listed as an executive producer.

I’ve long been a fan of their work, which involves an almost ethnographic immersion into an exisiting community, with the final artwork as a collaborative production with people from the community. Recently, their work has focused on comic books that illustrate the lives of people in specific communities. They did a version of this project with people in York for the Photo 98 festival, when I was production manager at Impressions Gallery.

The comic books are perfect vehicles for the vernacular stories they uncover, and are seen as mainstream products, distributed by Fantagraphics or DC as well. In the light of Sperandio’s involvement, ARTSTAR is an extension of their practise, using another vernacular vehicle – the reality TV show – to uncover the invisible lives and stories of a particular community – the NY art scene.

The success may hinge on whether this is as empowering an intervention as most of their work. Starting with their ground-breaking contribution to the show ‘Culture in Action’, where they worked with the unionized employees of a Chicago chocolate factory to design and market their own chocolate bar, their work has used cultural production as a tool of empowerment. Will ARTSTAR do the same? We will see artists taking power of the medium to wrest control of the artworld’s economic hierarchy? Or will it just focus on the most telegenic spats and hissy fits and synch them to a retro-punk-funk soundtrack?

We Go It - a collaborative art project by Grennan & Sperandio

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A taxonomy of humour – what nurses can teach us about classification

In Geoffrey Bowker and Susan Starr’s excellent book Sorting Things Out, they investigate the creation of the Nursing Interventions Classifcation (NIC) by a group of nurses in Iowa. The NIC was created to address the lack of visibility and accountability of nursing work in hospitals. As information technology became widespread within hospitals, nursing work needed a standardised vocabulary in order to be adequately recognised and compensated by hospital authorities. This was resisted by some nursing professionals, who argued for a more flexible taxonomy that preserved the ‘natural’ language of nurses.

This illlustrates well the issues currently being raised by the growth of informal tagging and taxonomy infrastructures in services like delicious and flickr. Some commentators have hailed these informal or ‘folk’ taxonomies as a revolution in classification methodology, whilst others, like Danah Boyd, have argued that ‘folksonomies’ don’t help taxonomists address questions about the meaning and impact of classification:

Folksonomy isn’t asking the questions about the implications of collective action classification. Who benefits? Who becomes marginalized? What priorities bubble up? How does pressure to homogenize affect the schema and the people involved? How are some people hurt or offended by decisions that are made? Should moderation of classifications occur? If so, what are the consequences?

This is precisely the tension described by Bowker and Star. Their book investigates the interface between the ideology and practise of classification, and how this affects professional and social behaviour. One of their central themes is ‘invisible work’ – the act which creates taxonomies, like history, but is not represented in the final outcome. The NIC is an attempt to make the invisible work of nurses visible, but also to keep the process as visible as possible, via workshops with nurses around the US, and regularly revisions via contributions and conferences.

It is this visibility that is lauded in folksonomies, with wikipedia being the prime example. The exponential network effects of the internet enable mass vernacular collaboration, and systems that can make visible the creation and revision of taxonomies that are simultaneously ‘in play’ as working infrastructures. Does this represent a revolution in classification processes? Does this visibility allow people to resolve the tensions inherent in any taxonomical structure, or make its implementation any more effective?

One of the most contentious issues in the NIC was the classification of social functions, such as ‘mood management’ (preparing a patient for grief or stress before an operation) and even ‘humour’. How could humour be represented in a taxonomy? How could you reimburse or measure it? The resulting classification might help to make visible this work, but it sits uneasily as a classification, as illustrated by this exercept:

ACTIVITIES:
Determine the types of humour appreciated by the patient
Determine the patient’s typical response to humour
Determine the time of day that patient is most receptive
Select humourous materials that create moderate arousal for the individual
Encourage silliness and playfulness

Are these useful classifications? Who do they best help? The practising nurse or the administrator? Do you think these descriptions could be productive for a conversation between the two? Or would they perhaps impose artificial boundaries on the improvisational nature of this kind of care?

Perhaps this illustrates the limit of folksonomies – they are only useful in a context in which nothing is at stake. Folksonomies are, in essence, just vernacular vocabularies; the ad-hoc languages of intimate networks. They have existed as long as language itself, but have been limited to the intimate networks that created them. At the point in which something is at stake, either within that network or due to its engagement with other networks (legal, financial, political, etc) vernacular communication will harden into formal taxonomy, and in this process some of its slipperiness and playfulness will be lost.

Digital networks have massively increased the scale of the intimate networks we can potentially create, and therefore have increased the number of participants that can create and share ad-hoc vocabularies. The internet has created tools that preserve the loosely-connected, the playful, the ad-hoc, vernacular, or amateur – the conditions of the infinite, rather than the finite game.

But this is a revolution of scale, not the erasure of tension between formality and informality. That boundary still exists, and will be just as sharp, if not sharper, as it will be negotiated between thousands, rather than a handful, of participants. Whilst folksonomies are used to create loose taxonomies of leisure pursuits (photography, music, websites, tv, etc) there is little at stake, and even a participant group measured in millions can happily share these loose infrastructures. And yes, there are business models that have been made possible by the exponential increase in scale that would have been untenable before digital networks transformed our intimate relationships. But this is an increase in scale of an already existing set of behaviours, not a new set of behaviours in themselves.

Bowker and Star identify three values that are in competition within classfication structures: comparability, visibility and control. Folksonomies have elevated visibility, but at the expense of comparability (being able to translate classifications across taxonomies or contexts) and control (the ability of the classification to limit interpretation, rather than interpret ’emergent’ behaviour). Whilst nothing is at stake, and there is little lost by not being able to transfer taxonomies from one context to the other, or users are not disadvantaged by the need to independently assess and contextualise meaning, folksonomies will provide a useful service.

At what point will visibility not be enough for these emerging folksonomies? Jimmy Wales has already discussed spinning off ‘hard’ versions of wikipedia, so that users who are less interested in playfulness and more interested in authority can feel more secure using the service. As a purely social service, Flickr might be able to stay playful for longer, without users worrying too much about the uses and abuses of classification.

This, then is the question we need to ask of folksonomies – how revolutionary is the ability to play? What are the real benefits to users? What are the costs? And more importantly, who is able to play, and who is excluded?

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Fenway Park

As Megnut (had) said – would you fucking believe it?

I’m a huge Boston Red Sox fan, despite being born and bred in England. Its a long story, but I started playing Baseball the same time that Channel 4 in the UK showed the ’86 WS, with the Sox and the Mets. I chose the Sox, wept at Bill Buckner, and was destined to join the Nation for the rest of my days…

Beyond what anyone dared hope, the Sox overturned a 3-0 Yankees lead in the best-of-seven ALCS finals to win 4-3 and go to the World Series for the first time since 1986, and to give them a chance for their first WS win since 1918.

Is it finally time to lift the curse?

In celebration, i’ve posted up some pictures I took at Fenway Park in 2002. I shot them using a 3200 film, for maximum contrast and grain. Here are my favourites, with more at my flickr site.

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ingenious

autochrome from 1910.jpg

Ingenious is a new website from the NMSI – the consortium of UK museums that includes the Science Museum, National Museum of Photography, Film & TV, and the National Railway Museum. Its got an interesting mix of articles, images and debates that are structured on a kind of ‘ican’ style participation curve, from READ to DEBATE to SEE to CREATE.

There’s a lot of good stuff in there, particularly the photography collctions from the NMPFT, where the lovely autochrome of a young girl above comes from. Its from 1910, but looks strangely contemporary, almost like a faded kodachrome from the 1970’s.

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I love bees

Remember ‘The Beast’? the game that was secretly launched around the movie AI? It seems that there is another similar augemented reality game currently being developed, and the rumour is that it is linked to the launch of Halo 2 on the xbox.

go to ilovebees for the mysterious launch pad for the project, and this message board to catch up on the game’s progress. At the moment, players are converging at a number of GPS points across the US, where they are expecting something related to the game to take place. Although there is equal scepticism that this is just a large puzzle publicising Halo 2, and not a fuly-fledged Augmented Reality puzzle at all. I’m sure all will be revealed over the net few days…

Cloudmakers, the group site for people solving The Beast, is a great resource for online/AR gaming.

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Metadata and music

Dan Hill points to this marvellous article from harlem.org on how the amount of information we have about the music we listen to is decreasing rapidly as we embrace digital formats. We’ve gone from the LP, with the luxurious space for liner notes, credits and shout-outs, to the bare few lines of metadata in the itunes database, often only containing artist, title, and release date, and often factually incorrect.

This boils down to a trade-off between access and serendipity. In order to increase access, we streamline the product to its bare minimum – an optimised algorithm of ones and zeroes. But serendipity is about getting snagged on the extraneous data, about following the forking paths that link one item to the next.

This isn’t just a romantic paen to the esoteric pleasures of old vinyl. When I was more actively collecting records, I used to recognise producers from albums I liked, and take that as a hint for new discoveries. Beat-diggers often value the producer or label over the artist, as they are the more responsible for the particular qualities that make a good break than the person playing the instrument.

I remember first realising that a lot of records I loved on the Cadet label – from Terry Callier, Rotary Connection and Minnie Riperton – where produced by Charles Stepney in the late ’60s and early ’70s. I started to look for Stepney’s credits on records in second-hand stores, and recognised his epic, experimental production style on tracks from compilations. In this case, Charles Stepney was the key bit of metadata, the root connecting me to lots of other interesting artists. In fact, he actually created Rotary Connection as a front for his studio experiments. How would you come across this information without being able to pore over music sleeves, etc?

Ok, so this is still a real minority interest, and most users are more than satisfied by being able to type ‘Coldplay’ into a search box and downloading the results, but the products of these twisting paths of metadata sometimes find their way back into the mainstream. Beat-digging has returned the forgotten contributions of visionaries like David Axelrod and Galt MacDermot to public attention, whilst the huge amounts of beats sourced from obscure music library records from the 60’s and 70’s has gained long-overdue credit for artists like Alan Hawkshaw, Nino Nardini and Cecil Leuter. Metada isn’t just about search, but about noise. The more there is, the more signals you can extract from it.

My favourite music-medata discovery? After a long search, I managed to track down a copy of Labi Siffre’s rare album ‘Remember My Song’ for the killer track ‘I Got The…’, which has a *huge* break sampled by, among others, Eminem on ‘My Name Is…’ Checking out the credits on the album, I noticed that bass and guitar players where none other than Chas Hodges and Dave Peacock, popular english session musicians at the time. That meant that one of the fattest bass breaks in hiphop was played by a member of the oft-derided cockernee novelty act Chas & Dave. As a spurs fan, this was priceless…

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Pin-hole Brighton

The other weekend I took some pinhole camera pictures of Brighton beach using my zeroimage pinhole camera. I have the Zero 6×9 multiformat deluxe edition – it takes medium format film, and has simple wooden shutters allowing you a choice of formats, from portrait, 6×6, 6×9 and panoramic. Its very easy to set up and use, and the film I’m experimenting with (Kodak 400NC and Kodak Portra 400BW) are extremelt tolerant. I’ve been bracketing between 1-4 sec exposures, and the differences are marginal. The pinhole has an fstop of around f215, so you can take a reading for any fstop and exposure time, then use a wheel on the back of the camera to judge the reading for f215.

As there is no viewfinder, i’m still getting used to the range of the pinhole, so that I can imagine the picture i’m taking better. I’m still not really there, hence the large amounts of pebbles in these pictures!

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The unimaginable expanse of everything else

Sam Raimi, the director of the Spiderman movies (and the far more interesting Evil Dead) has said that he wants to set up cameras in US cities that will shoot a single frame at noon every day for the next 1000 years:

“It’s the same idea of all time-lapse photography, but over an outrageous amount of time,” Raimi told The Associated Press in an interview to promote “Spider-Man 2.” “So you could watch the city of Los Angeles rise, and maybe an earthquake might come in 300 years or a tidal wave.”

This reminds me of a Douglas Gordon proposal to show John Ford’s movie ‘The Searchers’ so that the projection time was as long as the narrative time in the movie – in this case 5 years.

Slow art like this is a very underappreciated concept in a society that fetishises speed. During the 60’s and 70’s, artists interested in, to use Lucy Lippard’s phrase, the dematerialization of the art object, used long durational periods to escape the inevitable commodification of art. On Kawara’s Today Series – a series of identical paintings made every day, showing only that day’s date – has been ongoing now since 1966. In a recent seven-day performance in London – Reading One Million Years – Kawara positioned two actors in a glass box in trafalgar square, reading alternately from a list of past years (998,031 BC to 1969 AD) and then the future (1980 AD to 1,001,980 AD).

Its no accident that these projects echo the rythymical industrial time signature of our post-industrial world. The click of the camera shutter or the repetition of diary dates demonstrate how our contemporary understanding of time is marked not by the pliable warp and weft of nature, but by the monotonous sussuration of machines.

On Kawara leaves only this repetition, making a statement about either the futility, or continuous renewal, at the core of our existence. Douglas Gordon is more poetic, showing us how film has compressed narrative time, and how by returning them to their correct duration we open up a completely new experience. When I saw his earlier piece, 24-Hour Psycho, at the Tramway in Glasgow, each frame of the film was viewable for a few seconds at a time. I watched an early section in which Janet Leigh drives away from her lover towards the Bates Motel. What fascinated me was the detail in the (rear-projected) street glimpsed behind her car – a film within a film that seemed alive with change and event, in contrast to the relative stillness of Leigh driving in the foreground.

Raimi’s proposal is primarily conceptual; it will produce just over a second of film a month, meaning that it will take over 4 years to produce a film as long as the Lumiere Brothers’ first shorts. The audience that would actually be able to watch Los Angeles rising and falling in these films will not be born until the next millenium.

There’s something poetically optimistic about projects with such a long time frame. They’re like a message in a bottle, cast with hope into the unknown oceans of time that stretch before us. There is something vertiginously sublime about contemplating timescales that are exponentially longer than our own lives. Having just had our first daughter, I’m even more curious about things that I know I will never be able to experience.

Is there a digital equivalent to this mechanical time? Phil Gyford’s Pepys Diary maps the narrative back on to real time, and has, like 24 Hour Psycho, opened up the text to new kinds of readings and discussion. The hit-and-run attention span of the blog has been turned to produce a definitive ongoing piece of research.

But the Pepys Diary project should still be completed within Gyford’s lifetime. My favourite piece of online art is John F. Simon’s Every Icon. It’s breathtakingly simple – a computer programme that started in 1997, from the top right hand corner of a grid of 32 X 32 squares, and is systematically describing every possible combination of black and white squares. In time, every possible picture within that grid will be described – arrows, boxes, faces, hearts, logos. It took 1.36 years to cycle through the possibilities of the first line of squares. The next line, at an average CPU rate of 100 icons per second, will be finished in 5.85 billion years. The whole project will likely take trillions of years to complete.

Thats longer than the known existence of the universe. Represented as a grid of 32 X 32 squares.

Raimi’s project, like Gordon’s, use the mechanical ‘click click click’ of the camera shutter to show how we take for granted the ability to re-present time in stretched and condensed versions. But both these projects are within the expanded memories of our technological societies. Every Icon shows us a completely alien notion of time – remorseless, logical and impervious to even the inevitable natural limits of the known universe. It is so far out of our understanding of time that we can’t possibly understand it, the mute white expanses of the grid standing as a metaphor for our impermanence – a blank memorial stone for the whole of civilisation.

I’ve decided that I want a gravestone that will have engraved on it the precise condition of Every Icon on the moment that I die. It will have nothing else, just the grid. Rather than defining my life within the boundaries of what I knew – from my birth date to death – my ‘Every Icon’ grid will show the unimaginable expanse of everything else.

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