Category Archives: art

NFT Art

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A mysterious dark space in a strange shopping mall can be very luring especially when it is only lit up by LED screens in the window. On entering ‘The Circle’ –  Zurich airport’s latest retail space built to connect a green park with the airport – I unexpectedly came across one such space – a pop-up NFT Gallery, called elementum.art showing a select few digital artist’s latest works. I wandered in not knowing quite what to do or where to go. I headed to the nearest brightly lit LED screen, which happened to be the work of the artist Aaron Huey. Turns out, he is a professional photographer who goes solo into various Metaverse worlds to find the edge – where the developers have stopped creating the virtual world.

As I was pondering why make art as a NFT, I heard clip clop noises getting louder. A gallery attendant was walking towards me. She had a big-eyed smile. Even though she was real she looked like she could have walked straight out of Second Life. There was something not quite real about how she talked to me in English about the exhibition. She seemed overly keen to know more about me, and was very curious to know what had led me in to the gallery. I tried to explain to her it was just simple curiosity and that I did not know much about NFT art. She then proceeded to tell me how I could buy one of the digital artworks if I had a crypto wallet of NFTs at the ready. If only…

After about 5 minutes of explaining she then wandered off and left me fumbling with my iphone trying to focus on the QR code next to the screen showing one of Aaron’s edgy pieces. On seeing me struggling, she promptly returned, and asked if she could do it for me. I agreed and handed her my phone; with nimble fingers and knowing how to catch the light, she was able to get the camera on my phone to snap the QR code; the accompanying website revealed the price and a link to a PDF brochure. This part of the process seemed a bit old fashioned. The reason I could not get the QR code to work first was the room was so dark!

It turns out that Aaron’s pieces are priced at about $1000 each. In the blurb about the work, it points out how edges are boundaries, which can signify the end or the beginning of the unseen – all to be explored, grasped, and shared. It asks the viewer to consider how the virtual and physical worlds connect and what is real and what is unreal. All very profound. I could imagine the artist confronting these questions while spending hours venturing forth in these unknown virtual worlds in search of an edge. To record his journeys, he films and takes virtual photos of his journey either from far behind his avatar or just in front of it. The ones shown in the exhibition convey him mainly being on the edge of various graphical landscapes such as those found in Second Life, MineCraft and Roblex. He walks, flies or jumps off them. For example, this one called Leap 293 shows a blockhead image of Aaron about to jump into oblivion.

I could see how some collectors might dabble in purchasing a few of these digital artworks on speculation. But when I mentioned to the big-eyed girl the recent outrage about the Damien Hirst NFT stunt she just smiled again. Last year he launched his first ever NFT collection, called The Currency, which was made up of 10,000 NFTs, corresponding to 10,000 original pieces of his art, largely comprising his bright coloured spot paintings. People who bought one of the ‘spotties’ had the choice of either keeping it as a NFT or swapping it for the actual physical artwork. Half chose the NFT and half the actual painting. Then, this year, Hirst burnt the first 1000 of his spottie paintings that had been sold as NFTs in his gallery and livestreamed the destructive act on Instagram. Some watched with horror. He argued that he was merely “completing the transformation of these physical artworks into NFTs by burning the physical versions…” All that was left from these is the NFT code. I am not sure what the collectors thought when seeing their art literally go up in smoke. I think I would have been one to have kept a physical spottie painting.

Next, I moved onto two artists called Harry Yeff and Trung Bao. They had created a multi-media piece that you listen to on headphones. The piece I heard was of  ethereal voices singing while I watched a very colourful piece of multiple digital gems circle in front of me. Their work was generated by synthesizing a series of AI algorithms – based on a data set of anonymous real human voices that were ‘gifted to the project’. The voices sounded lovely and in harmony with the digital gems. It was very pleasing eye candy and the name ‘voice gems’ was befitting. I was tempted to buy one,  but on discovering that they were nearly 5000 Swiss francs each I was not so sure.

I was glad I had ventured into this unknown landscape as I did learn a lot more about digital crypto art having explored it in first person for the very first time. But call me old fashioned as I much prefer physical art.

Cognitive Dressing

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gettyimages There is so much hype about AI at the moment; how it is going to transform society in so many ways. The 4th industrial revolution seems to be in our midst. Our lives will be made more efficient and everything will be easier but at the cost of 20th century jobs ceasing to be and machines becoming more autonomous.

The latest offering is from the fashion house Marchesa who have teamed up with IBM Watson to make an AI-enabled dress – somewhat misleadingly called a cognitive dress. The dress has a network of LEDs sewn into it that can change colour depending on signals sent to them. LEDs in clothing has been around for years and is super dumb. So what is intelligent about the cognitive dress? Well it is based on an analysis of social media data in realtime. IBM Watson analyzes Marchesa’s follower’s tweets tagged #CognitiveDress, instagrams and Facebook posts – and uses these to translate the aggregated sentiment expressed through colours. Words like cool, amazing and awesome are tagged as positive emotions and if enough are detected then the dress will transform into a rose colour (signifying joy) and then coral when the sentiments get a bit more passionate, and then aqua if excitement is detected. Others colours projected are lavender that shows the followers are curious about a model or product and butter to show encouragement.

replace_flower_back_2xNow remind me what lavender means? The mappings between the colours and the underlying sentiments seem fairly arbitrary but maybe that does not matter. Followers watching the models on the catwalk can ‘see’ the colours on the dress change in response to their Internet activity.

But this isn’t AI in the true sense. It is a bit of keyword crunching and machine learning, triggering colours to turn on when a threshold for a state has been reached. The underlying technology that was developed to do this is hardly rocket science. IBM also uses its powerful computers to gather thousands of images stored by Marchesa and feeds them into a color design tool, which it claims to be able to understand how the psychological effects of colors, image aesthetics and emotions are interrelated. Maybe that could be considered cleverer. The creative part however is not what appears on the dress – but a neat design tool built on this that can suggest a new palette to designers that they might not have thought about and which fits Marchesa’s brand.

There is much more that can be done with the emerging AI technology. But, importantly, we should be thinking of how humans can work together with computers to make better decisions than each can do alone – about how to live our lives more creatively and enjoyably, resolve complex problems, create new inventions, work out how best to feed 7 billion people, develop new economics models and so on. What excites me is how computation, machine learning, and human intelligence is how we can synergistically come up with new ideas for a diversity of tasks, from planning a complex itinerary, determining the best way to learn, and to help politicians work together on a new global warming agreement, peace initiative, or trade policy. It requires thinking at what points should computers solve problems, simulate solutions, and show outcomes and at what points should humans intervene, overide, control, suggest and inspire.

Ninja Talk

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greensmoothie Many of us dread going to the hairdressers as much as we do when visiting the dentist. Having to engage in small talk for an hour or so can be quite exasperating. After the first few minutes of niceties ‘sharing’ where you went on holiday, followed by isn’t this spell of hot weather too much, the conversation can often dry up. A few can open up too much and start to overshare what they got up to last week or moan incessantly about anything from the price of parking in town to the crisis at Calais. The easy option is to hide behind the glossy magazines, immerse oneself daydreaming in the background music or play Candy Crush on one’s smartphone.

I actually look forward to going to my hair salon as I have developed a quirky rapport with my stylist, Ella, where we usually skip the small talk and move straight into something a little more alternative – whatever tickles our fancy. This morning we began by talking about the row of very luminous green Maidenhair ferns that adorn the windows of the salon. A new addition. I asked her how come they were looking so healthy when they are so hard to look after. That was her cue. Ella went into rapture as she marvelled about the precarious art of fern care. Besides frequent watering and daily misting the secret is to give them a full immersive soaking once a week – but not any old soak it has to be just so and only for a few minutes. At the beginning of their new life in the salon they nearly died. It was only when one of the assistants took over did they make a recovery.
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We then moved onto the current craze of using Nutribullets for making smoothies for breakfast and throughout the day. She regailed how her last one went up in flames and left the house reeking of an acrid burning smell. On investigating why it had spontaneously combusted it turned out that she had left it on for a couple of minutes too long and that had no doubt caused the motor to overheat. She fessed up to walking away to do something else and then coming back ‘probably’ a bit longer than a couple of minutes. Anyone who has kept a blender on full blast for a few minutes knows that smell only too well. Anyway she had the balls to take the burned out bullet back to the kitchen store who replaced it without question for a newer one called a NutriNinja. Those Nutri guys have done their marketing homework. Bullets and Ninjas as names for fruit pulverizers. Masterful.

nutriNinjas are commonly associated with warriors – secret weapons used against enemies. In the US there is a popular TV reality series where competitors have to tackle a series of challenging and heart-stopping obstacle courses to win. It’s about power and blast. The NutriNinja boasts a 900W motor that blends using its “21,000rpm stainless steel blades.”

Unlike the Nutribullet, the NutriNinja has a control panel that allows the user to set the time for the blasting after which it stops on its own accord. Perfect for the likes of Ella who wander off and forget the time. Genius design.

It seems this the Nutri family of machines is transforming a whole generation’s way of eating. Everyone in the salon fessed up to owning a Ninja or a Bullet and enjoying throwing whatever was languishing in the fridge into it to make exotic smoothies or creamy porridge. We went through the list of must-have veggies and fruit to use and the no-no list. Strawberries, raspberries, blueberries were the best. Half a carrot not a whole one as it make it too bitter. Avocados and bananas were considered too claggy. Celery did not work well. Ella likes throwing oats, almond milk, dates, frozen berries and some kale into hers for breakfast. Another stylist favoured Kale and spinach and apple and ginger. And on they went including the other clients describing their concoctions and wonder drinks. Vodka was also added for nighttime drinks. They revelled in the art of mixing fruits, vegetables, nuts and grain with yoghurts, milks and whatever – in the way artists enjoy setting up their palettes. Utterly riveting. I was chomping at the bit by the end, ready to go and buy my NutriNinja.

But as with any new pleasure there is always a killjoy lurking in the background telling us too much of a good thing is bad for you. Research has shown that you get hungrier more quickly if you drink vegetable and fruit smoothies rather than crunch and munch your way through them whole. The sugar spike can come all of a sudden causing the premature hunger pangs. But as pointed out by Rhik Samadder on his blog “it’s not for healthy people. It’s for incredibly lazy people.” And there are many of those in the world. Ella, for example, would barely manage a piece of toast most mornings. Now she is powered up with vitamins and zest every morning. And it is so much fun to play with not knowing what it will turn out like each time.

Sense-able Cars?

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tyre-pressure-monitoring-icon Last week, when on a road trip in Ireland, a worrying ping followed by a warning light appeared on the dashboard – as we were merrily cruising along a remote country road. The car was asking us to check the pressure of the tyres – in the middle of nowhere. It picked its moment! Why suddenly then? Did we have a slow puncture? Had we been driving for too long? Had the nasty pothole we had driven over an hour ago caused one tyre to loose pressure? We discussed a number of possibilities but could not settle on the cause. When we eventually reached our hotel (there being no garage on route) we looked at all the tyres and kicked them. They all looked and felt fine. Next day, after turning the engine on, the car pinged at us again and the dasterly warning light came back on. Eventually, we found a garage and checked the tyres – getting our hands filthy from twisting the caps off. All was fine. We turned the engine back on but the hazard light was still glowing menacingly on the dashboard.

When we got home I phoned the local VW dealer to ask them how to turn it off. They told me to switch on the car entertainment system and navigate through a series of sub menus until I reached one that said ‘car’ settings. When I tried I found everything but the menu of ‘car’ options. So I gave up and instead drove to the dealer. A friendly mechanic sat in the car, poked around and eventually located a small button inside the glovebox hidden obscurely right at the top. He pressed it for a few seconds and the warning light went off.

There was nothing wrong with the tyre pressure. Just every now and again the car thinks it should let you know you should check them. How annoying is that piece of software design? Especially when it is not smart enough to tell you how to turn the warning light off or, what to do after you have checked them and they are fine. Which design engineer came up with the smart idea of placing the reset button in a place that is impossible to find? And which sensor engineer came up with the idea of asking you to check your tyre pressure at some random time through using a warning sign on the dashboard – causing unnecessary anxiety?

Meanwhile, in the States last week, a Jeep Cherokee got hacked into by some clever security guys – through its connected entertainment system. They wanted to demonstrate how it was possible for anyone with some smarts to control the car remotely. The car company recalled all of its 1.4 million Jeeps to patch the software fault. No-one got hurt but those guys caused an enormous amount of anxiety and worry amongst owners of a Cherokee. Just imagine if some real hackers had actually taken control of some random guy’s Jeep and driven it into a ditch or towards oncoming traffic. The security guys certainly made their point. Let’s hope the sensor technology and the intelligence behind them gets a little smarter and secure in the future.

IMG_6318 damian

Yesterday, I went with R to Knightsbridge to check out the super bling cars that appear at this time of year for a few weeks, when the mega-rich come over from the Middle East to do a bit of shopping in this exclusive bit of London. They have their special shiny cars flown over for the occasion. Against a backdrop of torrential rain we spotted several of them parked illegally outside Harrods. Our favourites were a gold-plated Ferrari and a Swarovski crystal-encrusted Merc. Both had their own personalized number plates: F1 1RAK and BA11 BYY. The dazzling goldie is owned by a former Iraqi (sic) world kickboxing champion called Riyadh Al-Azzawi. The twinkly sparkler is owned by a 22-year old Russian student called Dario Radionova who had the bright idea of covering her car in tiny crystals to make it look like the ultimate jewel. Beats Damian Hirst’s diamond skull by a mile – for sheer audacity, head turning awe and ultimate glamour. Everyone who walks past these cars cannot but stop, stare and snap; not quite believing what they are seeing. The ultimate car is one that glitters not one that tries to be too clever by half.IMG_6314

Social Niceties

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dress“You’re a jerk!” The words spat venomously from behind me. I looked behind, startled, and saw someone I knew from a while back. She continued: “Why didn’t you get in touch? You’re a jerk!”

I replied, somewhat lamely, “I did not expect to see you here. Are you around for the rest of the conference? Let’s meet up later.” The damage done, she grunted and introduced me to her teenage son who looked at me and gave a sweet adolescent smile.

I thought about why I had not got in touch with her before coming out to Silicon Valley. In years gone by I would have emailed each time I was visiting (which is where she lives). Only this time, I was here just for a fleeting visit to a conference. Sometimes, it is better not to say anything than to disappoint. “Hi, I am in town again but won’t be visiting you this time.” We bumped into each other again the next day and arranged to meet for what turned out to be a very amicable dinner. The wrong was put to right.

At another morning coffee break I was talking to an old friend, J, while soaking up the warm Californian sun. We had 5 minutes together before someone else, who had been standing on the sidelines, sidled up and said hi to J. The guy also smiled at me and we let him in our circle. The conversation inevitably took a new turn. A few minutes later a wee man sprung himself upon J by holding out both his hands and then cupping one of J’s to shake it. He then did the same with the other guy. It seemed forced and unnatural. I waited for my turn (I know this guy and I know he knows me) but he completely blanked me out and turned to face the others. Surprised, I cheekily sprung my hand out and said, “And hello, I am Yvonne!” in an exaggerated, sarcy way. He looked back at me, shook my hand limply, muttered a half hello, and then turned back to talk to the other two guys.

Jeez, talk about being rude! I waited for two minutes and after being ignored walked away. You know where you are in the pecking order. I was made to feel right down there – a nothing. Perhaps if I had been wearing some of these delightful, colored shoulder flaps, that Hillary Predko from the Social Body Lab has developed as an expressive wearable that move up and down by tensing your muscles, I might have at least been able to vent my frustration! The idea behind this technology is as an extension of our bodies to allow us to sense our surroundings and express our emotions in a more visceral way.

Networking at conferences is hard work and stressful. While some shy away, others feel they have the right to just barge in where they want. Etiquette is thrown out the window. The worst is when someone you are talking to, looks over your shoulder in mid-sentence to see if someone more interesting or important is coming towards them. If they spot someone higher up the pecking order, they often won’t even say goodbye but just shoot off. Onto the next one to let them know how great they are.

At the end of the last evening’s social event, I walked over to the manager who had organized the buffet and bade him farewell. I had chatted with him earlier in the evening as he was adding the finishing touches to the wonderful spread. He was touched that I had said how enjoyable the food was and loved the way the food was presented. It really is easy to be nice to people and make them feel valued and good at what they do.

Dress with flutes designed by Halley Profita

Japanese Blooper

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Japanese-Sento-6One of the delights of going to a foreign country is discovering the different ways of doing things in all manners, from greeting someone to sharing a meal. Japan, for example, where I am currently visiting is full of them; often mindboggling for those of us from western cultures not familair with such habits. It makes us have to rethink what are normally taken for granted habits, ranging from taking our shoes off when entering someone’s house, to never taking a dripping umbrella inside a shop, to not blowing your nose in front of someone else. It all makes perfect sense when you think about the reasons behind these etiquettes and, of course, is far more civilized than not doing them. But, inevitably one slips up and does the wrong thing, like I did today, big time.

The hotel I am staying at in Japan, in the city of Nara, has a bath house – which I was curious to try. Called a Sento, in japanese, it translates into cleanliness plus nakedness plus togetherness. The japanese bathing culture started centuries ago, coming orginally from India, as a communal place for both sexes to get scrubbed cleaned while gossiping – just like what happens in Turkish Baths. Nowadays, many have closed, while most others survive on tourists paying good money to experience something that they simply dont have in western culture.

Being a good citizen, I looked at the folder in my room containing the directory of services but for the entry against bath house, it just mentioned the opening hours. So I thought I better read up on the etiquette of public bathing, especially given that I was going by myself. So, I checked it up on the web and was quite surprised to see so many rules associated with the tradition of communual bathing. What drew my attention were two key rules which could easily cause problems for prude and brash brits: (i) no-one is allowed in wearing a swimming costume and, (ii) no-one is allowed in bearing a tattoo – the reason being is that tattoos are associated with symbols from the Japanese mafia. I stopped reading up about it after this – assuming there would be a receptionist at the desk to show foreign guests the ropes (as I had recently experienced when visiting, for the first time, a Turkish Bath in Istanbul a few weeks ao).

I went down to the bath house on the 6th floor in my hotel flip-flops holding my hotel towel, eager to find out more. However, no-one was around to tell me what to do at the front desk so I walked into the ladies changing room, where I saw a japanese lady drying her hair. I stripped off and wrapped myself in my bath towel, thinking that was what I should do. I then asked the japanese lady (who rightly spoke no english) in a kind of improvised janglese, flappy arm sort of way, where the entrance was. She pointed to a sliding door and then started waving her small wet towel at me, gesticulating and rabbiting on in animated japanese. Google Translate would have come in handy then – but maybe not when standing naked. So, instead, I waved my large towel and she laughed mirthfully at me. This cross-purpose banter went on for some time with neither of us getting anywhere. Then she pointed to my wrist – I showed her my orange wristband locker key and that got a nod of approval from her. At least I got that right! Then I grinned inanely, as you do when you reach a lost in translation impasse, and slid the door into the bath house. I was confronted with female nudity which took me aback. A few women were merrily showering and lathering themselves, each holding a handheld shower and sat squately on a feeble plastic stool in front of their own mirror. I felt far too self conscious to try doing the same. Instead, I put my large bath towel to one side and plunged straight into the large communal hot bath. I sat there by myself feeling like a lemon, wondering if I should have showered first. There was no one for me to follow in their footsteps or to give me a helping hand. Eventually, some of the japanese women who had been cleaning themselves followed me into the bath but sat at the other end.

At that point, I realized I had messed up big time. Got it the wrong way round. So I stood up and walked straight out, without looking back, to the changing rooms – wondering what the women sitting in the bath were thinking about me. Luckily, the hair-drying woman had disappeared. I then saw a sign saying restroom and thought I could hide in there to rest, overcome my embarrassment and decide what to do next, but on sliding the door open discovered it was just a toilet (it seems they use the American term here for toilets). At which point I wanted to sink into the ground. I hurriedly put my clothes back on and rushed out, back to my room.

hot bath On re-reading the dos and donts of going to a Japanese bath house, back in the safety of my own room, it turns out that having a little towel is really important, and you should never use a big bath towel when there. I was reminded of the divers at the Olympics who all have their little flannel towels they wring and use all the time to dry bits of them while focusing the mind. So, that was what the hair-drying woman was trying to explain to me. Then I discovered the other faux pas I had made:
Not washing all over beforehand but instead brazenly walking straight into the bath: “Wash thoroughly before entering the relaxation baths. It is important that every square inch of skin gets a pre-soak lashing of the suds. Typically, one squats centimeters above the ground under small showers with the backside resting on a miniature stool. Don’t worry, it is more comfortable than it sounds – even if the knees have seen better days. Instead of allowing water to run over yourself as you clean considered wasteful in Japan – pour water over your body with a shallow plastic bucket provided by the sento.”

This time I read on. I could have done worse! Apparently, they do use a chemical in the water that turns it purple if you pee in it. But not only the water it also turns your skin purple. Could you imagine if I had turned up at my talk scheduled for tomorrow all purple and the Japanese members of the audience chuckling to themselves, knowing the reason. I cringed imagining how that might have played out! Professor Purple found in the bathroom with lead piping…

For more on Bath House rules.

Bushy Tailed

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Today I found myself jumping and jigging around with a large furry tail strapped around my waist. I had been invited to a preview of a new theatre production called Dusk devised and directed by David Harradine and Samantha Butler, artistic directors of Fevered Sleep. It will go on public release in mid- November at the Young Vic. While the production is meant for very young children, aged between 4-7 years, adults and helpers are invited, but they have to join in, too, even being daubed with special green paint on their face.
sarah_tail
A colleague, Sarah, and myself, were visiting with a view to developing interactive technologies that the children could subsequently express their feelings and reflections about the piece. Getting children as young as four to reflect on their phenomenological experience is quite a challenge – but one we were inspired to think more deeply about in light of having taken part.

Dusk is set in a theatre where groups of children come into a darkened space and are met by a friendly host, who is wearing a tail. He makes fun of them not having a tail – thereby making them all want a tail. Piles of big bushy tails magically then fall from the sky and the children scramble to put them on. Tailed-up, they then follow him through an Alice-in-Wonderland like red door into a magical forest, where there are bright lights, stars, moons and trees. Not knowing what to expect or when to sit down or jump around with their tails they are like butter in his hands. The suspense is palpable and what is in store proves to be a real treat. The children are completely immersed in the experience – for well over an hour. Even the fidgety ones stop in their tracks and join in with all the others.
door

Central to the piece is a 40 minute film that traverses the physical and the digital, time and place. A lost hybrid creature with horns and a tail wakes up to find he is all alone in the forest. He tries to find the other creatures he was playing with, before he fell asleep, and comes across the same door the children, at the theatre, have just entered. He walks though it and is confronted by an unknown world, where he experiences all sorts of emotions, from fear to joy. At various points he cries out in a haunting way, with the hope that someone will answer. Each time the children echo his cry sometimes spontaneously and other times egged on by the host. It was both mournful and joyful to listen to them bearing their soul, with heads high and mouths wide open – sounding like a pack of wolves.
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The narrative is about growing up, where the hybrid creature crosses mountains, seas, forests and terrains on a long and often lonely journey. He eats flowers to survive and takes comfort from seeing an owl, a deer, a snail and a beetle. Through his journey he comes across men destroying a forest using menacing logging equipment and then when he finally enters a city he sees a tree caged in by wrought iron – intended to protect it. Paradoxes like these of being unprotected but needing to be protected and being protected but needing not to be protected are one of many that are traversed through the piece. There is a lot going on – a rich layered tapestry of meanings. What would a four year old make of it all? Judging from their faces – a lot.

At various points of the journey it looks like the creature is about to make it home but in classic Shakespearian style some other obstacle or challenge gets in the way. During these moments, the children instinctively turn their heads to the physical door at the back of the theatre forest that they entered through – waiting in suspense for him to appear in person and then when he doesn’t, swivel their heads back to watching him virtually on the screen in front of them. Each time it occurred, it was for me a wonderful moment and so clever – the kids traversing the physical and digital and back again in seamless and seamful ways.

They seem to know when he will finally come home. Rather than jump out of the screen – like in the movies – he eventually and somewhat hesitantly comes through the physical door. He then wanders through the undergrowth where the children are sprawled and seated, kicking their tails and touching their faces, to make sure they are real. He then whoops them up into a crying frenzy and then spontaneously they are up on their feet, following him in his special tail-jigging dance. And all the adult audience members and helpers who had donned tails (called ‘big its’ by the host) find themselves joining in, spellbound and smiling – and that is how I ended up jigging on the spot with a whooshing large furry tail behind me.

The piece is both a film and theatre and sometimes neither. From the programme blurb, it says it is “an invitation to see the world with our eyes and ears wide open, smiling awestruck. To slow down and to look.” Judging from the absorbed reactions of the little ones it seems the directors succeeded in doing more than that. It was a far cry from any Disney film, TV show or cartoon that they feed off during their daily screen time. Instead of a sea of faces fixated ‘heads down’ mindlessly staring at a screen, we witnessed a group of ‘heads up children, enraptured, alive and embodied – being both an audience and being a part, being there and not being there. That is mindful interaction and a joy for all to see.

Fascinating Bodies

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shadow02We are fascinated with our bodies and the shadows they project. From making hand shadows by creative molding and twisting of our hands and fingers under a projector light to interactive artistic works that encourage you to move and twist to make larger than life shadows on public walls such as Felix Bonowski’s Proximity Repulsion, recently shown at the Saatchi Gallery. felixrepulsion

Then there is Nature that does it on your behalf, making elongated and strange shapes of you from winter late afternoon suns.

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There is something magical about projecting yourself as a flat moving dark shape to appear in front of you onto a surface such as a wall, grass or water, using either natural or artificial light. You never think of it as blocking out light but as an extension of your embodied self that you are in control of; making it bigger, smaller, wider, animal or head like. Felix’s interactive projection is captivating and compelling: a rain of particles falls from the top of the projected shadow and if one hits the edge of it, a repulsive force pushes it away from your head, arm or hand. The effect is to feel like one is playing with particles in a way similar to water or sand but by bouncing off one’s shadow. It is a beautiful piece.

Last week, I went to the Science Museum and came across a new exhibition called “3D: printing the future”. There was a fine collection of plastic artefacts, and various replacement body parts for cars, planes and people. They even had a facsimile of the liberator plastic gun that was 3D printed recently and which caused a furore in the press. liberator gun

And there was also an amazing 3D printed sculpture that was a combination of MRI scans and St Paul’s Cathedral by the artist Tobias Klein. But what really caught my eye was lots of jellybean coloured plastic figurines – like the ones you used to find in cereal packets – hanging from the wall at the end of the exhibit. On closer inspection I discovered they were 3D scans of real people who had visited the museum. They had chosen their own colour and pose. Each was unique in a quite different way to having your photo taken. Whilst no longer attached to the body in the way shadows always are, it felt as if there was still a part of the person in the 3D model. Like little people who might start to come alive as they do in the classic Pixar animation film Toy Story.

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Only last week, the UK supermarket, ASDA, announced it was launching an in-shop 3D printing service that will scan your whole body to create an 8-inch version of you. Now just imagine getting the whole family done, aunts and uncles and all. And then turning the lights off and putting the projector on… one could act out family dramas with their like-like shadows coming alive. Perhaps, it might get a tad creepy, even uncanny valley.

Urban Divide

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eastpaloalto“You don’t want to go to East Palo Alto! It is on the wrong side of the tracks”, was the advice I was given when looking for somewhere to rent in Silicon Valley back in the late 90s. East Palo Alto has been very poor since the early 80s and has much higher rates of crime than the other bits of Palo Alto that just got more wealthy and posher during the technology dotcom bubble. A similar demarcation exists in Bloomington, Indiana, where I also once lived. Those on the wrong side of the tracks live in poverty and are often regarded as trailer trash whilst those on the right side are university dons and students, respectable and educated. A clear town and gown divide.

More generally, every country has its north and south or east and west. If you live in the south of England you consider those ‘up north’ to be working class, poor and hard-nosed. Conversely, if you live in the north of England you consider those ‘down south’ to be stuck up, wealthy and snooty. The dividing line is located at the infamous Watford Gap service station on the M1. Apparently, nearly 75% of the English are prejudiced against their northern or southern neighbours.

The same can be said about cities. People south of the Thames rarely venture north of the river outside of work and vice versa. Each side of London has its own culture, accent, street fashion and views about people living on the other side.

millroad Such urban splits are perpetuated right down to the street level. There is a street in Cambridge, UK, called Mill Road that is divided by railway tracks. On one side is Romsey and on the other, Petersfield. Romsey people believe Petersfield is less safe and has less community feel than their neighbourhood. But what do those in Petersfield think? Do they regard themselves as being poorer – whether financially culturally or economically? Do they think it is more or less unsafe than Romsey? Another case of being on the wrong side of the tracks?

Are the perceived differences about the other side real or imagined? This is the question being asked on one of our current research projects run by Lisa Koeman and Vaiva Kalnikaitė as part of the ICRI Cities. Instead of simply asking people on the street what they think, we have employed electronic voting devices to mediate. 18 of these portable devices have been designed, custom built and placed in shops along the street – some on the Romsey side and the others at the Petersfield end.
lisa2 Shoppers get to vote on a variety of questions to do with the neighbourhood, by simply pressing one of three coloured buttons, depending on whether they agree, are neutral or disagree. Statements include “the street has a real buzz today”, “I feel socially connected” and, “I feel at home on Mill Road.” They are of course free and encouraged to talk at large about the issues with others in the shop or street.

The logged votes are then aggregated for each shop and displayed as a public visualisation outside them. Local graffiti artists spray the breakdown of the votes as a percentage for each choice – using temporary chalk and stencils – onto the pavement next to each shop taking part. This then becomes the talking point for for all to see, be puzzled about and compare.
visualisation_3

At the end of the week an evocative visualisation of all the votes for all the questions, from the two parts of the street – divided by the tracks – will be designed and sprayed on the bridge pavement to show whether and what are the differences, as judged by the shoppers and shopkeepers. Will it be the case that the perceived economic and social differences are as marked as we are led to assume?

The jury is out.

If you want to have your say pop into one of the participating shops and cast your vote. The project also hopes to enable residents and visitors to the area to find out more about the street – which is known for its vibe, diverse community and international shops.

Art for Art’s Sake

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The president and Council of the Royal Academy sent me a posh invitation the other week, requesting the pleasure of my company today at the “RA Now Auction”, starting at 11.30 a.m. with a champagne brunch at Sotheby’s. How swanky is that? The paintings to be auctioned were from top-dollar Royal Academicians and Honorary Royal Academicians, including the likes of David Hockney, Barbara Rae, Anish Kapoor and Zaha Hadid. Some of my favourite artists and architects. It was bound to attract a huge crowd. Much to my disappointment, however, I was unable to accept as I had a prior work engagement.

I’ve been to Sotheby’s once before when R and I just went in one day as we were walking past. A live auction was going on where eloquent Chinoiserie vases and other fine oriental knick-knacks were being bid for. We were gripped by the spectacle, watching the poker buyer’s faces, as they subtly raised their hands in a dance, choreographed by the high-pitched, high-octane performing auctioneer on the podium at the front of the room. Just imagine if I had gone today and raised my hand a few too many times for a Hockney with a glass of bubbly in the other. I dare not think but dream on…

Buying art online from relatively unknown artists is more my line. You can make their day by sending 30-50 dollars for a small piece. One such artist that caught my eye first on Flickr was Harry Stooshinoff – I ended up buying some of his work on a site called etsy. The web is flooded now with such online art sites. Virtual hanging of one’s portfolio on a website, like Flickr, is what any savvy art student or amateur artist does as de rigueur. The trick is deciding which images of your work to upload, how many to include and where to place them on the page; always thinking of how to capture the eye and short attention span of the online viewer (it is so easy to flick through the myriads of art streams). Then you need to know how to promote and push yourself without being too in your face or shameless. How often do you tweet or Facebook your latest? Which people do you email or text personally? How many other like-minded artists do you click on to show your appreciation in the hope they will reciprocate and increase your popularity in the likes and stars leagues? The nuances and etiquette of self-promotion online are for just evolving.

One cool site I visited has turned homemade art into a merchandise business. Society6.com lets you frame your work as prints, or on t-shirts, hoodies, iPhone cases, tote bags, skins and cards – all at very affordable prices. You make it look good by selecting the right colour backgrounds, and you never know, you might just nudge someone into buying one. R, with tag name Beauxtanic, has just put his up for sale in a variety of styles (see below for the hoodie collection). If your work starts selling, it might just transform into hot cakes, and then one day you may reach the giddy heights of Andy Warhol mass production status. Or your throw of the die may mean that it is only your mum that buys your mug for Christmas.

Personalized mugs, t-shirts, key-rings, etc., have been around for a long time. People send a photo to a company who then prints it on the artifact of their choice. Society6’s business model does the same but you send in your art. A possible outcome is that potentially anyone can suddenly become popular through viral t-shirts. Instead of the ironic slogan t-shirts that are currently fashionable wouldn’t the world be a different place if you suddenly saw someone walking about town wearing a t-shirt with a painting your boy has created. If only buying and displaying art in this way would take off – the world would be a lot brighter!

Meanwhile endorsing people on Linkedin seems all the rage. I keep getting emails from people I’ve not heard from for a long time saying they have endorsed me for my skills and expertise. Yikes! Am I supposed to reciprocate?

Digital Strokes

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The success of an artisan – be it an artist, wine-maker, chef, chocolate-maker or other hand-crafter – is increasingly being measured by their standing in social media. Many now retweet nice things others have tweeted or blogged about their work, through sifting the feeds for their unique hashtags. I typed in ‘cake making’ in Google and top of the list was a link to the ‘choccywoccydoodah’ site – a shop in Brighton that prides itself on unique and quirky style of cakes and chocolate. One fan, called Andy, had tweeted “Just had my first taste of @choccywoccyshop and honestly, that’s the best chocolate I’ve ever tasted. Wow.” Choccywoccy straight away retweeted it.

Others show their appreciation by ‘favouriting’ (sic) – clicking on the favorites icon represented by a small star next to a Tweet. Like Facebook, this kind of digital endorsing is second nature to the masses. Funnily enough, there are no ‘dislike’ or ‘crap’ icons. Validation of an artisan’s worth is all about positive vibes in numbers. Receive 20, 30 or even 1000s of favorites or likes and you feel like a winner.

I was looking at Booooooom.com just now, which is what every art student aspires to be recognized by and have their work uploaded to. When it was first launched back in 2008 by Jeff Hamada, it used to be easier to get noticed but not any more. It went viral quite quickly, largely through word and mouth and became one of the largest art blogs on the web. It now prides itself on having 3 million page views each month. It covers everything from art, film, photo, music, design, projects to misc. It describes itself as having a “soft spot for hand-made work by unknown people.”

In the old days of Brit-Art, having a visit from Charles Saatchi to your end of year show provided instant kudos. Now it seems that having your work showcased and favorited on Booooooom has become the gold standard of cool recognition. Understandably, the site has become terribly overcrowded with lots of artists all vying for eyeballs. It can be quite random or recent as to what the viewer looks at.

And of course the site is on Facebook and Twitter, so more thumbs up, retweeting and positive commenting. There are also a handful of old fashioned blurbs about it on the site, for example.

“There’s something about Jeff’s positivity in celebrating work that interests him, hoping to spark inspiration in others, that is both generous in spirit and refreshingly unpretentious.” – Here and Elsewhere

This kind of high-five, like, like, like, ever-so-nice, positive comments seem to be the order of the day. I looked at Sam Weber’s work first and Jeff’s comment was “A personal favourite of mine, really really fantastic stuff. I would love to see his colouring process.”

The acerbic and sharp comments of the likes of A.A. Gill and co are no longer what is followed in mainstream art that is purveyed online. I don’t mean to be cynical but at times I find the plethora of backslapping and thumbs up a tad anodyne. Who dares nowadays to put their reputation on the line when online? Whereas the paid-up professional critics (on the demise) often spend hours handcrafting pencil-sharp reviews, the unpaid Joe Public (on the rise) likes to indulge in nice digital strokes.

Sound City

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Sometimes you find yourself being a tourist in your own city. Yesterday after work, I got caught up on the crowded Circle Line on my way to the Tate Modern, along with the hoards of Olympic Ceremony goers making their way to the Stadium. After I surfaced from London’s underground, I walked across the now affectionately called Wobbly Bridge, that was thronging with people from far flung places. We all found ourselves suddenly immersed in unexpected stereo sounds: single words and sentences booming from big speakers hanging over the bridge cables, resonating like a wall of deep sound.

Having gotten a little tired of our mayor, Boris, chirping all week his heartfelt recorded message ‘Get Ahead of the Games’ – on the buses, trains and in the station concourses – I found this unexpected 3D soundfield, suffused with our pattering feet, delightful. I discovered later that it was called Tales from the Bridge and created by Martyn Ware (founder of The Human League) in collaboration with the poet Mario Petrucci. Lines of poems and strings of local anecdotes about the life and times of London ran and rang alongside us as we strode forth across the Thames. They did not stream together as a coherent narrative but faded and overlapped, acting as emotive heart-string pullers. I was transported back to being much younger, vividly being reminded of special times when I had gone to see a Shakespeare play outdoors at Regent’s Park and a trip to the Museum of London. This jolting of childhood memories was a refreshing change, making me focus on the potency of words rather than having to navigate my way through the visual overload of garish Olympic mascots, banners and flags. From the accompanying website, it suggests it will “immerse the listener in an oasis of peace and contemplation, half-remembered dreams and thoughts, of meditation and learning.” Indeed, instead of worrying about something at work I drifted back in time.

I eventually met up with Rafael at the Tate where we stumbled into one of its latest installations located in the bowels of their massive oil tanks. The first darkened enclosed room we went into had just a hanging microphone that emanated with powerful 360 degree voices. Again, my ears were seduced by a singular form of audio art. I sat and just listened. Appreciating art through sound is ephemeral. But such momentariness triggers visceral emotions and memories in such a sharp shard way. I wanted to linger in the moment in quite different ways to being immersed when looking at visual art.

Back in the underground we heard several buskers, strumming and singing in the echoing tunnels. Again, it took me back in time to when I first heard those songs.

Such is the magic of a tune when walked into an unfamiliar context but very memorable time.

Hearing the city, augmented with mellifluous voices and sweet sounds, is such an arresting contrast to the “cha, chee, chee, cha, boo, booom” we hear so often and resent so much leaking out of our fellow commuter’s ear buds. While city dwellers enjoy their personal playlists reverberating through their inner worlds, serrendipitous street-shared sonics pervading our cities are, in my mind, infinitely more pleasurable for all.

“I’m not in love. So don’t forget it. It is just a silly phase I’m going through.
I’m not in love, no no, it’s because…”

10cc’s mid 1970s ethereal song reminds me of long gone summers. To top the day, I caught a snippet of it when walking past a store. And even now, it continues to hit a sweet spot: melancholic, romantic, and full of teenage-angst.

Olympic Mordancy

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The big countdown has begun. The media is beating its drum for the London 2012 Olympic Games to finally begin. Everywhere you look you see the Olympic logo. It should be a fantastic festival, a great time for everyone to share magical moments, with Usain Bolt breathtakingly running like lightning. But nearly everyone I know who lives in or commutes to London is planning to escape from the metropolis or stay indoors for the 3 week duration. It has become a sentence to be avoided at all costs. In contrast, a massive influx of visitors from all over the world will descend and decamp in London, filling the hotels to the rafters, and paying extortionate prices, seemingly not worried about crowds, congestion or commotion. How is it possible that a vibrant city can empty and alienate itself so spectacularly of its own citizens?

Reams of angry words, laced with caustic humour, have been written about the Games by indignant bloggers, journalists and tweeters. Simon Jenkins scathingly sums up the overblown-ness:

“What the Victorians reinvented as a herbivore festival of amateur athletics has become a parody of Hitler’s chauvinist hysteria. It starts with flags and anthems, moves on to medal tables and “heroes”, and ends as the most important thing on Earth.”

The irony is that while everyone outside of London is getting excited, those living in London and the outskirts are not. Long gone are the days when the locals could show up on the day and buy a ticket to see a track event. Tickets had to be bought a year in advance, from a website that was incredibly complicated, followed by an enormous long tail email trail (informing you of every merchandise, mode of transport, etc under the sun, bar actually sending you the tickets). There were very few of the millions from London who could be bothered to wade through the lottery website maze.

One of my favourite pieces written by Andrew Gilligan in the Spectator this week (14th July) was called ‘a matter of taste.’ Instead of having a go at the inconvenience or the price of everything, he chose to focus on the ‘naffness’ of it all, “being run by people with no taste, no imagination, and no idea how to have fun.” He notes, too, how everything is either grey or in bad taste: the buildings, the logo font, the mascot, the souvenirs, the advertising, the signs, and the volunteer uniforms. I know exactly what he means as I look around me when I make my way through London. Whereas Disneyland is cute, colourful and magically choreographed, the Olympic package is “a face of regimentation, ugliness, and mediocrity.”

I am reminded of the challenge Heston Blumental set himself to change the face of the Little Chef eateries that adorned desolute parts of our A road arteries up and down the country (sadly many have gone into administration). The cartoon logo of the Little Chef was instantly recognizable by all, as was the comfort artery-clogging food they served to the piles of families that tumbled into them from their family estate cars. Heston made a Channel 4 documentary entitled Big Chef takes on Little Chef about his mission. It was absorbing TV viewing; watching Mr and Mrs Huddersfield try braised ox cheeks for the first time. Ironically, his revised menu included the all new Olympic Breakfast, where the dodgy old ingredients were replaced with fresh, good quality ones: “outdoor-bred British pork sausages,
 two rashers of Wiltshire-cured back bacon, two griddled free-range eggs, a slice of Ramsay of Carluke black pudding, a roasted field mushroom served with either Heinz baked beans or a chargrilled tomato. And a slice of toasted bloomer bread and butter.”

If only Heston had been commissioned to help organize the citizen’s experience for the forthcoming Olympics, people in the city might have really looked forward to them, instead of being utterly cynical about corporate Britain dressing London in sponsor-correct ribbons, banners and logos. I am sure he would have come up with much better ways to simply and purely enable us all to admire the human body in all its elegance and glory – which is what the Olympics should be about.

Google Art

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The diversity of tools Google keeps churning out each year to help you search, check out and be nosey is mind-blowing. My early favourites were Google earth, Google image, and Google scholar. But recently I have been enjoying Google street view.

Like a lot of people, I love typing in a place I have lived in or visited before and letting Google transport me back there; then taking control to click and zoom through at street level looking at familiar places, houses and the cars parked outside them. Google street view displays stitched together images taken from a fleet of cars that have poles stuck on them with nine directional cameras.
While creating effective facsimilie 3D worlds, the roving medusa heads can sometimes throw up a few unexpected and quirky images. The front of a car can sometimes appear again in front of the whole car like a forward shadow. There was a craze last year, to collect funny, morbid or bizarre images that should not have been there, such as nude people, cyclists accidentally knocked over by other cars and pedestrians appearing twice but in different parts of the pavement of the same street.

The Montreal-based artist, Jon Rafman, collects screen captures of the never intended for public consumption incidents that have somehow slipped through Google’s screening software. The result is his ongoing series The Nine Eyes of Google Street View, part of which will be shown at the Saatchi Gallery later this month. There is something dreamy about many of the ones he has chosen to show on his website. No doubt we will be in for a treat when the show opens.

But in my mind, a far more creative use of Google street view to make art is Rafael’s appropriation which he stumbled upon during his forays and experimentations. To begin, he gets himself in the zone and comfortable with a glass of wine at hand and some good music playing in the background. Then he starts picking places in the US Midwest he knows, checking out the objects and detail in the neighbourhood or scenery. The technique involves a series of follow the street view arrow, create the circle and zoom to it. His trick is to capture part of this movement in interesting and distorted ways by using the combination of shift command and 3 keys. Then he collects a whole set of these and puts them on a flash drive, drives to Kinkos to get good quality prints made up of them. Then he looks at them and selects parts that he thinks will come together well. Then he draws a collage of a place made up of different perspectives and shapes. The one above is his drawing inspired by several images he screen captured in street view Bloomington, which he is familiar with both physically and digitally. It took me right back to the core of the Midwest experience. Menacing clouds in big skies matched by brooding big trees and melancholic bushes that grew in front of you on deserted wide streets where nothing much else happened. Nature’s force and a lack of human nature.

I had a go myself at capturing and distorting my street and although a bit tricky at first, quickly got the hang of it. I could understand the joy of his technique. The screen capturing pan over the digital terrain reminded me of using water colours, where part of the thrill is in not knowing quite what the paint will do and where it will go.

Last week when I was in the US, however, I got a little freaked out by Google. I was doing some research on people and noticed how the page of search results was full of images – typing in someone’s name can show immediately an annotated profile, with image, date of birth, place of school and whatever else. I know this stuff is readily available on Facebook, Wikipedia, LinkedIn, 123, Google scholar, image etc, but Google search now brings it all together for instant viewing as a digital footprint. I don’t know why it surprised me – maybe it was the immediacy of getting so much personal information about someone all on one page just by typing a few letters of their name. Here in the UK (google.co.uk), we don’t have that facility yet. I am sure it wont be long, but you can see what it looks like by using the Google Chrome browser and typing in google.com/ncr.

Flying Colours

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Sometimes when I have to give a talk in a strange place and I don’t know anyone I get terribly anxious. Last week, having already gotten lost in downtown Cape Town, trying to park near the place I was to give a talk in, I got into a bit of a tizzy. Then I discovered my host was unable to make it due to sudden personal circumstances.

As I sorted out my cables, computer and connectors I took a deep breath and looked momentarily towards the ceiling of the room. There high above was a life-sized Desmond Tutu, in his signature crimson frock coat, flying across the room, hanging from a swinging chandelier. Such surreal moments don’t happen that often and I did a double take. I am sure my state of mind made it seem even more bizarre. But it worked magic. It made me chuckle and forget to fret.

How did the artist come up with such an idea and then execute the work to make it work so well? It was ingenious. The former archbishop was very life-like and even his cross dangled as it should – if he was really flying. His facial expression offset by his glasses was also very realistic. As I moved towards him I had a slight uncanny valley moment. The chandelier had also been created to be at an angle as if swinging with his weight – but all was perfectly still.

Throughout my talk I looked up at Desmond for an occasional inspirational moment. I am not sure if that was the intention of the artist but it worked well for me. Mostly, we give talks in classrooms, seminar rooms, hotel rooms or convention centres that are usually stark and devoid of any humour. Life without such quirkiness would be very dull, indeed. Funnily, though, I was not sure how many of the audience actually noticed him!

Special Ones

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“Knowledge is when you know a tomato is a fruit. Wisdom is when you don’t put it in the fruit salad”.

Debre, an interaction designer here in Cape Town, emailed me this last week – which her brother had passed onto her. I thought it captured the difference between the two very succinctly. But what does it take to know how to have and impart wisdom? The more I read about wisdom and the more creative people I meet, the more I realize that it is about being special in some way, knowing that and knowing how to share that.

How do you know when someone is special?

The first person I met on my dream fellowship, when I set off to New York in early February, was Jerry Bruner, who is now a sprightly 96 year old, brimming with wisdom and love. He is very special, having spent his life acquiring wisdom and sharing it. I flew especially to New York to see him – it had been several years since I last saw him. He invited me over for lunch to his enormous loft apartment in Manhatten. As I walked in, I heard myself chirping away from his wee computer. He’d started playing the YouTube video of my dream fellowship, sometime before I arrived, but because the bandwidth for his network connection was so slow it had not downloaded properly. It was still streaming like treacle through a funnel, intermittently playing for 3 to 4 seconds, and then stalling for several minutes before stuttering a few more words. 7 minutes was being stretched into 3 hours!

Jerry sat down in front of his computer and invited me to sit opposite him in a chair. I obliged but it felt surreal to be in doppelganger mode. As we chatted, I found myself being echoed from his computer. Switching from the here and now to the now and here was disconcerting for me. Jerry, on the other hand, found it quite funny. Eventually (we were about 3 minutes into the video and an hour into our conversation) we moved over to the dining area of his vast open plan place. Thankfully, the digital me started to fade. The real me helped prepare a simple lunch of salad, cheese and berries. We then opened a bottle of sparkling water. As we ate and drank the simple fare, we talked and talked. Much was shared; personal, political interspaced with reminiscing and playfulness.

I finally left late afternoon with much to savour. I walked slowly back to my hotel in Washington Square, a few blocks away, looking at the splendid high rise buildings surrounding me, reflecting on Jerry’s words of wisdom. It was not in the telling of what I must do, read or see in life, but in the giving to me of something special. It is hard to put a finger on exactly what it was. The pearls came through the conversation, not through any worldly advice.

I had been in the presence of a special one.

José Mourinho, Real Madrid’s coach, is known for being special but for very different reasons. He has just won La Liga, knocking the seemingly invincible Barcelona off their perch, having previously won the league title in Portugal, England and Italy. When he joined Chelsea in 2004 he said at his inaugural press conference, “Please don’t call me arrogant, but I’m European champion and I think I’m a special one.”

A stroke of genius, I thought at the time – and the name “The Special One” has stuck ever since; 8 years later it remains his moniker and rightly so. Besides being incredibly handsome, which makes most of us female supporters go weak at the knees, the Special One has that look, know how and ability to work out how to play the beautiful game in ways other managers (with the exception of Fabio and Alex) can only dream about. He is foremost a brilliant strategist, always 5 games ahead and 10 moves along – like a chess master – knowing how to position, psyche and play his team while unnerving his opponents. He meticulously does his homework each waking moment for his master plan using his wisdom and the knowledge. But he also uses technology very astutely to extend his thinking. For example, he externalises his plans far into the future, drawing and interacting with clever software that enables multiple tactical positions to be simulated for each game. And during each game, he scribbles down on-the-fly tactics, challenges and changes using a scruffy note pad that helps him make crucial decisions, when under immense pressure.

In the last couple of weeks, I have been working with an artist from the University of Cape Town, Johann van der Schijff, helping him interview local school kids and teachers about their experiences of being part of his latest art project called Community Punching Bags. It has been for him a very long, extensive and collaborative project, involving many children, teachers, leather makers, photographers and more.

I joined him late on in his project and curiosity has gotten the better of me. We’ve had several probing conversations about what it means for an artist to collaborate with others and to curate something that would not be possible without their participation. For many of us, the idea of collaborating with an artist usually conjures up producing or creating an artifact that the artist wants, such as Anthony Gormley’s ‘Field for the British Isle’ where he recruited lots of kids and their extended families from schools in Liverpool to help him make 40,000 cute terracotta clay figures as part of his immense installation. For Johann, the collaborative process entails asking specific people to do different things that they are skilled at or will push them beyond their comfort zones, that then becomes a central part of his curation – coming up with new designs, running workshops or cutting and stitching leather punching bags.

One comment that he made which struck me was how he can immediately see in the people he recruits who is special and who he wants to work with and push more. Being special to him involves being able to pick up quickly on what has to be done, having self discipline, listening and taking on board what other’s say, and then working it out on your own. In addition, there is always a look, a big smile and a sense of knowing. But to see specialness in others needs developing a level of self-awareness about one’s own specialness.

“People who are wise can interrupt, take a step back, and reframe … a lot of wisdom probably has to do with looking at a situation differently and reframing.”

I just read this in a book on Wisdom by the award-winning science writer, Stephen S. Hall, which is based on a phone call he had with another Stephen (Kosslyn) in 2008.

Special people know that. And anyone can become special provided that they …

Still 3D

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I remember buying my first 3D disposable camera in the mid 90s from a family-run store in Palo Alto and being wowed back then. Opening the wallet of my first 12 glistening prints, I was tickled by each one’s illusion of a 3D world, re-created on thick ribby paper. My snaps were of friends in tourist poses; standing in front of the Golden Gate Bridge, leaning on a big Cadillac, steaming in an outdoor hot tub, being dwarfed by giant cacti and being flashed by neon signs. The iconic images stood out boldly against the Californian-coloured backgrounds, like 3D models offering an imaginary, childlike depth of view. The hues were so vivid that the foreground objects seemed to pop up and out; nothing like the world we see through our own stereo eyes or when we interpret 3D from conventional 2D images. All very Wizard-of-Oz and dream-like.

In one of my earlier entries, Hyper 3D, I talked about how 3D technology capitalizes on hyper-reality. Balls, cars, arrows, and schools of fish come racing towards us and over our shoulders – making us feel the action as we slouch and flinch on our sofas. But as David Hockney wryly observes – in Gayford’s new book on conversations about his works – it’s just, too, toy-like: we don’t actually see or experience the world like that, ‘it is like someone is making a life-size replica of the world’.

So why not use the evocative power of 3D technology to do something different other than ‘out-real’ reality – depicting something that normally can’t be seen but only imagined? A mirror of the mind, perhaps, projecting hidden repressed emotions, memories and images? Last Friday, I saw an ingenious use of still 3D at Sadler’s Wells that tried to do just that – and it worked brilliantly. Wayne McGregor in collaboration with OpenEndedGroup (New York based, digital art collective) and composer Mark-Anthony Turnage put on the latter’s chamber opera “Twice Through the Heart” and added elements of still 3D, by projecting a tormented woman’s past, using two mega-screens that covered the front of the stage, out into the stalls and circle. The audience were given bright yellow plastic glasses to experience the effect. White membraned, 3D still images emerge like frost does when shown appearing on a glass window in slow motion. Behind the organic filaments sat a single mezzo-soprano – Sarah Connolly – alone at a bare kitchen-like table.

The story behind the opera is of a woman who has killed her husband, with a  knife, driven to such depths because of his constant abuse. Now, she finds herself doubly imprisoned; the memories of her nightmarish former domestic life, where her husband kept her captive, unleash and unwind within the solitary confines of her prison cell. She cannot escape – 3D images surround her and we the audience; a kitchen sink with grey blood-stained taps loom above both her and us, coated in milky, tissue-like film. Against this otherworldly digital backdrop, we see her physical body writhe and contort; her pained voice etching further the pathos. The illusion is of a tortured mind oozing out of human skin, creeping towards each audience member, almost within reaching touch – such is the clever use of still 3D digital technology.

Then suddenly, to coincide with a dramatic moment in the opera, the digital imagery vanishes. In an instant, we see only a stark image of Sarah Connolly, singing, standing and staring into an abyss.

The beauty of 3D digital photography is in its stillness rather than its motion; enveloping rather than engulfing our senses. And OpenEndedGroup has gone one step further; combining it with the physical world to unsettle and suggest. This creative use is leaps and bounds beyond the toy-like, fast moving (main)stream of objects that propel towards us on commercial 3D TV.

Image from OpenEndedGroup – music.columbia.edu

Artful Conversation

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Meeting an artist for the first time in his studio is an exciting prospect. But how does one spark up a conversation, without sounding trite, too earnest or too much in awe?

I was invited by John Wragg RA to visit him, after I had bought a painting of his from the Royal Academy summer show. I decided to take him up on his offer and was accompanied by Rafi and his girlfriend, Amanda, who were over from the States visiting me. We set off in high spirits, driving to Devizes, a market town in the beautiful Wiltshire countryside. We pondered over my predicament; I asked both of them if they could think of an intelligent question – they being fine arts students. They did not see it as a problem.

We’d been talking, too, about the artfully compiled new book by Martin Gayford, ‘A Bigger Message, conversations with David Hockney’; reflecting on his portrayal of Hockney’s love of nature, how he had changed the way he painted and communicated this following his discovery of the iPhone/iPad app, Brushes, and his ‘voracious intellectual curiosity’.

Our host turned out to be very welcoming and made us feel at ease, making us a cup of builder’s tea and pouring us a glass of red wine, each (except he was so animated that he forgot to pour himself one!). My earlier trepidation was soon replaced by reverence. The conversation flowed from him; he told us anecdote after anecdote, interspersed with his views and opinions about life and the art world. We sat in his kitchen, switching between sips of tea and red wine, listening intently and laughing loudly. Surrounding us were a selection of his paintings, sculptures and personal artefacts. It was a strange experience to be trying to take them in – almost surreptitiously – while following the many threads of the conversation.

The questions I had thought about never materialized. Instead, I asked him more about his life. It just seemed more natural to talk so. We discovered he hung out with Hockney when he was 17 – they both being from Yorkshire and of the same age – and so knew him well. What a coincidence, we all chimed. But then he chortled, pointedly,

‘He is a millionaire and I just make ends meet’.

He then told us a funny story about why Hockney had dyed his hair blond and his journey to California. Several times he talked about Tracey E. And about how he had taught Anish K a few things at Chelsea. And now look at them both…

As time passed, it became more strange to actually talk about JW’s paintings and what was behind them. I suppose it is the same in my own field of academic work. One skirts around, for fear of making someone feel vulnerable or asking crass questions. And yet one knows the other craves recognition and the opportunity to talk more about their ideas. Often someone gives a great talk, goes for dinner with people who were at the talk, and after a few platitudes they all talk about anything but the talk.

After about an hour of kitchen talk, we went on a grand tour of JW’s idiosyncratic house, never knowing quite what to expect. We were led from one room to the next, happening upon different periods of his life and work. Secret doors led to hidden rooms full of paintings, photos, sculptures, cuttings, and artefacts – lying, standing or hanging in front of us, in measured and thoughtful ways. So much to take in – it made it  more difficult for me to ask about any of them.

A and R, however, were bolder, asking a few questions about his technique of using hardboard versus canvas, oil paints versus watercolours, and so on. And then I stopped in front of a big painting, depicting a forlorn, egg-headed chap – and asked him – in a rather tongue-in-cheek way, why he had painted over the top of the man’s head (he often paints over and over until it feels right),

‘Just because.’ He looked bemused at such a silly question. Right answer.

That stopped me in my tracks.

Artful conversation lies in the layering and folding of topics, rather than directness of questions and answers. We found out a lot more about JW and his art through his seguing of anecdotes, memories and quips. In contrast, the conversations MG has with DH in the Hockney book are more focussed and reflective, like mini-interviews, more befitting of a book.

At one point in chapter 6, MG asks about the enjoyment of art. DH reminisces by describing his memories of sitting at the front of buses and in the front of cars, so he could see more, ‘because it is such a pleasure.’

But it was his anecdote about GIs in Vietnam that is most striking and will stick with us. He describes how the soldiers used to talk about ‘eye-fucks’,

‘when they are on the move they have to keep their eyes intensely looking for a tiny quiver of a leaf, over there or over there, taking in as much as they could.’

It stuck with him, as it stuck with us – and one can see why,

‘it is a way of saying the eye is having extreme enjoyment.’

As we wandered around JW’s collection, that extended into the café across the road (where we had coffee and cakes) our eyes were doing the same, but our ears were also having ‘ear-fucks’ – so to speak – with the enraptured conversation.

Baltic Bin

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The Turner Prize has gone north for the first time in its 27-year history – to the BALTIC contemporary art gallery in Newcastle. I’ve always wanted to visit this splendid converted mill and, by luck, I was giving a talk in Newcastle this week, so was able to see both. And the exhibition was free, too, unlike when it is hosted expensively at the Tate in London.

Trouble was it was the first week of opening, half-term and raining. Even late in the afternoon there was a shivering queue snaking outside the building. We joined it and stood under dripping brollies and hoods, stamping wet feet. Eventually, we were counted in and went up the shiny glassy lift – that apparently many visitors like to spend their time whizzing up and down the floors to get a great view of the city. And then another 10 minute wait inside before we were let into the first gallery.

I always find it is a bit of an anti-climax following the slow moving anticipation associated with long queuing. You expect a big wow when released and it doesn’t materialize because you are in the wrong mindset. It takes time to settle one’s sensibilities again.

As a consequence, the first three rooms were rather underwhelming. We read the blurb on the walls and tried to imagine the raison d’etre behind the installations. S’s 5 year-old daughter A – who had accompanied us on her scooter – played with them, innocently picking up some fake leaves, touching a ragged sweat shirt bin liner in a funny shaped bin, and tracing lines on the sugar paper of another. And quite rightly so; they cried out for being touched – yet the posted guards posture suggested it was verboten. Happily, little angelic A skipped through her touches, deftly without catching their eye.

The last room stood out for me by a mile. I do have a penchant for paintings these days and the ones in this space by George Shaw were quite breath-taking. My money is on this man winning; he paints rain-stained streets, derelict buildings, ghostly garages and other desolate, dull images that are a permanent feature on every estate, dotted throughout the UK. I could immediately connect with them – a run-down council estate in Coventry, a poor working class one in Watford – what is the difference?

The more we looked at Shaw’s paintings the more they revealed – his limited palette of humble Humbrol paints, the deliberate lack of any human life and a relentless stoicism that seeps into ones very sinew when faced with such void vistas each day. But there is hope in the journeys painted out of his childhood. What stands out in all the gloom is his delicious dash of humour, captured whimsically in his titles. My favourite, which did make me laugh out loud, was “Landscape with Dog Shit Bin”.

In the distance of the canvas one can see a tiny, brightly lit red artefact orifice that has become such a pervasive feature of our parks and streets, without us so much as noticing this has happened – taking over from the red BT phone boxes that used to reside on every street corner, and which by the same measure, have now virtually disappeared. This quirky reference to a new order, civilized society eases us out of the heaviness of life that spans the rest of the painting – there is a glimmer of light in the most unexpected place that helps us work out how to escape an otherwise mundane and melancholic world.