Data Weave is a marriage of art forms to the extent that the Jacquard loom’s use of punch cards to weave intricate motifs inspired the use of punch cards for saving and executing programs in early computing.
Data Weave extends traditions of embedding symbols in textiles to communicate information by applying my practice of color coding binaries to weaving. This process of encoding data with color produces intricately detailed, cascading motifs that are meant to be woven pixel to stitch.
Each pixel represents bits of data showing how weaving can also be understood as pixel art. Furthermore, Data Weave simultaneously illustrates an alternate way of data preservation and a materialization of digital ephemera by tangibly elucidating data structures with color.
This artwork represents what it would be like for an AI to watch Bob Ross on LSD (once someone invents digital drugs). It shows some of the unreasonable effectiveness and strange inner workings of deep learning systems. The unique characteristics of the human voice are learned and generated as well as hallucinations of a system trying to find images which are not there.
Original video removed. Watch it here: https://vimeo.com/212669648
Artist and TED Fellow Aparna Rao re-imagines the familiar in surprising, often humorous ways. With her collaborator Soren Pors, Rao creates high-tech art installations — a typewriter that sends emails, a camera that tracks you through the room only to make you invisible on screen — that put a playful spin on ordinary objects and interactions.
Quite old but couldn’t miss for the launch of Arts High Tech.
The Museum of Modern Art in New York City is hosting the first US-based solo exhibit from artist Ian Cheng: a live simulation known as the “Emissary trilogy.” In addition to the physical installation, the museum is also streaming “unique versions that exist online only” via Twitch.
Twitch is best known as a platform widely used by the gaming community, and the partnership with MoMA reflects that. The Emissary trilogy creates its simulation through the use of a video game engine; Cheng describes it as “a video game that plays itself.” The exhibit is an exploration of the human consciousness and evolution.
Using the latest in VR technology, Thresholds restaged one of the earliest exhibitions of photography in 1839, when British scientist William Henry Fox Talbot first presented his photographic prints to the public at King Edward’s School, Birmingham.
The experience was a fully immersive portal to the past; people were able to walk freely throughout a digitally reconstructed room, and touch the bespoke vitrines, fixtures and mouldings; even the heat from a coal fire was recreated. A soundscape for Thresholds included the sound of demonstrations of the Chartist protesters who rioted in 1839 on the streets of Birmingham, and could be glimpsed through the digital windows.
Iñárritu went to Casa Libra and other organizations helping displaced people from Latin America, many of them from Honduras and Guatamala. They travel through Mexico via a series of “coyotes,” often piled like logs on top of each other in trucks; most of the time, they are caught and detained by U.S. border patrols and helicopters.
“Carne y Arena” — “Flesh and Sand” — takes us to one of those locations for a series of border captures. We are in the desert, where we see dehydrated people with bloody feet, often having lost their shoes, taken violently by cops to detention centers.
The 360-degree immersion began. As I got my magic-hour bearings in the scrubby desert with mountains in the distance, people began to appear in the bushes, making noises of discomfort and pain, and as it got dark, they cowered and screamed as a helicopter deafeningly lands — the ground vibrating — and border patrol agents bark orders and threaten, pointing guns, ordering them to “get down!” It’s noisy, scary chaos, as cops pull people out of hiding, wrestle them into submission, and drag them away.
“I did not know technically how to solve this,” he said. “The amount of data and amount of rendering is huge. They had to develop new ILM computer systems to allow this.”
Umbrico’s served as the show’s focal point: a makeshift wall of LCD TVs with cracked screens, each playing a DVD of a horror movie or series that she had found at the warehouse. The scenes were only partially visible, their visuals largely lost beneath enchanting rainbow streaks of broken hardware. As Umbrico described to me, she wanted viewers to consider the relationships between our bodies and the body of the screen; how we tend to think of both as nearly invisible until they break. On the other side of the room stood her monument to the long-dead ancestors of these LCD screens: stacks of CRT TVs, bound together by plastic wrap like bulky hoagies, and each assembled to a height slightly taller than the average human.
The installation is an enormous, interactive environment of voyeurism. Instead of entering the armory from its grand, ceremonial entrance on Park Avenue, you’re funneled through a back entrance and a long, narrow, dim hallway before reaching the Drill Hall, a 55,000-square-foot space with an eight-story-tall ceiling. The cavernous interior is pitch-black and the floor has a slight slope, making it disorienting to explore at first.
When I first walked inside, I wasn’t exactly sure what was going on, but as I took a few steps toward the center of the space, I began to notice static projections on the floor. Then, I realized that these projections were actually still photographs of my body taken from overhead. As I was looking around trying to make sense of the installation, the installation was quietly doing the same to me. One of the most chilling moments involved a drone buzzing overhead. Periodically, it would make a sweep of the space, then disappear. It caught me off guard when I suddenly heard its propellers buzzing over my head and felt the breeze it was generating.
The “other parts” to which Herzog is referring are hidden cameras installed elsewhere in the armory that silently take your photograph and file them into a database.
In another part of the installation–which visitors are routed to after they’ve meandered in the Drill Hall–you’re invited to take a photograph of yourself on an iPad, and the facial-recognition software then searches the database to find your file photo.
Elsewhere, black-and-white portraits of people who have visited the installation are displayed on large screens. The final element of surveillance is a live stream of people in the Drill Hall, projected on a screen.
Alerting Infrastructure is a physical hit counter consisting of a mechanical jackhammer or drill that translates hits to the web site of an organization into interior damage of the physical building that web site or organization represents. The focus of the piece is to amplify the concern that physical spaces are slowly losing ground to their virtual counterparts. The amount of structural damage to the building directly correlates to the amount of exposure and attention the website gets, thus exposing the physical structure’s temporal existence
From Nefertiti Hack
Nefertiti is returning to the place where it was found. For the first time since the sculpture was excavated and stolen over 100 years ago, the iconic artefact will be shown in Cairo.
“The Other Nefertiti” is an artistic intervention by the two German artists Nora Al-Badri and Jan Nikolai Nelles.
Al-Badri and Nelles scanned the head of Nefertiti clandestinely in the Neues Museum Berlin without permission of the Museum and they hereby announce the release of the 3D data of Nefertiti’s head under a Creative Commons Licence.