Tagged fiction

Space Fiction: “You Know You Want Some Of This”

RND/ To consider some fragmentary deep space fiction entitled “You Know You Want Some Of This.”

Photo by Miriam Espacio on Pexels.com

0. After a mildly promising start, Henry’s life quickly devolves and fragments into an odd, generic, absurdist tragi-romantic sci fi survival horror romp through an apparently empty Mars base, populated by the simulated digital ghosts of the recently deceased. Turns out Henry Swanson, PhD had what base security now call a “Rider” living inside his skull – a super advanced, polydimensional lifeform sent to observe the unevolved human natives next door. Word got out, and fearing an ‘Alien Invasion’ company officials on Earth decided to pull the plug on the whole Mars deal, initiating a Base Wide Colony Purge. History dutifully records them as paranoid idiots.

1. Shortly after the first thousand humans had fully settled on Mars, it was decided (bizarrely, some thought) to send an anthropologist to study the new colonies, and generate a detailed record of their emergent culture. An expensive P.R stunt. A short list of suitable candidates was generated, and one eventually chosen for his mental toughness and keen analytical eye. After all departmental waivers were signed in triplicate, Dr. Henry Swanson found himself with an important decision. Which of his favorite gaudy Hawaiian shirts should he take? He eventually decided on the one with the large purple jungle flowers, as he considered it lucky.

2. Henry was a Cambridge PhD graduate who felt at ease in his own company. The thought of a five month, ion fusion propelled round ticket to Mars in deep cryosleep did not bother him. Apparently everyone dreamed in fragmented cycles during the flight, but few ever remembered any specifics upon medical revival. This was seen as a bonus.

3. After what seemed a mere nap, Henry awoke naked and alone on a freezing aluminum slab and apart from a sore neck and a dry mouth, felt like he’d been accidentally delivered to a swish international airport in Dubai.

4. “PhD in rambling bullshit, more like” thought Henry as he stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling of his new home. A large egg shaped pod made of Mars sand reinforced with steel fungus spirals, it lay alone on the fringes of the central colony to the West of Core Base Alpha. Henry’s particular group of travelers consisted of visiting engineers and technicians on a year long work cycle. During debriefing, one of the engineers had prodded him rudely in the shoulder and asked him what he did. The guy seemed a real shit kicker. Regarding this strange, dim creature with cold eyes, Henry quietly replied “I write reports for The Company” and left it at that. The engineer suddenly looked nervous, and did not talk to him again.

5. Despite the deadly environmental problems back home, many found the idea of permanent relocation to Mars faintly terrifying. Vast dust storms caused by atmosphere processing shrouded the base for long stretches, sealing off all outside communication. The locals called it ‘Deep Red’ and apparently the scouring megalithic clouds that would grow on the horizon weeks before were an unforgettable sight. Anyone caught outside sixty seconds after the storms hit, would not only find themselves suddenly blown a hundred miles off course but also without flesh, or friends to rescue them.

6. The cool, dry air in Henry’s pod smelt faintly of sea breeze and pomegranates. He wondered idly about his career, his thinning hair and the precise angle of his bobbing erection above the covers, pointing roughly at the aircon unit directly above him. 3AM again and no sleep for three days straight. After five months in cryo on the ship to Mars, the body rebelled against rest and relaxation and distractions were necessary. He sighed, slowly got up, cold showered, dressed and decided to play a quick remastered game of Beast Busters on his classic illegal handheld. Almost smiling, the primitive A.I driven device asked him “No sleep again, Hank?” and he ignored it, concentrating instead on incoming attacks by rotting zombie dogs. Their wild eyes glowed in the silent darkness of the pod.

7. [Redacted by The Company – something to do with an embarrassing mis-sent text message, existential depression and an unpaid electricity bill back home.]

8. All citizens apart from Henry found themselves instantly electro-zapped into unloved carbon dust by some sociopathic, button pushing ‘Gorman’ (bureaucrat) back home. Apparently the whole base was security wired like this for just such an emergency. Busy exploring a local cave system at the time, Henry arrived back at the base with an ancient fossil in hand to discover he was now basically screwed – but still quietly philosophical about his newly updated status. ‘Deep Red’ hit the base at 08:30 SBT Standard Base Time, the lights went out and the silent howling violence of the storm felt deafening.

9. The Rider called itself FRANK, and communicated via delightful, puzzling telepsychic image metaphors. For some reason Henry wasn’t remotely surprised to discover someone living inside his head, and mentally held up his hand in warm greeting to his new neighbor. FRANK smiled via soft, intense blue light pulses. Emergency generators had kicked back in, autonomous life support was fully functioning and apart from being several million kilometers from the nearest human being, Henry found the first week alone pleasant and relaxing. The storm continued to rage outside.

10. Back on Earth all hell was breaking loose. A company employee called M [redacted] managed to hook up with an inside contact from Channel Zero, and the resulting new media frenzy was the worldwide talk of the virtual internets. In order to survive Company retaliation for the Mars Base Purge leak, employee M found themselves on a one way ticket to the destroyed colony. Hitching a ride with space pirates friendly to M’s situation, M dreamed of all the friends they were leaving behind and wept, their tears forming beautiful cryo-crystals on their cheeks.

11. Able to see into the Near Future Now, the Rider in Henry’s skull had augmented the primitive A.I in Henry’s handheld videogames device to the point where it was able to generate and sustain a Base wide simulacrum of the old crew, based on several thousand psychology nodes in each of their private Company records. Factors such as temperament and probable emotional response to stress were processed by the A.I, and the resulting simulacrum booted into existence. Few humans apart from the crew themselves would have noticed any difference. It did this, because it felt sorry for Henry and was worried about the effects of long term loneliness on its congenial host.

12. Horrified at the murderous, utterly wasteful violence of the human species, FRANK asked Henry why The Company had not simply sent A.I driven cyborgs to Mars in the first place. “Good question” replied Henry, suddenly remembering that humans were still currently cheaper and quicker to train. “Economics drives all rational human behavior” said FRANK. “Sure seems that way” replied Henry. “Humans often rationalize themselves insane.” Suddenly the ghost of the rude engineer ran right through Henry. “Out of the way, pencil neck” said the engineer. “I’ve got vital base repairs to make!” Henry shook his head and stared, calling after him as he sprinted down the corridor toward Security. “You’re dead, dipshit.”

13. Deep Red blew over in a couple days, and a faint scarlet mist hung over the sun that shone through the foot thick window of Henry’s pod. The twenty year atmosphere processing cycle was now complete. Despite being a little gritty at times, there was finally air outside. He looked outside to see small docking ship landing over at Core Base Alpha. Henry asked the A.I (who by now was calling itself LISA) who on Earth was landing. “It’s not the company, come to mop up stragglers, is it?” asked Henry. “No, it’s a single person, M. Apparently they’ve been dropped off by a passing pirate cruiser. Motives as yet unknown. They’re armed with a low watt laser pistol.”

14. The problem was that air meant moisture and moisture meant rain. A great rain storm was now on its way, one which would wash Mars Base Alpha off the face of the planet like a distant stain, a single small dirty memory of a great and totally avoidable tragedy, founded on nothing but superstition and ignorant fear of the unknowable mystery of universal life itself. M sends Henry an ill considered instant text message at midnight – “You know you want some of this” – and the last ever feeling had by the last two humans in the galaxy turns out to be embarrassment. While wearing a Hawaiian shirt.

// how to play big science

Painting and Fiction: The Birthday Party

RND/ To consider a conceptual painting-fiction of The Birthday Party, which by all accounts was a success. There was even lemon cake. And yet his fucking soul was still deeep in social lockdown.

3148 x 2874 .jpg, from a photo by Robert What.

The Birthday Party

Ideal / Idealized price for such a concept: £220k – contact Rob for details

Fiction

[..] she often wears plastic inflatable fairy wings on her birthday. This ensemble arrives complete with a blow up magic wand. Yet while he smiled endearingly upon witnessing this manifesting aesthetic, he said nothing, feeling a strong sense of ideology about The Scene. He suddenly wondered about the bizarre violence underlying the most innocent of our choices. It wasn’t the mere choice to wear plastic fairy wings, as the strange iron fact of their enactment within the Social Space – as if, in order for The Birthday Party to take place at all, there’s no way they could not have been worn.

All of a sudden, these wings were not the wings of breaking some protective wall and letting oneself go, expressing one’s spontaneity of feeling but rather theatrical, staged, egotistical – wings with which to regain correct social distance from those beings without with the ability to fly. Of course, nobody at the party remotely thought like this. It was by all accounts just another pleasant day in permanent social lockdown.

For a moment at least the wings appeared as a retroactive signifier of near future meaning, projected into some absurd Eternal Birthday present. The notion of all language as alien and communication as impossible began to fill his idiot mind. Despite the pleasant and convivial company, he sat there on his own with a warm beer in hand, idly wondering to what extent our very existences, the ground beneath our feet depends upon entire unacknowledged sets of dangerous and untested assumptions.

Just what is the particular plastic Reality Model we base our whole lives on, simply so we can breathe from moment to moment? On whose weary shoulders do we sit, fairy kings and princesses, merely so we can continue silently enforcing the notion that whatever we do is always perfectly Normalized – somehow universally acceptable, morally without shame or reflection – shiny chrome smiles in the dark inverted virtual light constantly projected from our own pure ontological backsides? A silent and casually cruel, wanton naivety often seems to inform every move we make as we flutter through this empty world – babes with knives and wands in the shallow digital woods.

Speaking of naive. He’d spend hours the previous day expertly curating a party playlist, adjusting the volume and bass on dozens of tracks. He imagined everyone would get busy dancing and would at some point compliment him on his amazing musical taste. But it everybody just sat there checking their evil hyper-corporate smart phone slabs. He suddenly felt like a total try-hard, a useless fifth wheel, jealous of their advanced Social Network which he couldn’t afford. He was planning to dance with Birthday Girl at some point, show off his own Cool Moves but in the end merely felt desperate and hungover. Sunburnt and alienated.

When he finally slunk off back indoors to nurse his empty skull, few noticed or mentioned the fact of his unremarkable disappearance. Good riddance, professional misery boy. Luckily a passing UFO saw his existential plight and temporarily rescued him from his pathetic suburban desires. How it’s quietly maddening, not to able to reach out and touch another lonely soul. Except he’s the only one that’s lonely. In fact he plans to stay that way.

  • La Femme D’Argent – Air
  • Birthday – The Sugarcubes
  • Feels Like Summer – Childish Gambino
  • Had To Hear – Real Estate
  • Stiff Upper Lip – ACDC
  • Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner – Black Uhuru
  • Ziggy Stardust – Bauhaus
  • Snoop Dogg ft. Pharrell – Beautiful
  • Blue Suede Shoes – Carl Perkins
  • Jammin – Bob Marley
  • Teaser – Brad Wilson
  • Wot – Captain Sensible – Wot
  • Express Yourself – Charles Wright
  • From Nowhere – Dan Croll
  • Let It Whip – Dazz Band
  • Need U (100%) – Duke Dumont
  • Girls on Film – Duran Duran
  • A Little Respect / Oh L’Amour – Erasure
  • Good Thing – Fine Young Cannibals
  • Inner City – Good Life
  • Good Thing Going – Sugar Minott
  • Altered Images – Happy Birthday
  • Nakamarra – Hiatus Kaiyote
  • Like To Get To Know You Well – Howard Jones
  • I Need A Roof – The Mighty Diamonds
  • Need You Tonight – INXS
  • Baby I Love You So – Jacob Miller
  • Papa’s Got A Brand New Bag – James Brown
  • Cavalier (Samuraii Remix) – James Vincent McMorrow
  • The Harder They Come – Jimmy Cliff
  • August 10 – Khruangbin
  • Fresh / Get Down On it – Kool & The Gang
  • Into The Groove – Madonna
  • Midnight Special – Creedence Clearwater Revival
  • Night’s Introlude – Nightmares On Wax
  • Nuthin’ But A ‘G’ Thang – Dr. Dre
  • Paid In Full – Eric B. & Rakim
  • Forget Me Nots – Patrice Rushen
  • Above The Clouds – Paul Weller
  • West End Girls – Pet Shop Boys
  • What’s The Frequency, Kenneth? – REM
  • La Bamba – Ritchie Valens
  • Miss You (Long Outtake) – Rolling Stones
  • Mandinga – Rubén González
  • Evil Ways – Santana
  • Soul Limbo – Booker T. & The MG’s
  • Rockin’ Me – Steve Miller Band
  • Tequila – The Champs
  • She Sells Sanctuary – The Cult
  • Let’s Go To Bed – The Cure
  • Bohemian Like You – The Dandy Warhols
  • Louie Louie – The Kingsmen
  • J’aurais Toujours Faim de Toi / The Bed’s Too Big Without You – The Police
  • Talking In Your Sleep / What I Like About You – The Romantics
  • The Way You Do The Things You Do – UB40
  • The Hardest Button to Button – The White Stripes
  • Under the Boardwalk – The Drifters
  • Money’s Too Tight (To Mention) – Valentine Brothers
  • Gimme All Your Lovin’ – ZZ Top
  • Don’t Go – Yazoo
  • Les Amants – Les Rita Mitsouko

Example Link

Frieze – Can Metaphysics Help Us Heal the World?

// how to play big science

How To Play Big Science

RND/ In which the following summarizes “How To Play Big Science – a forthcoming conceptual European novel of postmodern fragments via freelance internet theorist Robert What”

How To Play Big Science

Skint, unemployable and terminally bored – consider a backwater island UK citizen with few Real™ prospects, forced into roleplaying “Robert What” – self styled Amateur Postmodern ‘Internet Theorist-For-Hire’ and Non (/Bad) Artist – busy procrastinating in Research and Development of absurdist, imaginary play state “Big Science

This informal alternative lifestyle sandbox, toolbox / social practice features superficial sci fi mythos – based on contentless, open fan source field study vaporware fragments – impressionistic ‘visual language’ code compiled with or via imagination

Consider such scenes / scenarios / simulations / interventions / ruptures / intellectual catalysts – synthetic setups / virtual events / nonlinear actions / occurrences – forming temporary / highly improvisational research performances / advanced scientific visualizations

Example In-Scene Use

Y: Hi – what you doing?
X: Oh, you know – “Big Science”
Y: *blinks once* OK, how do you play?
X: Good question, lets find out!

Both ambivalent engine and enquiry mode – Big Science now partially manifests in this dimension as new age social media cult / free to play eSport set in ‘Near Future Now’ of global turbo Capitalist videogame spectacle; giddy, hyperreal age of rogue precedents and kaleidoscopic, atemporal expression – emergent planetary scale meta-computation shockwave tapping the ‘very dark’ energy fabrics of spacetime Beyond

Unaffiliated fellow player Robert What has spent decades sitting alone in cold rented laboratories diving through terabytes of digital zombie pop trash as immaterial for vague ‘RND Projects’ – and now shares predictably oddball findings and mundane observations online

Hire Robert What Today

If you’ve a unique RND project which might benefit from outside amateur consultation, freelance speculative ideas brainstormer Robert What brings keen non-rational / experimental philosophical investigation / deep left field perspective to reveal and expand existing andor hidden meaning / potential artistry

Rob’s skills include an ability to undertake daring cognitive leaps across ontological voids between notions and perceptions; such extensive tests / imprecise deployed notions involve indeterminate strategies – unpredictable ongoing developments and impossible events to deconstruct / ponder radically alternative improbable outcomes – to provide insight into emergent ‘in-scene’ play

To discuss such bleeding edge ‘theory-fiction’, chat about cool project collaboration andor consultation, simply email Robert – expect three working days for replies; politeness and intellect always welcome and reciprocated

Terms and Conditions

For purposes of philosophical critique, artistic parody / socio-political satire, public education and historical archiving – such “Big Science” enacts under conditions of contemporary financial duress; it releases andor escapes to what Brian Eno terms the ‘Scenius’ – via No License / No Copyright / Maximum RND – Kopimi!

B.S Disclaimer:: in order to bypass regular neural [cultural / market] interference/ this advanced thought experiment transmits to you now, direct from Near Future Retro 80s “Big Scientist RND Zaibatsu” Shadow Hyper Corporation lab space via Quantum Psychic Blockchain; such RND seems provided seemingly as-is/ raw or burnt – as such often contains or actively expresses technical inaccuracies/ errors typographical / otherwise wildly out-of-date information/ nebulous / spurious notions – often necessarily pretend-tious; all text in lowercase to engage with notions of authorship / linearity; updated in-scene without notice at any time its use seems risky – in no pseudo event shall fellow researcher Robert What or affiliates be liable for special / indirect / incidental or consequential damages andor unexpected existential excitement resulting from or related to use theoretical or otherwise – of / exposure to hot research data / general absurdist social play-practice of “Big Science”

// how to play big science

RANT vs ISCA (fiction)

RND/ in which Robert What actively pretends to be current Theorist In Residence for ISCA – the smoothly sinister & sublimely algorithmic “Institute Of Southern Contemporary Art” [1] – installed in their wires over the weekend by remote hack, a hungry cybernetic ghost – yet in fact represents the theoretical interests of “RANT” (Refusal Against Northern Theory)

First, the ‘Logos’ of RANT:

R.A.N.T logos

Next, a faded and torn simulation of an old ‘RANT vs ISCA’ poster:

RANT VS ISCA

More intense postmodern R&D about Robert What’s viral software residency to follow; artists João Enxuto and Erica Love have been informed

Inverted ISCA video

Transcript of Institute For Southern Contemporary Art (via Robert What)

“If an algorithm were employed to design a sculpture that conveyed the most spectacular of ironies, it might look something like this – a lavish symbol of extinction standing at the front-line of climate disaster. Regardless, billionaires aren’t here to look very far past Miami Beach’s turquoise horizon. Instead, they’re invested in playing games. Fucking with categories. Promoting innovation – and it’s accomplice, disruption. Contemporary art is part of that regime. It is a transnational symbol that cuts across thresholds of all kinds. Legal and otherwise. The mammoth arrived from the past, and imparts a future; the gilding is a conceit of the present.

Imagine if the flow of contemporary art were to somehow stall; would recent art be more closely tied to its site of production? Would Miami, as the southern most metropolis in the US, become the centre for southern contemporary art?

This is in fact ground zero for contemporary art in the South. As it has been since 2002. But we are now faced with a situation that has not appeared since the days of Noah. In the future, if rising sea level scenarios hold, it will require us to begin again with Southern Contemporary Art – only it will need to occur elsewhere; from there, we can determine what will come after the contemporary.

Welcome to Atlanta; the inland metropolis of the South. Let’s take a cultural turn and fly past John Portman’s glass skinned enclosures. They are ruins of a bygone future. Foreboding, and therefore cherished by the dystopian storytellers of the film and TV industry. A distinguished architect once said something prophetic about places like these – “We were making sandcastles. Now, we swim in the sea that swept them away.”

Atlanta’s Central Library was the architect Marcel Breuer’s final project. It was completed in 1980. Like the Whitney museum Breuer designed immediately preceding, the Central Library is concrete clad, and, brooding. There it is now. The structure certainly has its detractors. But the architecture community came to its defence, when its future was put into question following a city referendum in 2008. Since then the Central Library has been severely de-funded, understaffed, and there are ongoing rumours that the building will be sold or demolished.

The uncertain future of the Central Library presents an opportunity, to complement the ambitions of its maker. Marcel Breuer believed that architecture should be an instrument for “civilizing technology.” To meet those ends, we’d like to introduce a new standard. The “Institute For Southern Contemporary Art” – ISCA.

The Central Library will be transformed, to promote the advancement of contemporary art, here in the South. It is a grand experiment; part think tank, and part experimental program to promote new terms for art production. The Institute For Southern Contemporary Art begins with a simple bottom line that, art is produced as a commodity. It doesn’t become one when it is sold. While technology is increased productivity in most sectors, art has remained a time consuming operation; creativity requires time, and ‘art work’ still takes work.

Fellows accepted to ISCA are awarded a stipend and do not pay tuition. ISCA will become an experiment in pedagogy, and reinvent the study and training of visual arts right here in the South. The only work of fellows is to occasionally provide the algorithm with their demographic, psychographic, and behavioural attributes. The rest of the time is dedicated to the pursuit of advancing art practices, curatorial work, and critical writing that engages with the social and intellectual conditions in the art field. The work will be supported by a venerable rotating roster of theorists, artists, activists, designers, and developers. It’s amazing what the art market can provide, isn’t it?

Through algorithmic learning, ISCA fellows will instrumentalize a market that already operates as if regulated by computational logic. The analysis of art market metadata has proved beneficial primarily for collectors, many of whom do very little, besides await returns on the derivatives market.

At the core of The Institute For Southern Contemporary Art, is a supercomputer that analyses and models the flow of art markets. For some time, market data has been the primary determinant in shaping matters of taste. It is a cybernetic system which has trained the heart, and the mind.

This requires a complex analysis of trends. Then, you add in Instagram data; Instagram data is incredible because you’re basically crowdsourcing opinion. The more the art market becomes gamified, the more adept the ISCA algorithm will be in generating a detailed production plan for art than can successfully enter the market flow. You see, this will be done for an acceptable margin of error, considering volatility, and a penchant in the art market for ‘anomalies’. Mastering the market shouldn’t take long, since it does trend toward the formulaic and user friendly. Artworks are eager to please.

After setting up shop in the Breuer building, ISCA fellows will function as subject matter experts, providing rating data to artificial neural networks. The networks are made up of software based neurons, which communicate and alter their connection strengths to adapt and learn. The ISCA algorithm also encodes a chain of inferences, made by contemporary art experts, financial analysts and critical theorists.

This ‘deep learning machine’ factors the creative product’s art history, to help draw inferences about originality, and influence. Art is a special asset class – a beautiful instrument really, which provides very tangible incentives for Returns On Investment. And, it is less risky than you would think. Proper analytics and data management are the key. The myth that ‘everything can be quantified’ is quite powerful.

While services provided by art advisor and art rank all deliver predictive data, our computational model is focused on a different horizon. We aim to serve the interests of artists, not just collectors. Once the system is up and running, contemporary art products will be marketed and sold under the ISCA imprimitive. Like any other creative expression, algorithmic art requires interpretation – a human touch. Authorship and individuality are key factors for quantifying artistic value. Collectors expect it.

So, just about all ISCA production will be outsourced. A crowdworking system will hire technicians, marked by the highest reputational rankings. Painters, welders – but also coders, and 3D designers. Luckily, there is a large labour pool to draw from. Art schools have turned vocational.

As the Damien Hurst mammoth illustrates, the market welcomes fabrication, and outsourcing. It’s been that way for decades. So it only follows that in the future, art production will be further automated, and predicted.

You know, this reminds me of a story, recounted by the artist Howard Finster about a divine intervention. After dipping his index finger in enamel paint, Finster observed that it had been transfigured into the face of God. That vision was tied to a previous vision, where he was called to “Paint sacred art”, yes – paint sacred art. And wouldn’t you know it, God was saying to him all the time ‘Howard, you got to get your pictures out to the world.’ And you could hear God say “Sell ’em!” And that’s when he started to sell his paintings to the world.

You are probably thinking that this entire venture is crazy. And you’re probably saying that, “Computers don’t know creativity.” That, art isn’t just a set of instructions. But I assure you that our results are based on quantifiable information. You see, it’s been a long time since artists were regarded as sages or priests. They are more likely to be specialized knowledge workers, like many of us. Taste can be fickle. So it is high time to let software take command.

Contemporary art is a multi-billion, unregulated market, with unclear criteria just waiting to be harnessed. And the ISCA algorithm is just the instrument to do it. It isn’t a perfect deterministic model. But at ISCA, we didn’t just get into The Art Game to optimize for market performance. The goal of automating contemporary art is to become emancipated from it.

You see, political economy is at the heart of The Art Problem. Technology may be changing infrastructure, but that infrastructure is made to function according to narrowly defined objectives. Technological change alone won’t curtail an art field defined by individualism and competition – regardless of what artists and collectives really want. It’s time to put it into autopilot. Capital can slough off its human drag.

Artists have become compelled to conceive of themselves as entrepreneurs. Any chance for autonomy is precluded by a lack of access to market distribution. But, once access is granted, artists cease to function as meaningfully autonomous. This is an age old conundrum that ISCA is dedicated to challenging.

Now you are probably wondering how ISCA artists and its programs will be subsidized. Well, sales of our contemporary art products are projected to make ISCA sustainable by 2022.

It was recently said that contemporary art must be anywhere, or nowhere, at all. So why not the South, which boasts the most hospitable of business environments? If ISCA could help make the South the industry leader in contemporary art, it would. But, as it stands, contemporary art carries with it a kind of fiction, of a unified present that is global, and boundless. But of course, contemporary art has boundaries. They are called Biennales. Free ports. Art fairs in Dubai, Miami, and London. Often, art only takes on aspects of the contemporary, when it is framed as such. “The Now” has a particular recognizability, which dictated the design of the ISCA module that you can see here. This version happens to house Marcel Breuer’s Wassily chairs. The rest of the container is ready to be filled with *your* imagination.

The modules are an important ISCA strategy. They are sized to fit inside cargo containers. Moving from port to port, modules can be positioned anywhere, to instantly increase consumer confidence.

How do we map an edge, that is in constant motion? How can we fix a fluid boundary, when it comes time to mark the limits of private property, and the commons? On the beach, ISCA modules will be positioned near the high tide line, in a grey area between the two designations – caught in a perpetual state of groundlessness. In the coming decades, as the tide line advances, many of our most progressive art institutions – now elevated about storm surge level – will be inundated. The concrete beams which support the museum platform, will turn into artificial reefs, and support a diversity of sea life. By the of this century, the museum will stand on a seabed, owned by the state, and be placed in the public trust, possibly as a memorial to contemporary art, as we’ve known it.

ISCA.”

Reference Links

  1. ISCA

// how to play big science