Artist Cai Guo-Qiang (pronounced sigh gwo chang) takes mark-making to a whole new level with explosives.
His input is the scale of the project, the design of the gunpowder and probably so much more that I can't even conceive of, but the explosion that burns the gunpowder and chars the surfaces is the activation of the mark-making machine.
"Michel Gondry uses inspiration from his son's art class to devise a contraption in which Bjork plays role of guinea pig."
I thought this was just an interesting way of mark-making. I'm not sure how specific the relationship is between the notes Bjork plays and the paint that is released, but the connection between music making and visual art is interesting.
What constitutes the difference between the artist's "input" and what "activates" a mark-making machine? I define input as the artist's direct influence on the machine's function. For example, an artist dips tree branches in ink then allows the wind to direct the branches, making marks on some kind of paper or other surface. The artist's input would be setting up this machine- applying the ink and setting up the paper (distance from the tree matters- this is an artistic/intellectual choice). The activation, or the act that actually starts the mark-making process, here is the wind. We generally think of visual artists as people whose input is the direct activation of mark-making, in other words, we draw, paint, erase, etch, etc. to create marks. Why let something else in on that process? Why let something else have control over our art? For one thing, I find that I often don't feel completely in control of the pieces that I produce. When I feel in control, it is probably a tedious assignment-oriented piece that is focused on technical mastery. I find that conceptual pieces are driven by the "happy accidents" that are brought about when the artist does not plan for something/does not have total control. I began to realize last year that my art does not have to be a total reflection of me in that it is solely a product of my marks, my intentions. Many environmental artists set up their sculptures, architecture, etc. in a natural environment so that nature becomes involved in the piece's development. Herb Parker covers his pieces in sod, which over time look more natural, as if they have grown out of the ground, then the sod dies.
This is a pretty epic machine that functions on its own without the artist's interference. What makes this succession of events an art performance? The flying flaming skull, reminiscent of the headless horseman, wouldn't be nearly as dramatic if it had not taken several minutes of dominoes, chemical reactions, etc. for it to activate. The almost tediousness of the process towards this climactic moment where there is actual pause (focus) on one object that makes it a dynamic performance. The fact that it is a succession of events, each acting as catalysts for the next act, makes the piece feel narrative. It feels like I'm following a story, and if I start to get carried away with that idea while I watch the footage, I begin to create a narrative that each explosion or whatever represents to create an unfolding story.
Theo Jenson is both artist and engineer. He creates mechanical creatures that are intended to live on their own on the beaches, propelled by the wind. I find his work fascinating- he believes that these beasts have a life of their own. He acts as a god, designing the creatures, which then are released into nature to be given life by the wind. The video explains different survival traits he has given them over the years so that they are not destroyed by the ocean or storms. He still has a level of involvement in their lives, but says that ultimately, they should one day be able to sustain themselves without him.
If they can sustain themselves, does it mean that they are living? What makes these creatures different species? Can we really say that they have evolved, or is it just Theo's development of their design that is evolving? What is the difference?
"Marius Watzis a Norwegian artist and curator who originally took his point of departure doing graphics for the raves of the early nineties. In his current artistic practice he focuses on computationally generated form, describing his own style as a particular brand of visual hedonism, marked by colourful organic shapes and a 'more is more' attitude. His work has been shown at many international festivals and exhibitions. Marius is currently organizing the conference and exhibition Generator.x in Oslo, Norway. This event deals with the current role of software and generative strategies in art and design."
This article is worth looking over- Marius makes some interesting points. At first, he's commenting on Generative Art and defining it, then gets more into his art and some of his projects. One in particular is a web spider he created that analyzes information from any and all kinds of sources online. It constantly reads websites, analyzes them, and prints out a receipt. Eventually the room is filled with these receipts, which become ridiculous to attempt to understand. He says, "There is something magical yet pathetic about this smart machine doing such an obviously unintelligent thing..." I thought there was some irony to the idea that the machine is smart- we think of it as an intelligent organism because it can analyze data quicker than and without the bias of human beings, but its capabilities are limited to just that.
At a Digital Art Symposium at UNCG last year I got to experience the artwork of Chris Baker. His Urban Echo Series consists of some kind of program that projects text messages onto buildings. The texts, which can be sent from anyone, anywhere, appear long enough to be read before tumbling and interacting with the architecture (falling around windows, etc.). This isn't a great video but it gets the point across-
So what or where is the art in this process? The designer, Chris, doesn't send the text messages - that's up to public interaction. Is it the public involvement? Is this art?
