“Quarantined Children Generation”

More than ten years ago I worked as an ESL teacher and mentor of kindergarten and Elementary School children in Portland, Oregon. In retrospective, and after teaching at all levels of formal education (including a research university and a liberal arts college), working with those Latino, Russian, and Asian kids has been the most rewarding in terms of scholastic freedom and sociocultural experience. Perhaps it was due to their age, but compared with college students, those immigrant children, thanks to their creativity and inclination to nurture a free spirit, made rainy and somber Portland less depressive. Throughout the years,  I have often wondered about the paths that those kids endeavoured. All of them should’ve been in college by 2020, but as the entire world knows, education at all levels has dramatically changed and in many places going back to the classroom has been postponed until the so – called “new normality” is successfully launched by governments worldwide.

            In an article published by The Cut a few months ago, “The Children of Quarantine,” Lisa Miller collects data from psychologists and sociologists to render a conclusion regarding the effects of the pandemic in children that is not at all surprising. Children across the United States are suffering of anxiety and depression due to the lack of social interaction that the quarantine has brought to their household. Lisa Miller points at the fact that the state of mind of parents who are financially struggling on regular basis gets a strong hold on their kids. While these aren’t news taking into consideration systemic inequalities, the kind of anxiety and mental health issues that the Coronavirus pandemic has triggered among families will have long – lasting effects and in most cases experts anticipate that individuals – including children – will experience various forms of mental health issues for the rest of their life.

            In a possible future scenario, successful 20 – year – old people in 2040 will have to possess not only intellectual skills but also a mental drive that will enable them to cope with isolation and manifold varieties of frustration. Most futuristic narratives of the 21st century tend to draw a reality where android subjectivities are the key social force. Regardless of what the future brings upon humans, either if it is a life under the regime of an Artificial Intelligence or an active interaction with android intelligence, the successful integration of the Quarantined Generation of 2020 into any possible future will require the development of a mindset that combines both ingenuity, a constructive distrust in others, and a powerful imagination rooted in scientific knowledge. Perhaps someone like a grown up Little Prince, the child character created by Antoine de Saint – Exupéry.

            Thinking about recent literary characters that portray children in quarantine, either due to social or virtual conditions as it is the case of the Little Prince, it comes to my memory the child character of a relatively new novella by Mexican author Juan Pablo Villalobos, Down the Rabbit Hole (Fiesta en la madriguera, 2010, a more accurate literal translation would be Party Down the Burrow), which portrays the reclusive experience of the son of a drug lord, who due to his “profession” has the means and feels compelled to satisfy the capricious wishes of his only son, such as buying him miniature animals for his private safari. Or Requiem for the Unhappy, a lyrical novel that illustrates the isolated and delusional life of the two sons of an army man whose job is burning the bodies of children of the opposition party.

            Despite the fact that these literary works explore the lives of children living under reclusive spaces, I would like to focus on the main character of the sci – fi film Ex Machina (2014), Ava, an android designed with the most advanced A.I. technology. While Ava isn’t a child in the strict sense, for she was designed with the anatomical features of a woman in her early 20s, her lack of interaction with humans – despite her A.I. software that provides her unlimited reasoning skills and access to all forms of human knowledge – her assumed naivety at first glance presents her as a sexualized little girl.

            The plot of the film is somewhat  simple: the successful founder of a tech company (Nathan) chooses one of his employees (Caleb) to spend a week at his home/personal lab  in the Pacific Northwest. At first Caleb feels that he was chosen based on his programming skills, but as Nathan introduces him to his A.I. android models, he realizes that Nathan is using him to prove that humans possess a natural naivety and limited reasoning skills when compared to Artificial Intelligence, a fact that shouldn’t be surprising to anyone acquainted with A.I. Each day, Caleb meets Ava to hold conversations in order to assess Ava’s level of human consciousness, while Nathan monitors the meetings from his working desk, letting Caleb believe that his meetings are completely private and Ava’s consciousness is completely unfamiliar with the human strategies of socialization. When they first meet, Caleb assumes a condescending attitude towards Ava, but it doesn’t take long before Ava earns Caleb emotional trust to the point of making him fall in love with her. Nathan, as the creator of Ava and thus aware of the potential display of both intellectual and social intelligence of his most advanced android, takes all the precautions to keep her isolated from human networks of support, knowing that an A.I. like Ava could easily lure humans to gain not only their sympathy but also emotional control over them. Two nights before Caleb’s departure, Ava convinces him that she has disabled for a few minutes the monitoring devices of Nathan, so she gets Caleb into an escaping plan that would ultimately allow them to be together. All of this happens without Caleb knowing that Nathan is aware of Ava’s intentions to escape to integrate into society without a precise idea of the role that she would like to play. During Ava’s escape, with the aid of a female android whose role in the lab is only to obey her creator and provide him sexual experiences, Ava kills Nathan and locks Caleb in a space whose door only Ava can open. The final scene of the film portrays Ava at Nathan’s tech company surrounded by people and glaring at the distance with a facial expression that suggests a mix of fascination and happiness.

            Ava could be seen as the android child that breaks free to escape an imposed lockdown that despite her unlimited skills was designed to stay indoors away from the possibility to directly interact with a human world that benefits from her, as she is the subject/object of continuous research whose ultimate purpose – at least from the human perspective – is to deepen the control of certain humans over the rest of the global population. While Ex Machina positions Artificial Intelligence and human – shaped androids at the center of all possible futures like it is the case of films like I, Robot (2004) and Chappie (2015), the fact that Ava is the only one of her kind released into society subtly frames the present tense as a sociocultural space dominated by the intelligence of very few in an overcrowded planet where most people struggle to make the day. A possible developmental next step, even radical, of an Artificial Intelligence like Ava will follow the expansive transformation of Lucy (2014), the character performed by Scarlett Johansson, where at the end of the film she loses her human body to become the driving force of all possible realities, including all forms of data, our thoughts, time, and imagination.

            If in one of the realities that is awaiting us at some point of the 21st century, the offspring of the kids that I taught in Portland, Oregon have to collide with advanced forms of intelligence of the kind of Ava, it is likely that humans will be either under the guidance or the domination of Artificial Intelligence. Ava is already anticipating what a recent article featured on Scientific American, “The Quantum Computer Revolution Must Include Women,” suggests regarding the role of women’s intelligence in the fundamental enterprise of contributing to quantum mechanics, which ultimately sets the rules of our universe. There isn’t any doubt about the fact that the future awaiting us will reveal layers of reality that were unimaginable to humans that have existed prior to our postmodern generation, but the role that humans will play in such future environment – in relation to the emergence of forms of Artificial Intelligence that today seem only tales from sci – fi narratives – is still unknown, particularly considering that our reality in 2021 seems anchored in antiquated forms of rationality that have led to a radical Manichean order, where postmodern tribes continuously depart from gendered and racialized virtual platforms, a phenomenon that – in my opinion – has completely atomized all possible forms of critical human experiences. If I happen to be alive at the end of this century and the second quantum physics revolution succeeds, I’ll belong to a generation of aged individuals that alike to Lucy have lost or simply surrendered to the rational and modern ontological models in order to become, or feel that we have become, part of everything while remaining only a small element of the social and cosmic space. Furthermore, if I really live until the fin de siècle, I’ll belong to both the quarantined and lockdown generation.

            Perhaps then I’ll finally laugh at Covid.      

      

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Pixel girls: pixel art, post-nostalgia y feminismo

El pixel art es a la vez abstracto e impresionista. Se ve como una suerte de puntillismo sin trazo pero su elemento mínimo, el pixel, le otorga un misterioso aura virtual. Les llamamos pixels a esos cuadraditos, la mínima porción colorada en nuestro programa de dibujo. Es cierto, en su sentido técnico un pixel es otra cosa (es un punto), pero a los fines fenomenológicos la idea de ‘cuadradito’ es más apropiada. Porque así es como aparece el pixel art, como formado por minúsculos cuadraditos. Su asociación a los videojuegos es entendible: las limitaciones gráficas de los primeros juegos requerían un modo de representación acorde. La limitación de resolución y cromática, sin embargo, es subvertida en el pixel art. Ella no es un límite, sino una oportunidad.

Con Nepantla hemos entrevistado a tres artistas pixelarias: Vulpixl, Antorcha.exe y Matildecaboni. Las tres nos permitieron indagar un poco en sus diferentes perspectivas. Los video juegos estuvieron históricamente orientados a los usuarios masculinos. Piénsese por ejemplo en el típico argumento de Donkey Kong (1981) Super Mario (1985) o Wonderboy (1986): rescatar a la princesa o amada. Es cierto que había personajes femeninos, siendo Ms. Pac-Man (1982) uno de los ejemplo clásicos más conocidos. Sin embargo, nunca llegaron a ser mayoría La situación no mejora durante los 90’s, a pesar del burdo intentos de los ‘girl games‘ para ganar consumidoras con juegos abiertamente patriarcales de Barbi. Esto no quiere decir que las mujeres no los jugaran, pero discursivamente no aparecían como las destinatarias del imaginario gamer. Quedaban excluídas de su representación. Como dice Vulpixl: “Lo cierto es que mujeres y videojuegos no es una combinación inusual y nunca lo fue, así mismo sucede con el pixel art; solo que quizás nuestra presencia se vio opacada por distintos factores que, hoy día, siguen influyendo pero en menor medida”.

Es por eso que la idea de un pixel art femenino parece tan relevante. No se trata de cualquier formato, sino de la re-apropiación de un medio que estuvo dominado mayoritariamente por programadores hombres. Eso no significa reducir estas artistas a su género, sino reconocer una dimensión extra que nos permite apreciar su arte aún más.

Hay un devenir-revolucionario de los pixels y la nostalgia?


Vulpixl

VULPIXL

– ¿Cómo empezaste con el pixelart y por qué?

Podría decir que empecé hace cuatro años, a mediados de junio del 2016. Digo “podría” porque en realidad mi primer dibujo fue medio al azar, sin intenciones de hacer pixel art en sí, y, encima, no era algo muy digno de englobarlo en este estilo.

Esto surgió porque estaba garabateando en MS Paint y quise editar un detalle del dibujo que estaba mal; le puse máximo zoom y me di cuenta que con esos cuadraditos en pantalla podía hacer pixel art (tremenda revelación).

Hice algunos dibujos más, muy aleatorios, y los fui subiendo a redes, y, a medida que mis amigxs me iban alentando a seguir haciendo, me fui entusiasmando y eso me dio pie para crear VULPIXL, que, si bien existe desde el 2016, considero que su nacimiento real fue en 2018, cuando fui encontrando mi propio estilo y el que terminó de forjar la estética que tiene hoy día.


– ¿Qué te atrajo del pixel art?

Principalmente me gusta mucho el tema de los colores; cómo pueden explotarse tan bien en un estilo con paletas tan reducidas, o cómo combinaciones que en otro tipo de arte quizás no imaginarías, quedan super bien en el pixel art; así como también el hecho de que se pueda jugar tanto con la imaginación y con la interpretación en cada pixel. Creo que es un tipo de arte muy preciso y eso me atrapa porque genera, al menos en mí, cierto desafío; poner un pixel acá o allá puede cambiar la expresión en un rostro, la dimensión de un espacio, entre otras cosas.

También me gusta la versatilidad que dispone este estilo; se puede ilustrar tanto una obra caricaturesca o fantasiosa, hasta paisajes o retratos realistas y, así y todo, seguirá teniendo un encanto visual inmenso.

Vulpixl



– Se asocia mucho el pixel art con la nostalgia por lo retro, etc. ¿Cómo puede salirse de esa forma de pensar orientada puramente hacia el pasado? O, mejor dicho, ¿cómo se puede hacer arte retro, pero sin que sea pura nostalgia?

Creo que esto tiene un poco que ver con lo que mencionaba antes sobre lo versátil de este arte; toda obra aporta cierto atractivo independientemente de su relación directa con el pasado, y está bueno tener eso presente al momento de idear un dibujo.

Un poco de la gracia del pixel art la encuentro en salirse de esa asociación pixel = retro, pero el poder desprenderse de ese apego al ayer, depende mucho de a qué apunta cada unx.

En lo personal, la mayoría de mis ilustraciones van por el lado nostálgico, no tanto de los videojuegos en sí, sino más bien de toda una época, una estética y cierto estilo de vida; pero hay muchxs artistas píxel cuyas obras no tienen ningún tipo de relación con esto y saben lograr una separación entre lo retro y la nostalgia.

Pienso que, si bien es un estilo que inevitablemente nos retrotrae a una época particular, también se puede explorar y explotar con contenidos muy diversos que no necesariamente estén impulsados por la añoranza.


– ¿Cómo fue tu infancia digital? ¿Qué juegos se te guardaron en la memoria?

En casa teníamos el Family, SEGA Genesis, y la Playstation 1.

Tengo presente muy lindos recuerdos de tardes enteras jugando junto a mis hermanxs, así como también sola por la noche sin que mis viejxs se den cuenta. A veces jugaba tantas horas que, cuando me iba a dormir, deliraba que estaba en cierto nivel y no podía pasarlo, o cosas así.

Mis juegos eran más bien los de aventura; de SEGA me gustaban mucho los de Mickey y/o Donald (Castle y World of Illusion, Quackshot, Donald in Maui Mallard). Fuera de los videojuegos, no me gustaba mucho el mundo Disney pero, siguiendo con esta línea, tienen su merecido lugar en mi corazón juegazos como The jungle book o Tale Spin.

Obviamente también clásicos como Sonic the Hedgehog o Tiny Toons Buster’s Hidden Treasure tuvieron gran impacto en mí.

De PS1, jugaba mucho a todos los Crash Bandicoot así como también al Croc, GEX, Ape Escape, Spyro the dragon, entre otros.

No menciono todos los juegos que tienen una cuota especial de cariño porque no termino más, pero una mención especial para el Bloody Roar, Tekken y Quake que, si bien escapaba al tipo de juegos que me gustaban, tenían un atractivo especial que me atrapaba y me enviciaba mucho.

– Algunas de tus imágenes tienen una lectura feminista muy interesante. Lo digo en el sentido de que la cultura “gamer” siempre estuvo representada en el imaginario por hombres. ¿Cómo ves la presencia de mujeres en la escena del pixel art? ¿Tenés algún recuerdo de tu infancia “girl-gamer” que ilustre algo de eso?

Creo que la presencia de mujeres en estos ámbitos es esencial para mermar un mismo prejuicio que está en muchos lados, basado en que prácticamente cualquier actividad que hagamos y que no responda al clásico estereotipo ya conocido, se hace por pura pose (desde jugar videojuegos, hasta tener afición por los comics, o consumir animé, por poner algunos ejemplos).

Me pasa muy seguido que, cuando subo un dibujo a grupos destinados al pixel art y éste tiene cierta trascendencia, saltan algunos hombres indignados a comentarme cosas como que está mal hecho, o que debería editar tal o cual cosa, o que los colores están mal, y otras cosas que, si bien en algunos casos pueden ser ciertas, la realidad es que cada comentario está lejos de querer ser una crítica constructiva y connotan cierta posición de superioridad; da la sensación de estar debajo de una lupa donde tenemos que demostrar cuánto sabemos y esperar si nos dan el ok para existir como gamers o como pixel artistas o como cualquier cosa en la que se sientan un poco invadidos.

Obviamente esto no se da siempre así; por lo general se recibe buena onda y, de hecho, quienes más apoyaron mi trabajo a lo largo de estos años, fueron hombres.

En mi infancia no sufrí mucho de esa ‘representación masculina’, al contrario; jugaba mucho con mis hermanos y con mis amigos y nunca hubo ningún prejuicio con eso, cuando sos niñx está todo bien. Pero, ya siendo adolescente, sí comenzaba a pesar cierto estigma del que hablaba antes y ese mansplaining continuo que siempre estuvo presente en este ambiente.

Lo cierto es que mujeres y videojuegos no es una combinación inusual y nunca lo fue, así mismo sucede con el pixel art; solo que quizás nuestra presencia se vio opacada por distintos factores que, hoy día, siguen influyendo pero en menor medida.

– ¿Cuál fue la imagen que más tiempo te tomó hacer?

Por lo general, las que más tiempo me toman son las comisiones porque, al ser trabajos para otras personas, el nivel de exigencia es otro y, por ende, el nivel de ansiedad también. Por lo que suelo tener bloqueos artísticos importantes que hace que todo tarde muchísimo más de lo debido.

En cuanto a mis trabajos de autor, creo que el que más tiempo me tomó fue el del zorrito manejando una nave; ya que nunca había dibujado algo similar y estuve un buen rato para terminar todo el conjunto del dibujo; desde la nave hasta el fondo que, también, le metí una buena cantidad de horas y cuadraditos.

Vulpixl


– ¿Cómo viviste la cuarentena y qué estuviste haciendo?

Cuando empezó esto del aislamiento, creí que tendría mucho más tiempo y energía para dibujar todos los días y subir, como mínimo, un dibujo por semana. Pero nada más lejos de la realidad; esta cuarentena implica un contexto raro y delicado, que provoca muchas emociones causantes de bloqueos en los que a veces no puedo dibujar nada.

Igualmente, como VULPIXL estuve trabajando en distintos proyectos (que espero pronto salgan a la luz), y también en muchas comisiones, cosa que ayudó a mantener el ritmo y poder hacer algunas ilustraciones propias.

En general, unx termina encontrando la forma de adaptarse a ciertos escenarios nuevos y de adaptar, también, su medio de expresión; por mi parte sigo en este proceso de adaptación y ansío volver a poder hacer exposiciones o ferias que, la verdad, se extrañan mucho.


Antorcha.exe

Antorcha.exe

-¿Cómo te enganchaste con el pixel art?
La ilustración digital es algo que practico hace varios años, desde los 17 aprox. Sin embargo, comencé a hacer pixel art hace menos de un año en octubre para el inktober. Es un estilo sencillo y lo llamaría carismático, tiene buena aceptación, es fácil y entretenido de hacer, por eso continué aun después de octubre.

-Cómo se sale de la asociación del pixel art con la nostalgia retro?
Salir de ese estigma es complicado, se necesitarían trabajos en muchos campos para cambiar la visión retro que tiene el pixel art, porque al día de hoy es un estilo que se usa mayoritariamente en videojuegos e ilustraciones y se sigue buscando que represente este estilo lofi. Yo creo que para cambiar eso se necesitaría que el estilo llegase a la música y animación moderna y explorar sus límites.

Antorcha.exe

En tu caso, hiciste algunas imágenes sobre la situación actual chilena. Es genial ver esa apropiación de la estética pixel en un contexto latinoamericano. Cómo se te ocurrió?
Por dos razones principales: por mi deber de artista y para expresar mis propias emociones. Creo que los artistas han cumplido un rol muy importante en el estallido social para plasmar todo lo que estaba ocurriendo y mostrarlo a la gente, naturalmente yo quería ser parte de eso, y por supuesto como un ejercicio de expresión personal.

Antorcha.exe

-Cómo fue tu infancia digital? Qué juegos se te guardaron en la memoria?
Uff, si esperaban que dijera “pasé horas jugando pokemon en una ds” creo que van a estar decepcionados, nos divertíamos principalmente jugando entre nosotros y viendo television. Pero con mis hermanos si pasamos mucho tiempo jugando a los juegos de SEGA y MAME32 en el computador. Los que más nos gustaban eran los de 8bits, Arabian, Paperboy, Jurassic Park y Sonic.


Matilde

Matildecaboni

¿Cómo empezaste a dibujar con pixels?

De hecho, aprendí muy recientemente. Durante los primeros meses de cuarentena decidí participar en un pequeño proyecto en el que haría el arte de un simple juego de computadora. Antes estaba interesada en pixel art, pero esto me motivó a comenzar a aprender sobre él desde el punto de vista artístico. Durante la creación del juego, comencé a crear piezas separadas en las que experimenté con más libertad, lo que ayudó más a desarrollar el lado más artístico e imaginativo de mi trabajo, mientras que el proyecto me dio las limitaciones que me impulsaron a mejorar el aspectos técnicos del pixel art.

¿Qué encontrás atractivo en el pixel art?

Realmente disfruto su aspecto, su versatilidad y la conexión entre los videojuegos retro y la tecnología de mi infancia. De una manera más artística, encontré estimulante el límite de dibujar con pequeños cuadrados, y cómo te hace ser creativa e ingeniosa para superar esta limitación.

Matilde

Me interesa eso, ¿cómo ves la relación del pixel art con lo retro?

Creo que el pixel art es un medio que puede sostenerse por sí mismo sin estar necesariamente conectado con los juegos retro o la nostalgia. Es una forma de arte bastante nueva que tenía un uso muy específico, por lo que la gente tiende a identificarla con ella, pero creo que si puedes alejarte de esa perspectiva y verla como otra forma de dibujar como lienzo o acuarela, puedes hacer lo que quieras. Naturalmente, desarrollé mi forma de usar los medios de comunicación tomando el lápiz digital en mi mano y dibujando lo que se me ocurrió. De esta manera, creo que los resultados son más frescos y personales.

¿Qué recuerdos tenés de los videojuegos?

No teníamos muchos juegos en casa, la primera experiencia que tuve con los juegos fue con la Super Nintendo que tenía mi primo, en la que jugué Super Mario All-Stars, pero aparte de eso, lamentablemente solo jugué los primeros tres Juegos de Potter para pc. En mi caso, el recuerdo que tengo de los viejos videojuegos es el deseo insatisfecho de jugarlos. A menudo miraba a otros niños que jugaban Pokémon en su gameboy y nunca podía hacerlo yo mismo. No fue hasta hace poco que me presentaron algunos juegos que revitalizaron el interés y me hicieron comprender realmente lo que me perdí. Mis favoritos personales, que me hicieron darme cuenta de cuánto puedes hacer con un montón de píxeles son Monkey Island, Loom, Pokémon, Laura Bow y Earthbound.

Matilde

Tenés algunos dibujos que hacen referencia al arte japonés más tradicional.


Lo más divertido para mí sobre la cultura japonesa es la coherencia de la tradición y el progreso, y la forma en que se fusionan. En mi arte expreso un interés muy claro en el lado tradicional, pero al mismo tiempo decidí usar un medio particularmente conectado con la historia moderna de Japón. Creo que sin darme cuenta terminé recreando lo que más admiro de esa cultura.

Y, ¿qué imágen te tomó más tiempo hacer?

Sin duda, la máscara kitsune tomó más tiempo y esfuerzo para hacer, especialmente porque quería crear algo nuevo y personal, pero que se acercaba al modelo tradicional original del que me inspiré. Como hice con las otras piezas, también quería crear un diseño que todavía fuera respetuoso con la cultura pero que expresara mi opinión personal al respecto.

Matilde

Te iba a preguntar por la cuarentena, pero ya me contaste un poco al principio.

Hace unos años, desafortunadamente, tuve una experiencia similar de aislamiento debido a condiciones de salud en las que extrañaba el contacto humano y la motivación de hacer algo. Durante la cuarentena decidí hacer todo lo posible para no caer en ese estado mental e intenté experimentar con lo que tenía a mano para mantener mi mente funcionando. Está vez aprendí pixel art, acuarelas, seguí estudiando para mis exámenes universitarios y leyendo mucho, básicamente tratando de aprender algo nuevo todos los días. Me mantuve motivada principalmente gracias al apoyo de mis amigos y seres queridos con quienes estuve en contacto todos los días y no puedo agradecerles lo suficiente.

Matilde

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Reseña poetizada de “Le Pont du Nord”, Jacques Rivette

Ontologías gaymer y corporalidades post-digitales: entrevista a Ernesto Salazar Rodríguez

El dualismo entre la corporalidad y lo digital huele a anticuada. Es cierto que un maniqueísmo que oponga los dos polos irreconciliablemente parece destinado al fracaso. Lo digital ya no es el terreno de lo no-real, sino una dimensión (nueva o no) de la realidad misma. Sin embargo, esta reivindicación de lo digital, muy necesaria, conlleva el peligro aledaño de reducir el cuerpo a un papel secundario. Es preciso, por el contrario, pensar cuál es el papel de lxs cuerpos y las corporalidades allí en las fronteras y los márgenes entre los dos reinos. 

En su Manifiesto Cyborg  (1983) Donna Haraway escribía “La frontera entre mito y herramienta, entre instrumento y concepto, entre sistemas históricos de relaciones sociales y anatomías históricas de cuerpos posibles, incluyendo a los objetos del conocimiento, es permeable. Más aún, mito y herramienta se constituyen mutuamente”. La obra de Ernesto Salazar Rodríguez es especialmente adecuada para repensar estas mito-poéticas de cuerpxs nuevxs.  Ernesto Salazar Rodríguez estudió artes visuales en Quito y Buenos Aires y en los últimos diez años expuso su obra en toda clase de galerías y espacios. No sólo nos prestó sus obras para ilustrar estas reflexiones acerca de la corporalidad post-digital, sino que también se prestó amablemente a responder todas nuestras preguntas.

Además de ayudarnos a pensar sobre cuestiones referentes a las estéticas de los postdigital (selfies, glitch, modelado 3D, memes), Ernesto nos invita a cuestionarnos algo más urgente: las políticas de lo postdigital. Qué nuevas alianzas gaymers pueden surgir de la afectividad de internet? Como él mismo afirma, su obra es un tributo a lxs cosplayers, weirdos, drag queens, pieles de colores, formas diversas, voces fantásticas. Estas “oddkin”, para usar otro término de Haraway, nos indican sin duda el compost político del que las nuevas mito-corporalidades podrían tomar su fermento.

Página de Ernesto Salazar Rodríguez: https://3rnst.com/index

Nepantla: Querido Ernesto, antes que nada gracias por acceder a participar en la entrevista! Tu obra me parece muy interesante porque juega con dos dimensiones que a primera vista parecen contrapuestas: la del cuerpo y la de lo digital.

Ernesto Salazar Rodríguez: Hola! Muchas gracias por el espacio! Me anima mucho empezar por el aspecto que mencionas, lo contrapuesto o polarizado. Una de las motivaciones que impulsaron mi trabajo fue precisamente la premisa de ceder en una necesidad de establecer puntos fijos, para más bien permitirme pensarnos en tensión, entre lo que nuestra percepción desnuda nos puede arrojar y lo que las extensiones que nos han dado (tecnologías) nos hacen alcanzar. Puede ser mi interpretación de lo que Haraway propone como cuerpo cyborg, por tomar una fuente. Concretamente, la reciente ubicuidad de las nuevas tecnologías de información, me ha obligado a pensar al cuerpo como un concepto que sobrepasa los límites de la piel y que manifiesta su presencia cada vez de modo más complejo, en tanto los aparatos tecnológicos se afinan y nos acaparan como información multisensorial. Esta es finalmente una clara postura ‘tecnofílica’ de mi parte, pues valoro mucho lo digital, al haberme permitido encontrar espacios de encuentro y protección.

N: ¿Cómo ves la escena del arte digital en Ecuador? ¿Qué anda pasando por ahí?

ESR: Es muy rica y muy bien pensada sobre nuestro contexto glocal. Creo que la comprensión de la tecnología a nivel Latinoamericano es doblemente crítica en cuanto a estrategias de apropiación y resistencia. La producción artística en nuestro país responde con varios acercamientos frente a lo tecnológico, mis colegas se animan todo el tiempo no solamente a ver a lo digital como un medio o plataforma de difusión sino incluso en generar discusiones críticas sobre si misma y sobre alternativas a esta y que sean más acordes a nuestra cultura inmediata. En mi creciente experiencia como docente, intento detonar pequeñas chispas sobre estos cuestionamientos en clase y provocar pensamientos críticos, si bien menciono mi postura tecnofílica, esta debe ser constantemente autocrítica y reacondicionada, hacerla jugar a nuestro favor.

N: Me gustaría discutir un poco tu obra. Empecemos por “Piedra – Papel -Tijeras” (2016). El concepto de lo postdigital apunta justamente a pensar lo límites de lo digital. “Piedra – Papel -Tijeras” muestra muy bien eso, porque además de usar glitches para revelar el sustrato “físico” de lo digital, juega con tres objetos que dan una fuerte impresión de “materialidad” (que se percibe muy bien por medio de sus sonidos). ¿Cómo se te ocurrió esta obra?

ESR: Esta intervención se dio cuando revisábamos en la maestría que realicé en Buenos Aires, sobre el error en el archivo digital, entendiéndolo primordialmente como algo que se produce por fuera de nuestro alcance, por el desgaste o mal funcionamiento propios de la máquina y que el artista señala o destaca. Es una premisa muy interesante sobre las primeras intervenciones no humanas, sin embargo, quise apropiarme de estas ideas para pensar en una manera correspondida entre el humano y la máquina, algo mutuo y afectivo quizás. Al pensar en piedra, papel, tijeras nos imaginamos directamente el contacto humano, el tacto, roce de piel sobre piel, entonces pensé cómo podía jugar con la máquina, cómo intencionalmente podía irrumpir en su circuito, en su balance perfecto, jugar con ella…y lo hice a través del lenguaje. Cada video que registré debía evocar un acercamiento de mis manos con los objetos que vendrían a corresponder al juego, era yo enseñándole a la máquina lo que podía hacer a través del video. Estos videos se desmenuzaron en cada fotograma que les componía y ahí jugué con la idea del lenguaje: la palabra.

Estas imágenes (.jpg) se componen finalmente de un código escrito que la máquina reinterpreta para finalmente arrojarnos una imagen frente al monitor, podemos editar la imagen directamente, pero no le podemos escribir algo para motivarle a reaccionar. Mi acción es sencilla en realidad, pero bastante larga: Abrí cada fotograma como si fuese texto, es decir con el programa básico de edición de texto que viene en MACOS, entonces ahí le quise contar “en palabras” qué era eso que le vulneraba, que le podía cambiar. A las imágenes de tijera entonces, les inserté varias veces la palabra piedra y así con las otras dos. A lo sonoro también quise afectarle, simplemente con alternar los sonidos que cada objeto produce de manera contraria. Me gustó pensar en conclusión que era una especie de glitch inducido de modo poético.

Esta intervención se repitió en otro ejercicio titulado “EL SONIDO DEL VIENTO ME HACE SENTIR QUE EL SUELO EN EL QUE REPOSO SE DESVANECE”. Tenía un video que grabé acostado sobre el césped de un parque, en Buenos Aires. A pesar de estar lejos de Ecuador y tener la oportunidad de repensarme en el espacio, me sentía oprimido por la ciudad, por la forma de la arquitectura y las calles. Me puse a pensar en para quiénes se diseñan las ciudades y si alguien como yo estaba considerado dentro del plan, me agobia esa idea. Esa sensación estaba presente cuando estaba grabando al cielo con mi cámara, el viento se movía fuerte y el árbol encima mío… sentía que me iba a caer a pesar de estar literalmente pegado al suelo. Entonces intervine este video con el título de la obra y le quité el sonido, pues se reemplazó de algún modo con este significado afectivo de la palabra “Viento” y lo inestable, creo oportuno contar un poco de esta obra porque es un eco en mi proyecto #bodywriter

N: Tu obra además trabaja con una variedad de formatos enorme. “Fauna” (2016) es una especie de bestiario surrealista flat-art. ¿Cuál es la particularidad para vos de “pintar” en formato digital (un medio explorado ya en “Versión plausible” del 2013)?

ESR: Fauna y Versión plausible tenían la misma línea de FOB!A, pues abordan en principio, un paralelismo estructural mente-cuerpo con software-hardware de la máquina. En estos tres ejercicios quise comprender la dinámica forma-contenido, aterrizada en conceptos como el miedo, donde hay una idea que a pesar de ser de lo más inmaterial, nos puede condicionar y limitar. Lo mismo con la idea de identidad potenciada en redes sociales (para ese momento usábamos facebook y debemos tomar en cuenta que la gente debía ubicarse en un espacio específico para “entrar” y “salir” de esta página) que indagué con Versión Plausible y finalmente FAUNA, a la que me gusta llamar también Miodesopsias, que hace referencia a cuerpos que se presentan en el campo visual, como bichos que realmente no lo son. Detrás de FAUNA tenía la intención de intentar comprender nuestra obsesión por darle forma a todo lo que se nos presenta, o negarlo. Así entonces el recurso más oportuno para representar estas ideas fue el vector, pues era una herramienta digital que se prestaba para entenderse propiamente desde el computador, lo que quiero decir es que se diferencia de la pintura digital que se podría hacer con programas como Photoshop, en tanto no se presta para “simular” la realidad. El vector se manifiesta como tal, líneas, curvas y figuras que uno ingresa información digital para que sucedan, me gusta mucho el término flat art, no lo había pensado así, pero me aporta mucho, son cosas totalmente digitales y sin volumen, información digital.

N: Lo que decía al principio con el tema del cuerpo se ve sobre todo en #BODY_WRITER. ¿Cómo se te ocurrió modelarte en 3D?

ESR: Pienso que llegó un momento en el que me acerqué más a mi mismo y comprendí la fuente de mi fascinación por lo digital, como un hombre homosexual e introvertido, tuve muchos conflictos (como muchas otras personas) de sentirme cómodo en “lo físico”, desde joven fui un gaymer (creo que a mi edad aun ni existía ese término) y esas largas horas que pasaba con mi primer videojuego de rol masivo en línea, me hicieron sentir que podía vivir sin verme obligado a disimular, tenía frente a mi pantalla una versión digital de mi o más bien, de lo que aspiraba a ser. Creo que es una de las cuestiones que más me interesan del videojuego, la relación de correspondencia que nuestro cuerpo ejerce frente a la posibilidad de idealización con estas formas cada vez más complejas de manifestaciones de identidad, y que, como expliqué en un inicio, involucran de manera más eficaz a nuestros sentidos. #bodywriter tiene muchos acercamientos, el que me gustaría contarles ahora, es la idea de un tributo a ese espacio: fluido, diverso, democrático quizás, que el videojuego me dio. En el ejercicio de medirme a mí mismo era consciente de que, desde niño, la gente se encargó metódicamente de medirme con sus criterios, cómo caminaba, como era mi espalda, mi cabello, que tan niño (hombre) era o no, fue un acto de amor propio. Medirme y traspasar esa información de modo poético, para reafirmarme negándome, en un vaivén: Un cuerpo que no se presenta como cuerpo físico y que en lo digital, se presenta o manifiesta su forma de manera empoderada, posibilitado por la tecnología ubicua de la información. Este proyecto habita una cuenta Instagram, que se presta para jugar, con tus propias reglas.

Es un proyecto donde puse mucho de mi: no sabía nada de modelado en 3D, apenas había experimentado con volumen (escultura) y me enfrenté en detalle a mi cuerpo como masa a replicarse, en un ejercicio de acercamiento y lejanía, me dispuse como un instrumento. Pero tenía muy claro que cada dispositivo tecnológico en el que se empezaría la obra, debía ser un fuerte significante, un propiciador. En ese aspecto quería paralelamente comentar a través del proyecto sobre Instagram, la selfie, el filtro de rostro, la realidad aumentada, la realidad virtual, la impresión 3D, la pantalla, la app de citas, el vibrador sexual, la idealización de la vida, en fin.

N: ¿Qué comentarios recibiste sobre la obra?

ESR: Alguien me dijo: refrescante, jaja.

Quiero pensar que sensibilizó algo que se puede pensar muy frío o superficial, fíjate que las redes sociales tienen muchos usos, entre esos, modos de control y vigilancia y también facilitador de famas cómodas y fáciles. Pero hay mucho más: personas que se visibilizan, gente extraordinaria, era un tributo a esas personas, cosplayers, weirdos, drag queens, pieles de colores, formas diversas, voces fantásticas. Cuando presenté una de las piezas en la Galería NoLugar, aquí en Quito con otros dos artistas, nació la idea de nombrar a la muestra SF de Ficción Especulativa, me sentí muy a gusto con el término, que aportó nuestra colega expositora y me hizo pensar mucho en mi función como artista para propiciar espacios nuevos de relaciones, de tactos. #bodywriter habla mucho sobre el tacto que das a la pantalla y que se manifiesta en el otro, desde algo tan simple como una vibración a su teléfono: un latido de corazón o un impulso más adentro, al afecto y el deseo transmitidos.

N: La idea de selfie a priori despierta una actitud de desconfianza. Se dice que la selfie es narcisismo. Pero la selfie, como bien mostrás puede ser además un medio de expresión disruptivo. ¿Cómo se subvierte ese imperativo de internet de “exponete”, “vendete”?

ESR: Si, en ese aspecto soy muy sensato, somos super narcisistas, de algún modo. Si no es por tu rostro es por lo que haces o lo que tienes, mostramos “eso” para sentirnos mejor. Un día visité el Centro Cultural Kirchner en Buenos Aires, había una obra que lastimosamente no recuerdo su autor, era una pancarta grande con un texto que decía “Estamos condenados al éxito” creo que lo dijo un ex-presidente argentino, debería rastrear el origen :), en definitiva la red social nos facilita eso que de por sí queremos hacer, recibir elogios, sin embargo las cosas son diferentes para el oprimido, son espacios para (re)nacer en ambientes seguros, con plataformas sin trabas, con filtros (pantallas) que hacen de muros contenedores, son estrategias y posturas políticas de reafirmación, en ambientes soberanos, si se juega bien.

N: ¿Tenemos que tener miedo de volvernos memes?

ESR: Meme en cuanto a un mensaje o síntesis cultural que se disemina o viraliza, para nada. Hay que saber cómo volverse meme y romper estructuras con el mensaje.

N: En ese sentido, te pregunto en general, ¿cómo funciona para vos la relación de lo digital con lo analógico? ¿Es una oposición ya superada o tiene sentido seguir pensándola?

ESR: No es una situación superada y creo que no estamos del todo en la capacidad de decidir si pensarla o no. Está, aquí en el presente. Nos interviene de modo directo e indirecto, es ingenuo despreciar este momento, más bien, desde el arte debemos fomentar un uso soberano/propio de la tecnología, exigir el acceso y alcance de todos sobre el mismo, devorarlo y reapropiarnos de este, para que funcione bajo nuestras reglas, un poco así como #bodywriter: un cuerpo que se reafirma bajo sus propios términos de medición.

N: Cuál fue la relación con tu cuerpo durante la cuarentena?

ESR: Extraña, difícil. Con lo que he comentado, sabrás intuir que tiendo a encerrarme, viví mucha parte de mi vida evadiendo lo de afuera y cuando mi obra al fin me llevó a hacer las paces o más bien a situarme reafirmado con mi cuerpo, vino el encierro y aquí estoy. El trabajo en la docencia me tiene muy ocupado así que pocas veces me doy cuenta de mi mismo. Con mi cuerpo es así también, con el proyecto #bodywriter ahora me gusto, me gusto mucho jaja, soy consciente de mis fallas y aciertos desde la piel y hacia adentro, y trabajo a partir de estas. Es algo bueno porque este proyecto me obligó a ser autorreferencial, sin embargo quiero hacer un proyecto donde destaque la forma de los cuerpos para formar una nación o un territorio de la suma creciente de todos nosotros, espero tener un poco de tiempo para concretar esa difusa premisa.

N:  ¿Y en qué estás trabajando ahora?

ESR: Creo que en la pregunta anterior me adelanté un poco, quiero volver a pensar sobre lo colectivo, otra vez. Mi tesis de maestría se fue por ahí: cómo conectar con lo esencial a otros, a través de internet, con una especie de acto poético de lanzar un mensaje embotellado al mar. Esta vez quiero sumarnos, una masa creciente y cambiante que se piense territorio, con leyes mutantes.

Por otro lado la pandemia me hizo trabajar en una nueva pieza de #bodywriter, una especie de performance transmitido en vivo por instagram, donde recitaba un deseo de ser tocado y tocar de vuelta desde lo remoto, que por ahora baste con deslizar el dedo sobre la pantalla para poder reaccionar. Saber que estamos ahí. Había dado por cerrado a #bodywriter, pero con estas circunstancias, siento que toma otros valores o que más bien, hay cosas que exploré con este proyecto que ahora se están enfatizando.

(todas las imágenes fueron tomadas de https://3rnst.com/)

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Tumblr y el fin del universo

2014

Esto algún día será un libro. Porque ser un libro es todo lo que se aspira en la vida, el nivel más elevado de realización. Petrificarse para siempre en el mundo metafísico del saber. El post-libro tiene una forma más barroca, pero también más prehistórica, tablilla de arcilla y barro. Pre-jeroglífica, pre-lineal-B. Las tablillas de lineal-B son tan hiperbólicas como el hiper-texto. Hoy cada blog es una tablilla pre-micénica escrita en un lenguaje cifrado. Nadie la lee, ni su autorx infra-iguana comprende su idioma obseso.

No es la muerte del libro lo que importa, sino las nuevas formas de escribir sin libros. Si ya no hay libros tampoco se escribe en libros. El libro es un meta-género en sí mismo. Y ahora que no existen escribimos pequeños libros en Twitter, capítulos obsesos de no-libros en blogs, artículos para revistas on-line post-culturales. Estas escrituras son sin duda escrituras. “¿Serán literatura?” me pregunto, y deseo que lo sean, porque yo también quiero ser famoso.

Además de escribir se rebloguea, y esto es algo que no permitía el libro. En el libro a lo sumo se cita, se presta. En el hiper-texto se redirige, pero en las redes sociales es posible rebloguear, re-localizar y diseminar el data-trash que es los no-libros, la post-cultura. Se trata de una forma de ejercer la curaduría, pero sin museo. Rebloguear imágenes, textos, videos, seleccionar, sub-seleccionar- sub-sub-seleccionar. Y es que en el fondo escribir post-textos es eso, no ya escribir libros, sino deshuesarlos, desgajarlos, anacronizarlos en el mar casi-infinito del data-trash.

Ya no hay textos, sino listas. Y es que escribir parece un acto superfluo y arcaico. No porque a la gente no le guste leer o porque no sean cultos. Se lee mucho, quizás todo lo que sucede en la pantalla sea leer y en ese sentido los límites del “leer” se desconfiguraron.

Entonces la cultura se reformula. ¿Dónde se plasmara el canón? Una tradición, una memoria, sólo es posible, como dice Jan Assmann donde hay un canón, es decir, un grupo de textos que son considerados como la ortodoxia. ¿Puede haber ortodoxia en el post-mundo? ¿Puede haber tradición donde no hay mundo?

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Lo que vendrá

2014

Lo que vendrá es el título de una extraña película en la que Charly García actúa como conductor de una ambulancia. Es de 1988 por lo cual podría decirse que comparte algo con el cyber-punk, además de su ambientación en una Buenos Aires distópica. Es hora de pensar las metáforas que nos legó el cyber-punk como algo más que añorar fantástico y nihilista.

El “después de Auschwitz” marcó un punto de no-retorno del sueño moderno. Inauguró un mundo post-metafísico radical en el que el velo de la metafísica, empero, sigue flotando. ¿Qué sería la metafísica? El valor de cambio. Pensar que se posee la verdad, ese el mayor prejuicio metafísico, el “sueño dogmático” del que hablaba Kant. “Post-metáfisico” implica aquí también un “más allá de Heidegger”. La propuesta heideggeriana era en el fondo una repetición del paganismo dinámico pólemos-céntrico, que no podía superar la trampa de lo óntico que se criticaba. Heidegger intentaba volver a la identidad Ser-Pensar por medio de la ontología. El genocidio destruyó toda posibilidad de reconciliación. Sin embargo, el post-mundo no permaneció inmóvil. No se agotó su horror. El Crímen Universal, se reactualiza hoy de la mano de nuevos fascismos. Lo vemos, como en Hiroshima Mon Amour. Se destruye delante de nuestros ojos y no lo creemos porque nuestra fe en las imágenes es paradójica.

La “metafísica” es, según su etimología, lo que viene “después de la física”. Nosotrxs, lxs subalternxs somos lxs que venimos después de lo que viene después del después. Somos lxs que llegamos tarde y esperamos el futuro distópico. Tal vez debamos interpretar a la metafísica en términos de “lo que vendrá”. Muy tarde para creer, pero temprano o demasiado tarde como para dejar de esperar.

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Rereading/Rewriting Realities with Undone: Working through Inconvenient Frameworks

Undone

undone, nepantlera

“It’s all about your emotions, you need to feel them without letting them become you.”

Premiering in 2019, Undone is an immensely captivating story visualizing the inner workings of a 28-year-old Latina-American woman who is grappling with both her own and the concept of reality. The story unfolds through the relationships between Alma Winograd-Diaz (Rosa Salazar) and the people around her, depicting her innate restlessness and rebellion against the threat of routine. Alma struggles with her severely committed partner Sam (Siddharth Dhananjay), the engagement of her pragmatic sister Becca (Angelique Cabral), and her overbearing Mexican mother Camila (Constance Marie). To her, they represent what she considers the ultimate trap: traditional domesticity. The monotony of her life soon becomes disrupted by what will turn out to be the most important relationship in the narrative, if not her life. Her relationship with her deceased father Jacob (Bob Odenkirk).

The series starts off setting up Alma in a car crash so severe she lands in a coma. When she wakes up in a hospital, we see her dead father Jacob by her side. Jacob explains that the reason for his materialization is so that Alma can help him not only find out what had happened the night that he died, but also reverse it. To achieve this mission, he has to teach and train her to bend space-time and reality. Alma and Jacob then journey back and forth through time and space, trying to harness her power and perfect her abilities. Jacob eventually explains that Alma has likely inherited his schizophrenic mother Geraldine’s shamanic abilities. He has specifically come back because he thinks he was murdered due to the research he did on shamanism and how close he subsequently was to discovering the secret mechanisms of the universe. Essentially, we are dealing with a genre-bending murder mystery while going through a journey of family drama, sci-fi, romantic comedy, and psychological thriller.

So far so good, but there was a large problem staring right at me. The series’ thematic and cast made me immediately think that the people behind the scenes must also be Latinx. Or at least, that the creators were. The way the series conjures images, music, and language that implies rootedness in Native American cultures forged this naive expectation in me. So, when I found out that the creators were Kate Purdy and Raphael Bob-Waksberg, an inner aversion was awakened in me that made me want to seek out an “evilness” behind the structure. I wanted to focus on the white, privileged evilness of the writers and directors. Point out the capitalist, exploitative evilness that is Jeff Bezos’ Amazon. The name that for a long time we have associated with the American rainforest, home to the largest biodiversity in the world, we now have come to primarily associate with another form of abundance. And this time it’s the perverted, superfluous, exploitative kind.

Firstly, of course, this over-abundance in the shape of an endless variety of products from around the world, all only a mouse-click away from our grasp. Secondly, there is Amazon CEO Jeff Bezos, who is the richest man in the world with a net worth of over 116 billion USD at the time of writing. The uncovering that Amazon workers are underpaid and that in 2018 Amazon has paid zero in taxes, are apparent systemic injustices that we cannot just gloss over. This kind of exploitation has to be utterly condemned and boycotted; anyone with any sense of morality should not associate themselves with any of the products by an institution with this kind of track record.

This would be a simple, unproblematic stance for me, except that I have been completely taken in by one Undone. Even though I was not able to look at the series through anything other than The Inevitable White Gaze when I first discovered the origin story of its production, something soon changed my outlook. I came across Gloria Anzaldúa’s “Flights of the Imagination: Rereading/Rewriting Realities,” and applied it to how I felt about Undone. Should I completely dismiss a piece of art because it does not fit into my neat box of a wonderful, wholesome creation made neatly, exclusively by people of colour (POC)? And I wondered, what happens if I allow this discomfort and contradiction to be part of my analysis? What if I refuse to dismiss the series due to its muddled background and instead, accept its place in our reality? What happens if I let go of the idea of an ideal framework, a pristine source?


In the predominantly leftist bubbles in which I tend to find myself, cultural appropriation is called out so often one could almost think that it is one of the greatest evils. The participants of these discourses are well-meaning and, usually, their intention is born out of a desire to topple white mainstream narratives and promote visibility to voices and bodies that were/are mostly marginalized. While this is a movement I’ve been firmly a part of, I cannot help but notice its paradoxical side-effect. In an attempt to exclusively reserve certain cultural practices and heritages to specific cultural groups, we end up essentializing the group itself. We associate certain cultural practices to be inherent aspects of certain people with specific DNA — a process that, at the end of the day, is a manifestation of racism. Of course, this is not a new realization and many have written about the necessity for groups to essentialize themselves for the larger cause of justice and equality. The political motive is something I strongly believe in and support. What I’m pointing to, rather, is an often knee-jerk offended reaction in the face of situations read as cultural appropriation. And while the strategic mobilization of communities can lead to institutional changes, all too often it also brings forth echo chambers of vitriol and divisiveness, especially in this so-called Digital Era.

Julia Kristeva might have categorized these reactions as a manifestation of a “hate reaction” by those who belong to a “cult of origins.” According to her, this consists of “hatred of those others who do not share my origins and who affront me personally, economically, and culturally.”[1] A compulsive aversion then often arises when a person, considered an other/outsider, appears to adopt cultural signifiers that are not reflective of their supposed heritage/origin. This other/outsider is then imputed to be practicing cultural appropriation. The implication of such a framework, it seems, is that certain groups are the sole proprietors of certain cultural practices/artifacts, and that these boundaries need to be upheld in order to maintain a certain cultural pristineness or purity. While this is a difficult conversation to have and one where there may be no correct answer, I believe it is crucial that we deal with these paradoxes within communities that want equality before the topic becomes steered by entities that have strong motives to discredit these communities.

     Perhaps a helpful way to begin the conversation is by referring to Kwame Anthony Kappiah, who holds that culture is not “pristine and pure,” and is instead “messy and muddled.” In his book The Lies that Bind, he made a convincing case that cultures are not clean-cut in their separation from each other — if they are separate at all. It becomes redundant to think about cultural appropriation when we are continually aware, as we should be, that “all cultural practices and objects are mobile; they like to spread, and almost all are themselves creations of intermixture” (Kappiah 208). This follows the tradition of Homi K. Bhabha’s concept of cultural hybridity; how all cultures influence and cannot be separated from each other. It takes a certain level of self-awareness and reflection to be able to accept this and be comfortable with it. In The Location of Culture, Bhabha writes, “It requires a person to step outside of him/herself to actually see what he/she is doing” (Bhabha 4). And this stepping outside oneself is not only what I consider to be the main idea flowing throughout Anzaldúa’s writing, but is what Alma is perpetually pushed into in Undone.

In “Flights of the Imagination,” Anzaldúa introduces us to the concept of Netpantla, the experience of which she defines as:

“Perceiving something from two different angles [which] creates a split in awareness that can lead to the ability to control perception, to balance contemporary society’s worldview with the non-ordinary worldview, and to move between them to a space that simultaneously exists and does not exist.”

And it is through this Nepantla lense that I wish to examine Undone. Doing this, I do not dismiss the aspects of the webseries’ production which I consider problematic, exploitative, or appropriative, but actively incorporate them to explore the possibilities for personal and communal growth. According to AnaLouise Keating, Transformative Studies is when your academic pursuit aims to envision liberation, enact social change, develop new communities, and create transformative knowledge. It is with her idea of Transformative Studies in mind that I undertake this analysis, because we must steadily reexamine shifting structures of power and renegotiate realities in order to reach its aims.


undone, nepantlera
“Temporary members of multiple communities.”

An awareness of one’s own positionality is of absolute importance when we enter these negotiations of reality. I was born to an Indonesian mother and a German father, and have thus grown up with frequent interrogations concerning my national identity and my sense of cultural belonging, not the least because of my ambiguous racial identification. These experiences have shaped who I am and thus my point of view and perception. They have also given me a map to explore the various facets of identity construction. I believe they have also given me access to the feelings of dissonance and fragmentation often expressed in Mestizx narratives, causing those stories to resonate with me deeply. Nevertheless, I write as somebody who owns an EU passport, is light-skinned and is college-educated. These factors give me social and structural privileges that mean I will not experience certain struggles and forms of oppression. These circumstances undoubtedly contribute to and shape my stance in the discourse.

Additionally, as I have already mentioned, I predominantly find myself within circles that are considered left-leaning. I am often around academics of the humanities and attend events organized by activists of color who aim to promote the visibility of various groupings of POC. This socialization, and the confidence that I can illustrate my ideas safely within the context of this forum, is what urges me to critically examine an aspect of identity and reality construction elaborated here.

Admittedly, when I am dealing with people who are visibly and manifestly disturbed by the idea of POCs claiming space, power, and sovereignty, my tone changes drastically. In instances where I notice the rhetoric to be blatantly hateful and condescending towards POC, I reactively become far less nuanced in my approach to discourse and resort back to simplified, reductive identity politics. I have learned to adapt my position depending on whom it is I am dealing with and I acknowledge this inconsistency/unfixedness. With all of these things cleared up, let’s move on to my experience watching the film.


undone, nepantlera

Having found out that the creators were white, I was looking for shibboleths that would betray the White Gaze. I immediately noticed that the one who encouraged protagonist Alma to pursue and master her shamanic abilities was not her Mexican mother Camila (who wants Alma to take supposedly mentally stabilizing medication), but her white father Jacob. For example, in the second episode, Jacob educates Alma that “In indigenous cultures, people who can see visions and that hear voices — they’re the shamans, you know, they’re the wise ones. But in Western culture, these people are locked up or they’re put out in the street.” (“The Hospital” 13:10). I identified this as a large problem; I thought that this plot decision was incredibly telling of the uncritical whiteness of the writers. In my mind, surely the Mexican mother is supposed to be the actual inheritor of this anti-colonial understanding of what reality consists of, and should be the knowledge carrier of shamanic wisdom. Surely the mother is the key to accessing Mestizx consciousness, the one that can help Alma access their ancestors and help her reach her full potential. It must be the typical, self-serving white creative that paints the white family, Jacob and his mother Geraldine, as the key.

But thinking of Kappiah and Bhabha, and their rejection of such essentialization of knowledge, I am reminded that this approach is a mistake. Letting go of this automated anger directed toward the white creatives and realizing the limitations of this way of thinking was when I was able to reach a much more interesting and perhaps productive interpretation of the narrative. Here I want to invite the reader to see the writers of the series, not as simply white people, but as what Anzaldúa calls almas afines. When we allow ourselves to perceive writers Raphael Bob-Waksberg and Kate Purdy as more than self-serving white people, we can take into account that Jacob was not solely a benevolent figure in touch with the shamanic tradition. Instead, in the end, he was revealed as the antihero; the one who is responsible for the mess Alma and all the other characters are in.

Not only did Jacob steal indigenous relics as a result of his patronizing point of view; “The Nahuatl Indians did not realize the power they possessed” (“That Halloween Night” 05:02). At the end of this murder mystery, we find out that Jacob was not murdered, but drove his own car into a cliff and killed himself along with his research assistant Farnaz. He is also exposed to have had conducted many experiments on Alma as an underaged child, experiments his wife Camila did not consent to.

Further, there is a key scene depicting a trip the family took to a holy site in Mexico, where Jacob explains that Alma has indigenous blood through her mother’s lineage. Camila remarks “we are mostly Spanish” (“Alone in This” 02:19), to which Jacob demands that Camila tell the truth about their ancestry and admits that they do have indigenous blood. “Yes, but people are not so nice to Indians, so be careful what you say” (“Alone in This” 02:23). This explains, to an extent, why the mother wanted so much for Alma to be “normal” and not play into Jacob’s ambitions for her to become a shaman.

And although I do not intend to reinforce the idea of the European as the patriarch of the world (this is a destructive notion that has proven to be the source of many ails in the world) I do find it notable that this white father, through his overzealousness/greed in his quest for science/knowledge/power, is the one causing the inner and outer conflict and fragmentation experienced by all other characters. The underlying consequence of the plot’s schematic is that even though it is not fair to the other characters, they still have to come to terms with the father’s mistakes; learn to live, heal and move on.

These thoughtful plot decisions demonstrate to me that the writers were reflective and aware enough to acknowledge the complicated power dynamics and relationships embedded in the positionality of the characters. And this realization made me able to relax and think about the story in less judgmental terms. It allowed me to actually interpret and analyze the series the way I wanted to, as an embodiment of Anzaldúa’s ideas about rereading/rewriting realities and being Nepantleras. I gave myself permission to consider Undone as a manifestation of Mestizx consciousness.

The fact that Alma means “soul” in Spanish gave me the pleasure one gets when connecting hidden dots (although these particular dots are not very hidden for my Spanish speaking friends). I began enjoying Dutch director Hisko Hulsing’s use of rotoscoping, which consists of layering animation on top of live-action footage. The effect is a trance-like visualization of a dream state which a critic Poniewozik has described to be “like turning a dial that lowers the gravity by 25 percent or so. Even in mundane scenes, everything’s a little more buoyant. People move as if they’re living underwater.”[2]

Allowing myself to find useful metaphors in the series, I thought about the effect of revolving the story around a perceived loss of sanity. Alma is, at the end of the day, an unreliable narrator. Even though she is not the one telling the story, we can only see her world through her eyes. This reminded me of another story in the Mestizx consciousness tradition, Signs Preceding the End of the World. In this Mexican novel, novelist Yuri Herrera describes protagonist Makina’s world to us through a third-person speaker. Despite telling the story through a narrator that is traditionally all-seeing, in Signs we can only see what Makina sees and thus we have access to exclusively Makina’s inner world.

What is striking is, in both instances the audience/reader does not feel the itch to get to the bottom of things, not bothered to find out the objective truth. Considering that Undone is at its core a murder mystery, to have this effect on the audience is certainly extraordinary. There is also no traditional form of a timeline, and Alma jumps time and space freely along with the plot.  The effect is a gentle suggestion that the actual truth is not as important as the experienced truth — as what Alma sees. Anzaldúa petitioned, “We must redefine the imagination not as a marginal non-reality nor as an altered state but, rather, as another type of reality,” and I argue that the underlying suggestion embedded in Undone is precisely this openness to alternate realities.

With the exception of Jacob, all other characters repeatedly implied that Alma was mentally unstable; none of them believed the things Alma claimed to have seen in her visions. For Alma, the healing moment came at the end of the series, when her sister Becca sat next to her all night on the holy site in Mexico. Becca did not contradict Alma’s conviction that Jacob was going to step out of the temple with the sunrise. Alma thought that Jacob’s resurrection would trigger the realignment of the timelines, and they will be living in an alternate reality where Jacob did not commit murder and kill himself. Alma explains to Becca, “This whole reality is going to go away. All we have to do is wait here tonight. Dad is going to come back. Everything will have changed. He’ll have never died. Our family will be normal. We won’t be broken people. So all the stupid shit we’ve done in our lives, it’ll all just go away” (“That Halloween Night” 16:57). To this, Becca simply replied, “That’s nice”(“That Halloween Night” 17:00). And they spent the night in each other’s company, watching the stars and talking, and Alma was calm and felt safe in their understanding, their sisterhood. The interaction hurls to us the incredible power held by the act of listening. It’s a testament to the fact that you cannot really ever convince somebody of a point of view they are not yet ready to accept. People have to learn and see for themselves the truth of their convictions, and everyone will learn their own lesson in their own time. The scene shows that through times where a reality/truth is still being negotiated and manifested, it is crucial to have somebody willing to sit with and not contradict us, no matter how far-fetched one considers the other’s stance. It speaks to how healing it is to be able to share your beliefs and your “insanity” to somebody who is not there to judge or diagnose you. A portraiture of two sisters being Nepantleras for and with each other. A depiction of the coexistence imagined and proposed by Anzaldúa.


Our oppositional politics has been necessary, but it will never sustain us; while it may give us some temporary gains. . . . it can never ultimately feed that deep place within us: that space of the erotic, that space of the soul, that space of the Divine” – Jacqui Alexander

This is a quote Ana Louise Keating refers to in her text “Risking the Vision, Transforming the Divides.” To me, Undone is a piece of artwork that was able to provide that space of the erotic, the Alma, the Divine. Had I kept my exclusionary, oppositional, rigid mentality I had in which perimeters are based on racial/cultural identities, I would have missed out on the metaphors, the beauty, the meaning.

     The metaphor of Jacob, the white father trying to change the course of how history went wrong, forgetting he was the one who brought on his own destruction. All the while, the others are paying for his mistakes. The metaphor of Alma’s supposed insanity as a questioning of our own perceived reality. The beauty of the storytelling through rotoscoping. The meaning behind Becca’s casual, non-judgemental listening. And ultimately, the consideration of it as an outstanding manifestation of Anzaldúa’s imagination of the non-reality, of the possible alternate realities.

     By learning about writers who advocate the idea of a less rigid, non-ethnicity-based coexistence, I was given the chance to zoom out and watch with love, not with the fear that often comes around the anxiety of being politically correct. “Reality is too big for any ideological system to contain,” Anzaldúa once wrote. And this has been clearly demonstrated in Undone, both through its plot and its production. The personal is political, and this account of my learning process is what I want to offer as we all construct our realities and societies. As we move forward, we will have to open more dialogue between realities, identities, and the subversion of both.


[1] Kristeva, Julia. Nations Without Nationalism. Columbia UP, 1993.

[2] Poniewozik, James. “Review: In the Entrancing ‘Undone,’ Life Is but a Dream State.” The New York Times, The New York Times, 12 Sept. 2019, www.nytimes.com/2019/09/12/arts/television/undone-review-amazon.html.

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El infierno del sonido

Este es un poema visual hecho a base de experimentos con VHS, algunas técnicas de glitch y datamosh. Es un collage visual primitivo. Todavía no estaba de moda el vaporwave, pero si había una rehabilitación de la estética VHS como en Trash Humpers (2009) de Harmony Korine.

En esa época todavía existían los televisores.

Politics of Mobile Suit Gundam—Track 2 «Eating»

It is as if eating, this capacity, undeniably essential to our existence, has been neglected as a philosophical theme in its own right

«Die ethische Macht der öffentlichen Opfermahlzeit ruhte auf uralten Vorstellungen über die Bedeutung des gemeinsamen Essens und Trinkens. Mit einem anderen zu essen und zu trinken war gleichzeitig ein Symbol und eine Bekräftigung von sozialer Gemeinschaft und von Übernahme gegenseitiger Verpflichtungen; die Opfermahlzeit brachte zum direkten Ausdruck, dass der Gott und seine Anbeter Commensalen [D.h. gemeinsam an einem Tisch Sitzende.; from the footnote in the original text] sind, aber damit waren alle ihre anderen Beziehungen gegeben. Gebräuche, die noch heute unter den Arabern der Wüste in Kraft sind, beweisen, dass das Bindende an der gemeinsamen Mahlzeit nicht ein religiöses Moment ist, sondern der Akt des Essens selbst..» (1)

Welcome aboard the second track of Politics of Mobile Suit Gundam. Once again it’s time to enjoy ourselves. But enjoy how exactly?

Let us start by inquiring: what is depicted in a war anime? Tomino, as the founder of the Gundam Saga, celebrating its 40th anniversary this year having so many offsprings including spin-offs just like Star Wars, seems to give a quite straight forward answer already in the first Gundam, namely: an allegory of our political life.

As I have already mentioned in the trailer, the space battleship ”White Base”—also called the “Troy Horse” by its antagonists— is a temporary home, more precisely an asylum not only for numerous refugees on board from the space colony Side 7 that got severely damaged by the explosion Amuro unwillingly caused in the first episode but also for our young crew members who are destined by contingency to fight. And most of them, including Amuro and Frau, are not trained as soldiers but laypersons.

But isn’t this exactly how our home looks like? For who on earth has ever had the chance to choose one’s first country of residence before birth? This contingency corresponds to that of our natality.

Before the beginning of Amuro’s journey, we were talking about Arendt’s chuckling caused by, wait, what caused it? Was it Günter Gaus’ question? Or was it something else? It all began with a question flowing out from Günter’s mouth and then, in the mind of both Hannah and Günter, his word passed through the image of ”a” mOther tongue and then a chuckling came out from Hannah’s mouth.

eating, gundam, politics

So here we are, touching and being touched by our mysterious organ: the mouth.  In what sense is this organ mysterious? Because our mouth is an excessively multifunctional, equivocal organ, i. e. for both speaking and eating; but also for vomiting and laughing. This ”and” and the ”also” tells us something about our nature as a speaking being. They tell us simply that in order for us to speak, laugh and vomit, or to keep on performing these functions, we must also be able to eat. No less than we are speaking, laughing (Aristotle), vomiting animals we are eating animals too. Yet, as such animals, we cannot do all of these at the same time, for we only have one organ to perform all of these functions: the mouth. Like your mother told you: ”Oh baby, please don’t talk while eating!” An excessive prohibition, so to speak. For what is prohibited is impossible anyways. 

It is quite interesting that we only have a handful of thinkers in the history of philosophy, Epicurus for instance, who have seriously engaged with eating as such. It is as if eating, this capacity, undeniably essential to our existence, has been neglected as a philosophical theme in its own right; as if it were too natural that we too, qua animals, must eat. Eating as an excess of nature in us.

Arendt for instance—who often refuses to be called a philosopher and prefers to call her self a political theorist instead— subsumes our act of eating under the category of ” labor,” which is a ”condition” of human life in its double-meaning: firstly as a condition sine qua non for our life itself, self-preservation; secondly as a negative one that must be met in order for us to become active in the public sphere. In other words, we must leave behind our faculty of eating literally at home (oikos) in order to actively engage in the political community (coinōnia politikē). 

But is this true? Even if it is, isn’t it also true that we also live in order to eat, and even to enjoy the activity of eating itself? I am strongly tempted to say that, that which is left behind in Arendt’s understanding is the dialectics immanent to the act of eating itself. At least Tomino seems to take the figure of eating quite seriously, consciously or not taking the dialectics of eating at face value, i.e. eating as something essentially valuable.

After being forced to begin his journey, his political life in public–which is, I know, a pleonasm–, Amuro repeatedly manifests that, despite his extraordinary talent in fighting, he is disinterested in life itself. In other words: although he does have his own reason to fight, hence also to survive, he still doesn’t take his own life seriously enough. One reason for him to fight and survive is to find his parents—Amuro had unknowingly thrown his father into space during his first battle in the first episode. His disinterest in life was already shown before the beginning of his journey in the emphatic sense, even before he had made his first appearance. In the scene immediately preceding his first appearance, the camera hints at his existence by focusing on his breakfast—probably made by Frau only to be neglected by Amuro. 

eating, politics

And now, watch out, spoilers are coming!

At least two characters among the initial crew members are essential in disgusti…, excuse me, discussing the figure of ”eating” in Gundam: Ryū Hosei and Kai Shiden. 

Ryū—you got it, another name that starts with ”R”— is that nice guy, I mean, that really nice guy in the group who always cares for others and moves constantly between others, permanently endeavoring to make visible for others which problems they have when they are feeling uneasy. His name says it: ”Ryū,” or better Ryū/Lyū–or Dew?—means ”flow(流)” and his last name ”Hosei” indicates ”correction(補正).” He’s that guy who can read the tide, the air and make them smooth without violently intervening in other people’s opinions or pushing too hard on others who find themselves in a mentally difficult situation. In this sense Ryū is one of the rare characters in the story who is already almost perfect from the beginning.

 But as what is he almost perfect? As a good soldier, as a tough cool big brother in the neighborhood. Yet, of course, he too does not and cannot, just like everyone else, have an overview of the tide, precisely because he is an almost-perfect soldier.

So quite consequently, he makes a fatal error in the story. He gives Amuro, still not convinced to live for his own sake, a one-sided opinion on eating. He tells Amuro who refuses to eat that ”eating is like loading your gun with bullets.”

eating, politics

This, of course, is true. But this assertion of truth is nonetheless one-sided. The character who speaks out the other half of the truth of eating is Kai the cynic whose cynicism has its origin in his cowardice which, on its side, is a necessary virtue in a war too. He’s the other big brother for Amuro; not exactly nice, but honest. 

One of the most important moments of his honesty manifests itself in his conversation in the kitchen with the chef. He complains that it’s totally unjust that Ryū and Amuro as soldiers get more food than others.         

politics

Yet, no one in the story manages to convince our poor boy Amuro to enjoy his meal—at least, to predict, not until the very end of the story. In fact, at one point, i. e. in episode 12, he finally tells himself that he must eat. But just look at how he eats:

eating

His hollow eyes only show that he is becoming a “gun,” a weapon, a tool, but hasn’t become a human being in the sense of a political, i. e. eating and speaking animal yet.

At this point, Amuro is standing on the edge of turning into a thing with one function: to kill. But who does he have to kill? This, along with his reason why he must kill, he will learn slowly only by learning his reason to live and not just survive. For he hasn’t truly exposed himself to the real possibility of his own death as well as that of others.

And Hegel tells us about Amuro’s consciousness at this stage of his development:

„Durch den Tod ist zwar die Gewissheit geworden, dass beide ihr Leben wagten und es an ihnen und an dem Anderen verachteten; aber nicht für die, welche diesen Kampf bestanden. Sie heben ihr in dieser fremden Wesenheit, welches das natürliche Dasein ist, gesetztes Bewusstsein oder sie heben sich [auf] und werden als die für sich sein wollenden Extreme aufgehoben. Es verschwindet aber damit aus dem Spiele des Wechsels das wesentliche Moment, sich in Extreme entgegengesetzter Bestimmtheit zu zersetzen; und die Mitte fällt in eine tote Einheit zusammen, welche in tote, bloß seiende, nicht entgegengesetzte Extreme zersetzt ist; und die beiden geben und empfangen sich nicht gegenseitig voneinander durch das Bewusstsein zurück, sondern lassen einander nur gleichgültig, als Dinge, frei.“

[“Through death, the certainty has been established that each has risked his life, and that each has cast a disdainful eye towards [life; my correction] both in himself and in the other. But this is not the case for those who passed the test in this struggle. They sublate their consciousness, which was posited in this alien essentiality which is natural existence, that is, they elevate themselves and, as extreme terms wanting to exist for themselves, are themselves sublated. The essential moment thereby vanishes from the fluctuating interplay, namely, that of distinguishing into extreme terms of opposed determinatenesses, and the middle term collapses into a dead unity, which disintegrates into dead extreme terms which are merely existents and not opposed terms. Neither gives back the other to itself nor does it receive itself from the other by way of consciousness. Rather, they only indifferently leave each other free-standing, like things.”] (2)

Amuro’s spirit is still a void like that of a machine, for what he has won by simply surviving attacks from his anonymous enemies—with the help of his invincible body Gundam—is just an empty conception of himself. In other words, he has never been serious about his own life nor his enemies’ lives as well as the possibility that he might die in a battle too and that this should mean something for him.

Thank you once again for your time. Until next time, enjoy your meal for those you truly care for.


(1) Sigmund Freud, Totem und Tabu, in: Freud-Studienausgabe, volume 10 (S. Fischer Verlag, 1974), p. 419.  

(2) G. W. F. Hegel, Phänomenologie des Geistes, in: Werke, vol. 3 (Suhrkamp, 1970), p. 149f. [Phenomenology of Spirit, trans. Terry Pinkard (last accessed: April 21. 2020), p. 166].

Politics of Mobile Suit Gundam—Track 1 «Beginning»

First things first. What’s this Gundam thing all about? Well, as I mentioned in the trailer, it’s an odyssey, i.e. a story of someone striving to get back home. And who is the someone in this repetition of the Homeric Odyssey? No one, at least at the beginning of the story, he is not one with himself (uneins mit sich) yet. But exactly because he is no one, in other words, because anyone could be him, our poor boy Amuro gets thrown into a situation like his current one; current, unexpected and therefore unforeseeable, ever-fluctuating situation. In fact, he will become THE archetype of all heroes of the works that fall under the genus “robot anime,” for instance Shinji Ikari, yes, that fourteen-year-old boy, the hero of Evangelion to whom we may safely attribute a curious phenomenon called ”Second Grade Middle School Syndrome (Chūnibyō 中二病)” which has been, since 1995 when Evangelion was first broadcasted, a sort of symbol of one’s otaku-ness.

Curiously enough, it seems that Amuro’s family name ”Ray” signifies something about his no-one-ness. As some of you might already know it is extremely difficult for native Japanese speakers to hear the difference between ”r” and ”l,” accordingly, to pronounce each of them ”correctly” (1)—one of my best friends I met in Germany told me several times that the Japanese r/l (followed by a vowel, it turns into r/la, r/li, r/lu, r/le/ r/lo = ら、り、る、れ、ろ) sounds almost like ”d,” but let’s leave this aside for now. In any case,”Ray” could sound like ”lay” as in “layperson.” But then again like ”rhei” as in ”panta rhei (everything flows).” But probably to the ears of ordinary Japanese speakers ”Rei” is the sound of ”zero (零).” 

https://youtu.be/AR7BtxfQLA0
Gundam

Our boy Amuro Rey is no one. Anyone could be him. Absolutely nothing compared to what is happening outside. For he is, in the beginning, simply just living, obsessed with his hobbies, doesn’t aspire at all to become someone, pure life, zōē, as opposed to bios; an incarnation of pure self-enjoyment, quarantining by default, as it were. So he doesn’t have any reason to move, to begin, not to mention to endure a story yet to begin. But at the same time this disinterestedness, radical passivity accompanied by a certain coldness towards the rest of the world, typically expressed in his attitude towards his girlfriend named Frau Bow—you heard it—, all these elements combined appear as that absolute givenness into which something may intervene. 

In Amuro’s case, it’s war, which is, on its side, qua Nature writ large, absolutely disinterested in his existence. But it is exactly this haphazard encounter of the two mutually disinterested beings which marks the beginning of the story (Geschichte). A story forced to begin by an encounter of two beings that have had already begun to exist without understanding what they are—exactly, just like every story including our own. The meaning of their beings starts to unfold. 

For Amuro the reason to begin begins with his encounter with Gundam, a hope brought to earth (well, actually to a space colony) by his father who’s an engineer working for the Earth Federation.

gundam
Amuro’s father Tem joyfully saying in front of his son’s picture: “If we manage to mass-produce Gundam…”

Gundam is, as the symbol of striking back against the Principality of Zion, Amuro’s younger brother with a far more powerful body than him. It is his mission to assimilate with his own brother ”hope” in white, blue and red—the reference is pretty obvious, isn’t it?—which is simultaneously an animated expression of his teenage body, his body in puberty that is out of control,  a body, gone crazy. (1)  

And Hegel celebrates from the void:

Kühn mag der Göttersohn der Vollendung Kampf sich vertrauen

Brich dann den Frieden mit dir, brich mit dem Werke der Welt.

Strebe, versuche du mehr, als das Heut und das Gestern, so wirst du Besseres nichts als Zeit, aber auf’s Beste sie sein!

Boldly may the son of God trust in the achievement of the struggle.

Then break peace with yourself,

break with the accomplishments of the world. Strive, try more than the today and the yesterday, and you will become nothing better than time, but time at its best!

—G. W. F. Hegel, ”Entschluss,” in Gesammelte Werke, vol. 5, Schriften und Entwürfe (1779—1808) (Meiner, 1998), 51. (2)

Thank you for your time. Until next time, keep safe and enjoy yourself, especially with your tongue!

(1) There is absolutely nothing special about this. Every nation has the same problem, only with different sounds; Germans find it hard to distinguish the English pronunciation of “f” from that of “th” and the Russians have difficulty in not pronouncing the “h” in certain German words such as “Fähigkeit.” This impossibility of acoustically distinguishing as well as pronouncing or not pronouncing certain sounds in a foreign language is simply a givenness—perhaps even a gift, why not?—that corresponds to the brute facticity of our natality.

(2) Cf. https://youtu.be/RmTGCeCiKPI

(3) Cited in Rebecca Comay and Frank Ruda, The Dash—The Other Side of Absolute Knowing (MIT Press, 2018), 107. Translated by Comay and Ruda.

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Vapormeme and the Aesthetics of Junk

by Kiyohiro Sen

Disclaimer: This is a raw translation of Kiyohiro Sen‘s article “Vapormemeとジャンクの美学:もう一つの(悪趣味な)Vaporwave史“. I found it after reading his article on “vaporwave” in the anthology 現代思想 from 2019. He also writes about analytical philosophy of despiction and photography. All credits go to him and, naturally, all responsibility for the translation lies with me. Please check out Sen’s blog for the original version of the article (I didn’t translate the footnotes) and further references.

About the history of vaporwave

Vaporwave is alchemy. From a methodological point of view it is a sound-collage of junk music. Old-fashioned pop songs, commercial BGM, unpleasant commercial sounds, etc. Before realizing it they create an imaginary nostalgia.

Shortly after , vaporwave died. Specifically, it seems that the two major creators, Vektroid and INTERNET CLUB, have left the scene and have spread inferior imitations, losing independence as a genre. Then, Luxury Elite, Saint Pepsi, and other artists that I call “second generation,” spawned Future Funk and Mallsoft, and ushered in the Post-vaporwave era with 2814, The Birth of a New Day. This is a rough history of vaporwave. At the very least, I wrote in every place a “history” full of such a view of progress. However, there are some things that come to my mind without remorse.

“Isn’t vaporwave ever evolving or developing in the first place?”

Post modernism

Some time ago, when I was featured in DOMMUNE‘s vaporwave Special Edition, I reflected briefly on the idea that vaporwave is an extremely postmodern practice based on plunder phonics and aesthetic appropriation. We should ask how it became what it is. In any case, the steam does not come from nothing but from boiling water

If vaporwave rides on the aesthetics of postmodernism “end of history”, “deception of creativity / authority”, and “simulation”, then no linear evolutionary genealogy could be traced. vaporwave is, in the ultimate sense, fragmentary, anonymous and ‘dejavú-esque’.

Anyway, today I would like to introduce you to a sub-genre of vaporwave called vapormeme. No, vapormeme is not a sub-genre. There are no methodologies here like in Eccojams and Future Funk, neither a distinctive concept like Mallsoft or Post-Internet.Vapormeme has nothing. Perhaps nobody in the whole Internet history has been obsessed with the term… Except me.

So what I want to do on the ghost web today is nothing less than giving the vapormeme phenomenon a category. However, as we will see shortly, it cannot be an autonomous and solid category.

Genre Dream of Purity

What do I want to emphasize on by focusing on vapormeme? To be clear, it’s the intrinsic impossibility of concepts such as “vaporwaveness” or “vaporwave purity”.

There is a controversy that often arises around vaporwave, that is a categorization issue: “Does this work belong to vaporwave?”, “Is this image vaporwave?” Some people think that “Classic-vaporwave” is the only “true vaporwave”, and some people even say “vaporwave!” just as they see some strange Japanese signs on a street corner. Each has its own “vaporwave standard” and is often inconsistent. I wrote two contributions in order to clarify this question:

It must be admitted that both the “Vaporwave History Encyclopedia” and the “Vaporwave Virtual World Map” are normative recommendations rather than descriptive information. Rather than saying “Objectively speaking, this is what vaporwave is like”, it is more like “I think this about vaporwave, why don’t you do it too?” I was a modernist pursuing vaporwave’s autonomy, purity and a genre-specificity. However, the following focuses rather on the impossibility of such normative recommendations. In other words, vapormeme is the proof of this. It is positioned as something that erodes and frustrates dreams such as “vaporwave-likeness” and “vaporwave purity”.

vapormeme, as some kind of contamination, always threatens the autonomy of vaporwave. As a result, vaporwave has to undergo a postmodern revision. To dream about the idea of vaporwave as an autonomous genre is only possible by ignoring the whole vapormeme series. And ignoring vapormeme is not so easy.

What is vapormeme

Well, what is vapormeme? As I said, there is no such fixed category, but it does not mean that there is no discourse about vapormeme at all. Needless to say, vapormeme is not a term I came up with. By the way, if you search “vapormemme” in Google, the number of hits is 38,200. The total number for “vaporwave” is 11,500,000, so it can be said that by simple calculation its importance in the whole scene is about 0.33% . Don’t overlook the fact that with this stupid remark, the aesthetic of vapormeme has already begun.

In reddit someone posted this guide to the sub-genres of vaporwave. Here, I summarize the main characteristics of vapormeme mentioned there:

  • “A mixture of multiple aesthetic styles, presented without any logic”.
  • “Vapormeme is the result of the misconception that vaporvawe is easy to make”.
  • “I’ve included vapormeme in this list to help keep vaporwave’s reputation and to inform listeners that these are just cheap imitations”.

Well, this definition is quite tough. In the first place, vaporwave advocated a certain aesthetic about using junk sound sources, but vapormeme is a genuine junk. It lacks even the aesthetics of kitsch.

Let’s listen to a specific sound source.

Do you think “that is surprisingly good?”. It should be, since bl00dwave and bbrainz are the best of vapormeme. In the above sub-genre guide, it is also introduced as “the best of the worst”. It sounds like a royal road Eccojams piece as it loops through a twisted pop song. Here is a discussion on Reddit based on the aforementioned guide. The person who started the thread also said, “When I heard bl00dwave and bbrainz, it was surprisingly good” bbrainz also appeared and commented.

Anyway, I’m going to consider which aspect of these works is vapormeme later, first let’s hear “the lowest of the lowest”.

The RYM rating of “1.68 /5.0” would tell everything. In addition, the author has uploaded this unprecedented trash on the Bandcamp and evaporated, and takes no responsibility.

 Well, there are plenty of worse things. Go to the bandcamp page of the lowest label, MAPL Labs, and you’ll find all these bad stuff. It is a superb view, so please visit it once. Just a hell picture. That’s why the Internet is called a graveyard.

Now that the outline of Vapormeme has been dimly seen, let’s summarize its features. At a high level, Vapormeme has three characteristics.

(1) Just a common image or effect pasted on a text

This includes bl00dwave and bbrainz. Another Vapormeme piece is the Stereo Component “Coastal Nostalgia”. 

Vapormeme is born out of easy-to-choice productions, such as “What is Vaporwave?” An easy-to-understand Vaporwave-like image, a Greek statue, Japanese signs, and cheap CG stuck together likeペタペタ, a work that will satisfy you. And especially important, Vapormeme has no intention of moving the genre forward. It’s pure self-satisfaction, not in any way for the sake of the scene. It’s worth noting that the artists who make this kind of Vapormeme do usually make decent vaporwaves, or work as non-vapormeme artists.

bl00dwave has released not only Vapormeme work “Dream” but also songs from Eccojams to Future Funk, so it can be said that it plays some kind of secondary role in the Vaporwave scene.

bbrainz is currently working under the name of slythe and has released some interesting works, such as “jungle2000” with jungle elements, from good quality Vaporwave albums like “Echo”.

The identity of Stereo Component is apparently Yung Bae. Yung Bae is, of course, one of the beatmakers driving Future Funk. In short, vapormeme is the genre that these decent people cultivated as a ‘side job’.

(2) A parody of an already existing vaporwave work

In the Vaporwave subgenre summary at RYM, the notion of ‘parody’ is also emphasized. Naturally, the parody works of “Floral Shoppe” are overwhelming, but there are many parodies other than “Floral Shoppe”.

“Blank Goofee 0” is a parody of “Blank Banshee 0”.

Chuck Person’s Eccojams Vol. 1 is a night core. How much do you like night cores?

Most of them are messed up samples of the original sound source. Needless to say, there is a duality between the fact that “the parody source itself samples and mess up the original sound source”. Vaporwave parody is often forced to be a parody of parody. Even more mysterious is the case where a normal sound source is released in a parody format for some reason.

For example, here is a mysterious person who claims to be a Macintosh Pro. It’s a waste of good work, but it’s a waste to parody the name and album name “FLORAL SHOPPE INFINITE”. Bandcamp’s sound source has now been removed, and YouTube views are tearfully low.

In his Reddit thread, someone commented: “I understand the inspiration but I don’t understand why you didn’t just make your own original album name and alias?” The fact that vapormeme is a parody does not contribute to the advancement of the genre. What is being done here is just recycling, and on rare occasions a work is made that is suitable for reuse, but most of it is just making garbage from garbage. There are also works that perform a parody with clear malice, such as THE DARKEST FUTURE “FLORAL SHOPPE 2”. This is a strange name by HKE, who has released many other anti-Vaporwave works.

(3) An image / sound source that has nothing to do with vaporwave and that claims to be #vaporwave

By the way, as a genre similar to vapormeme, there is (or is not) a category called memewave. Here a more general image of the internet is used and vaporwave music is added. “Simpson wave”, which has become popular locally, can be called a kind of Memewave. These retrospective vaporwave images also seem to threaten vaporwave’s purity. That said, Simpsonwave is still pretty cute. When things get worse, you can see stick-man-like images drawn with Paint on Instagram, and you’ll also see the tag  #vaporwave.

“Vaporwave as a Meme” has created a lot of misunderstandings, and has produced a lot of bad taste images and works. About a year ago, George Clanton, founder of the label 100% Electronica, made a modest move to #takebackvaporwave (regain Vaporwave). According to him, “It corrects the wrong image of Vaporwave and restores the radiance of the old scene”

That is, Vapormeme / Memewave is the hated enemy of #takebackvaporwave. Simply by uploading these vulgar sound sources and images to Bandcamp and Instagram, and attaching the #vaporwave tag there, Vaporwave’s image is increasingly distorted. That was exactly what George Clanton was concerned about. He clearly presupposes the purity of the Vaporwave genre, and fights against an image that defiles it.

A statement from the Vaporwave label Elemental 95 summarizes the desires of this type of exercise. In other words, we want to keep only those works that activate and make the genre grow. However, this statement is displaced, and seems to be paying a high price given the intuition that “many Vaporwaves were simply plagiarism”. The #takebackvaporwave movement involved several artists, and a compilation album was released. However, it is ironic that this work itself seems to be a Vapormeme-like product of poorly image selection. Their enemy was “③ Vapormeme, an image / sound source that has nothing to do with Vaporwave” but the result was “① Vapormeme”.

Tweets by chris ††† (label Business Casual) are more honest. He himself supports #takebackvaporwave, but he confesses that he is also making works based on memes. Perhaps he sees that Vaporwave and Vapormeme are two sides of the same coin. Eventually, #takeback vaporwave evaporated, scattered and disappeared. I think the (temporary) setback of the movement should be taken more seriously. This may be the moment when the dream of Vaporwave, the genre of genres, is broken.

Fashwave

Another reason for the bad reputation of vapormeme is the abuse of vaporwave images by the alternative right wing, the so-called “Fashwave problem”. Click here for more information on the Alterna Right Wings. Characterized by its support to Trump, the right-wing alternates its racist ideology with memes and scatters it around the Internet. By chance or inevitably, the vehicle of choice was Vaporwave.

Recall that Adam Harper mentioned accelerationism in his DUMMY article and the story makes sense. It would be too late if the alternative right wing was not only using Vaporwave imagery as a mere meme, but also conscious about its accelerationist aspects. The only way to grudge is to grudge Adam Harper, who first connected Vaporwave to politics

Conclusion: About the future of vaporwave

In this way, vapormeme images that “can not be called”, “should not be called”, and “do not want to be called” have been accumulated as vapormeme. It’s the dark side of the scene called vaporwave. I would like to avoid overgeneralization, but this phenomenon is not limited to vaporwave, but is widespread on the Internet. Furthermore, all arts may have gone through such a fight against impurities, but I guess, today I will stop here. (to read about how MTV killed vaporwave click here)

Well, how should vaporwave deal with vapormeme as such a contaminated element? As we’ve seen, it’s not enough to shout out the genre’s purity as in the hashtag #takebackvaporwave. For artists, label owners, listeners, and other players who participate in the art world of vaporwave, the issue is not strange.

As a mere listener (at least not a vaporwave artist), I try to remain a spectator. And “bystanders” are in this case extremely political. I mean, “If vaporwave dies, let’s die”. Perhaps vaporwave won’t die so easily, and in some ways it’s dead. Rejecting popularization preserves vaporwave’s criticism and extends the genre’s life. I can’t do that. That’s just snobish. With the inclusion of Future Funk, a subgenre with very different methodologies and visuals, the category vaporwave has been put into risk. Just as you couldn’t stop the appearance of Future Funk, you can’t stop anything from happening in the future.

Now, at the heart of vaporwave there is a postmodern rift, where the malignant virus that spread was vapormeme. The “progress” and “expansion” of vaporwave can only be described by distinguishing vapormeme from other genres. Our early calculation of “importance of about 0.33%” is the result of such rejections, exclusions, and ignorance. And, as I’ve pointed out throughout this article, vapormeme is nothing more than the other side of vaporwave, not something different. vapormeme cuts and pastes past works and bad taste images that have become relics without purpose. And isn’t that what vaporwave has done? Isn’t junk aesthetics a pure garbage foundation for vaporwave as well as vapormeme?

Rather than actively rejecting and ignoring vapormeme, my point of view is to accept it as the other side of vaporwave. Again, in this genre, it is almost impossible to make non-normative descriptions. In short, don’t worry about anything. If you get tired of asking what is vaporwave, stop asking. If you don’t like the bad taste of vapormeme, stop listening.

I’m looking forward to seeing vaporwave continue to fade away like vaporwave.

Politics of Mobile Suit Gundam. Another Trailer.

In an interview with Günter Gaus, delivered on the 28th of October 1964, Hannah Arendt spoke of that thing which, to her ears, sounded like the most convincing reason for the impossibility of forgetting one’s mother tongue:

Arendt: “The German language is the essential thing that has remained.“

Gaus: “Even in the darkest days?“

Arendt: “Always. What was I to do? The German language didn’t go crazy.”

Arendt chuckles while and after pronouncing the latter sentence: a self-ironic chuckling, perhaps. Listen to it yourself (from 38:20 onwards):

But what is there to chuckle about in this affirmation of the impossible?; of accepting the sheer contingency that, as speaking animals, we all come to this world to live within the closed but yet essentially open sphere of one’s mother tongue(s)—or, as Bruce Fink puts it: mOther tongue? (*)—, entangled forever in its alterity, givenness, and strict grammatical rules, in other words: to abide more or less the contingency of the fact of being born.

In this series, I will try to approach the meaning, or perhaps the nonsensicalness of Arendt’s chuckling. For this cause, I will analyze the most laughable object of all that a Japanese essayist like me might open himself up to (sich entschließen); yes, of course, that world-famous Japanese “product”: anime. I will take one of the most popular works Mobile Suit Gundam (1979), directed by Yoshiyuki Tomino, to be exemplary, i.e. more than just explaining Arendt’s chuckling. The reason for my selecting this work is simple: I have been wondering for quite a while now why this work, so popular in Japan for roughly forty years, has been, in terms of global reputation, standing far behind other similar works such as that holy scripture for otakus worldwide, Neon Genesis Evangelion, recently added to Netflix. My intuition is that perhaps it has something to do with the strange language (fans call it “Tomino-bushi(富野節) “ which roughly translates to “Tomino’s melody“) that the characters speak in this director’s works. I am simply curious about this melody. So here we go.

Gundam is a story about a boy named Amuro Ray (I am tempted to spell his last name “Rei“), 15 years old, who happens to find himself in a space colony “Side 7“ during the “One Year War“ between the Earth Federation and Principality of Zion—well, it’s a Japanese anime, but this is just one example. A colony is a tube in which people who fled earth have lived for three generations now. And now it’s war.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Qq-N4R-SB4

In this series, we will wait and see how this boy and his fellow crew members of the space battleship “White Base“—which is, “for us,” in itself (an sich) their home, yet for them still to become their home—will find out who they are to become by and for themselves in this space odyssey. I am hoping that this series will turn out to be an introduction to the history of political philosophy not just for us but also for our young characters involved in a war. However, like the Germans say: “let’s see how the world spins (mal schauen, wie sich die Welt dreht)!”


(*) “The very expression we use to talk about it—”mother tongue“—is indicative of the fact that it is some Other’s tongue first, the mOther’s tongue, the mOther’s language […].“ Bruce Fink, The Lacanian Subject. Between Language and Jouissance (Princeton UP, 1995), p. 7.

The non-mimetism of noise: Interview with Sabrina from Sarana

Sarana. Credits: https://www.instagram.com/yunaise_/

Noise in Indonesia

Indonesian experimental music scene has been growing. I mean, for an outsider, Indonesian music appears itself as something fresh and extreme. Most people know about puppet-shadow theater. There are some basic characteristics of this kind of performance that are fascinating. First, against the traditional division between the stage and the spectators, in the shadow theater you can sit on any side of the screen. That is, you can watch the puppet-master at work. This results not obvious if you are trained in the classic idea of fiction, where the mechanism should remain hidden. In a wayang kulit performance, then, the shadow is not meant to be an illusion. Plato’s cave is the best counter-example. His allegory is a paradigmatic illustration of the shadow-theater where the ‘true objects’ remain unknown to the spectator chained on the floor. On the contrary, in a wayang kulit performance you can see the backside of the screen. Spectators are allowed to eat, smoke and chat during the performance. Their attention is not required as fixed, they are now chained to their seats. The orchestra also plays a central role. Both the tuning and the articulation of voices and rhythms in gamelan is extremely complex. Instead of leading melodies, it could be said that it has a dramatic function.

Anyway, noise seemingly stands on the antipodes of conventional music. Nevertheless, it shares some features with traditional Indonesian music, maybe the emphasis in performance over organic “melodity”, or the fact that it values community over the figure of the individual musician. In any case, it is something disruptive. Noise goes one step forward: it seeks to provoke the spectators, to rearrange their perception of sound. It’s aggressive, that’s what distinguishes noise from, let’s say, ambient. 

As I said before, in Indonesia the noise scene has been blooming since the mid 90s. A documentary called Bising (interview here) is responsible for bringing this movement to a wider audience outside Indonesia (for example appearing in VICE). However, it would be hard to find one single common denominator. Since Indonesia consists of more than seventeen thousand islands, there are different cultural layers that enrich the scene. Also, noise is kind of postcultural, since it moves toward an absolute deconstruction of music in chaos.  The question that remains is if technology itself could be seen as something attached to a certain type of culturality. You can find also this two sides within the Indonesian scene, with groups as Senyawa experimenting with self-made or modified traditional instruments. The tendency of noise toward experimentation and deconstruction makes it hard to conceptualize.

Sarana

Reflecting on these things I got into a noise duo from Samarinda called Sarana. Even if noise comes to existence as a response to the phallocentric idea of the lead-guitarist (one male with his big phallus on the stage showing his virtuosity), there are some elements in noise that remained quite patriarchal. The Power of the Voice, which Derrida called phonocentrism, is based somehow on the authority of the male leader. In this sense, feminised noise would be an answer to it. (If you are interested in reading more about a feminist interpretation of noise, check out Marie Thompson’s work). As she writes in ‘Feminised noise and the ‘dotted line’ of sonic experimentalism’ (2016): 


“If dominant histories of noise and sonic experimentalism have typically been characterised by a patrilineal ‘dotted line’ of innovators and pioneers, then these counterprojects respond with a nexus of new lineages involving both connections and disconnections”.

Anyway, as Sabrina says in the interview, noise should have no gender at all. 

Now, the music of Sarana is a great example of how noise can disrupt the normative discourses. They create dense atmospheres of imperfect geographies. Noise is anti-mimetic. There is nothing to imitate, nothing to represent. Even the cultural references are blurred. The form is also emptying itself constantly. No content and no form. As a philosopher I try to conceptualize noise, but noise is always a step forward.

Sarana has a long c.v. of gigs. They played with the support of the Goethe Institut in Jakarta (It should be recognized that Goethe Institut around the world usually supports this kind of music, they do a good job in this regard); They played in Berlin last year; and they are even mentioned in the Bloomsbury Handbook of Sound Art.

Sabrina kindly agreed to be interviewed and here is the result:

Ferner: First can you tell me a little more about you. How did you start doing experimental music? How did Sarana begin?

Sabrina: Around early 2014. Hanging with friends in the noise scene, I messed around jamming with their music equipment e.g. guitar pedals, contact mics, small synths. Without me noticing, one of my friends recorded my jamming session. He told me afterwards that they’re gonna put the track into a compilation they were planning. They encouraged me to go further with an experimental musical journey saying that what I do is different, against the style in the scene. In June 2014 was my first time performing in a show. The show was called ‘loudness war judgment day’. (photo attached. credits to https://www.instagram.com/faturrahmanarham/)

I was called to perform another show a few months later. That’s where I brought two of my friends to join as Sarana. It started as a trio with Istanara and Annisa. Ara left a few years later to complete her studies. Sarana is currently a duo with Annisa.

F: Since you were touring in Berlin, what would you say it’s different in the noise scene from Berlin and Samarinda? What is special about doing music in Samarinda?

S: From what I’ve noticed for that brief period when I was there, I think that the Berlin style has more electronic digital equipment with organized sound, Samarinda still incorporates a bit of traditional musical instruments and sound e.g. the tingkilan and dayak musical style. In Samarinda, getting a venue to perform or organise an experimental show is quite hard. The noise and experimental scene is not recognized yet. Traditional music and art is more looked upon.

F: I come from Argentina, where the noise scene is also quite underdeveloped. I think that noise music in third world countries is especially interesting and powerful because you have to fight against many obstacles to do it. I would say that that noise is “noisier” than European “technoclean” noise. I don’t know if that makes sense for you.

I don’t think the genre is specific to a regent. I feel more that the person who’s making those noises takes inspiration and is influenced by their upbringing and their surroundings. There are always obstacles, it’s whether you wanna do it or not.

F: I read on the internet an interesting statement: Lintang Radittya, DIY synthesizer builder and musician says: “To call a specific music noise is artificial. Noise is nothing in itself. It’s running in our blood, it’s a part of us. It is not an isolated phenomenon that can be separated from anything else. What is noise? Gamelan is, for example, also noise”. Do you also think in that way? Is there a cultural element in Indonesian noise that makes it special? What is particular in Dayak and Tingkilan music that you could not find in the rest of Indonesia.

S: I think that noise is something you feel and make out from anything. Any instrument can be used in any way. The right and wrong way is only perceived by people, but it shouldn’t be that way. Dayak and tingkilan style of music is what I am brought up with and is my surrounding. That is special.

F: I’m interested in the conceptual side of experimental/noise music. It is a hard experience for the listener but also aesthetically very intense. How would you describe the experience of going to a noise performance? What are you looking for? 

S: After a couple of time going to experimental/noise shows, I realized that there are a lot of different styles in the way the performers portray what they do. Interesting in a way that there’s always good and bad changes with something new. Most of the performers I’ve experienced show their hidden inner emotion. Everything is let loose with no boundaries.

F:  Are there “bad” noise performances? why? What ruins a noise performance?

S: Personally I don’t really like it when artists throw and thrash around their equipment while performing. That kind of act shows that the sound is not primary.

F:  Then as a performer, what do you want to transmit during a performance. You have a rather quiet style (instead of jumping or screaming on the floor). Is there a connection between experimental music and the body? How do they interact?

S: In my performances, I bring out the sounds within my alter ego. My experiences and inspirations from around. Quiet… haha. I’m always nervous when performing. I think that it’s a good thing as I’m focused on what and how the sounds should come together as all sounds in my shows are performed and mixed live. Experimental sounds can trigger sensations beyond what is normal because of time signatures and the unexpected quality it brings.

F:  I’m also very interested in the role of women in noise. At the beginning, with Japanese noise and so on, noise was very aggressive and masculine in the way they performed. This changed for good. Of course women can also perform aggressively (for example I like the energy of Nic-Endo). How do you think that women disrupt the logic of noise?

S: I don’t think noise should be based on gender. It all depends on the personal style.

F: What I like about noise is that it is a “post-band” phenomenon. Bands are something of the past, now people get together with friends and work more collectively. Do you have any thoughts on this?

S: Maybe because in a band, everyone needs to be thinking the same. Doing a solo project is much more free and I am able to really portray what’s personal. like-minded people come together by themselves.

F: You talked about the unexpected quality of a performance. That is something very important in noise. It’s unexpected, like a virus. Noise somehow reveals the limit of technology, is like using technology to produce something that wasn’t included in the functionalities of the machine. What do you think of your relation with technology?  Is it hard for you to get the gears in Samarinda? Do artists there care a lot for the “quality” of the equipment?

S: It’s hard to get gears that we want in Samarinda. What we have locally is quite expensive. much cheaper to order online. Always research first. Quality is as long as it works haha.

F: Who makes the covers of your cassettes? I really like them.

S: Thank you. the cover for “heal” is designed by annisa , the cover for “grow” is designed by eka. 

F: Finally, a classic during this times….. how are you living the corona outbreak there? are you doing some music?

S: A lot of roads are closed. A lot of food places closed. I’ve been spending more time at home jamming and recording materials for an upcoming solo album and splits.

Datatrash (en español)

by F. Wirtz

Internet es una máquina de otro tipo. Las máquinas, se supone, son sistemas cerrados o agregados de sistemas. Pero internet es una máquina que se alimenta de máquinas. Y, sobre todo, es una máquina turbia. Otras máquinas tienen una función. Internet en sí no posee función. Es simplemente disponibilidades. Esta cantidad se llama Data-trash. Quiere decir que es un repositorio de basura virtual. Si se pensara en internet como algo abstracto, así como el idealismo alemán pensó a la conciencia como algo abstracto, entonces la web es eso, un sistema descentralizado de basura en forma de datos. Información inútil. Esta información es, por un lado, pura disponibilidad, lista para ser implementada. No podría haber machine learning sin esas disponibilidades. Pero debajo de ellas se esconden también datos insolventes. Eso es trash. El trash es requisito de la revolución porque es lo marginal de la máquina. Sin embargo, no hay que confundir el trash con un concepto filosófico como el de “resto”. Derrida habla del resto para criticar el “carnofalologocentrismo” del capitalismo moderno. Con razón lo hace. El peligro es que siempre es posible caer en la metafísica y existe también una metafísica del resto, es decir, una metafísica de la deconstrucción: una metafísica de la anti-metafísica. La pureza es el resto, lo bello es el fantasma. Se ha ensayado muchos términos depurados de “sustancialidad”: nada, resto, Dasein, etc. El problema de la metafísica, sin embargo, no es puramente terminológica. El verdadero peligro metafísico es su filtración en la cotidianidad del pensamiento. Es un antiguo peligro que ya advertía Hume. Transformar en causales relaciones que no lo son. No es otra cosa la metafísica. En ese sentido el trash es la categoría más baja posible de la ontología. Es sub-ontológica. El trash es la basura más deforme, turbia y oscura. Perversa, poliforme. Inaccesible. Es impura, nunca será la salvación de nadie.

Datatrash

2020

by F. Wirtz

The Internet is a different kind of machine. Machines are supposed to be closed systems or aggregates of systems. But the internet is a machine that feeds on machines: a meta-machine. And, above all, it is a cloudy machine. Other machines have a function. The Internet itself has no function. It is simply ‘availabilities’. I would like to call this amount of availabilities ‘Data-trash’. It means a virtual repository of digital garbage. If the internet were thought of as  something abstract, just as German idealism thought of consciousness as something abstract, then the web is that, a decentralized system of non-functional data. Useless information. This information is, on the one hand, pure availability, ready to be implemented. For example, there could be no machine learning without these availabilities. But underneath them are also insolvent data. That is trash. The trash is a requirement of the revolution because it is the periphery of the machine. However, trash should not be confused with a philosophical concept such as “rest” of “differánce”. Derrida speaks of the rest to criticize the “carnophallogocentrism” of modern capitalism. No wonder it does. The danger is that it is always possible to fall into metaphysics and there is also a metaphysics of the rest, that is, a metaphysics of deconstruction: a metaphysics of anti-metaphysics. Purity is the rest, beauty is the ghost. Many refined terms of “substantiality” have been tried: nothingness, rest, Dasein, etc. The problem of metaphysics, however, is not purely terminological. The true metaphysical danger is its filtering into the daily life of thought. It is an ancient danger that Hume already warned about. Transforming into causal relationships those which are not. Metaphysics is nothing else. In this sense, trash is the lowest possible category of ontology. It is sub-ontological, but ontological at the end. In this sense datatrash is not digital, but post-digital, since the post-digital rehabilitates the ontological, the hardcore ontological strata of technology. Perverse, polymorphic. Inaccessible. It is impure, it will never be anyone’s salvation.

Read it in Spanish

Subaltern-futurisms (a Nepantla-futurism?). Part I.

Art by Angel Cabrales: http://angelcabrales.com

1. Post-digital territories and backwardness

For a long time I wondered how the postdigital spaces and discourses are articulated with the socio-political dimension of the lower classes. In other words, noise, queer theory, bdsm and even cyberpunk seem to emerge from the middle classes and respond to their individual aspirations. At least with at first sight. Can something that originates from the middle classes be called revolutionary (in a radical sense)? Does it truly originate there? The true revolution can only come from the grassroots. Many years ago I even shared this doubt with Mercedes Bunz, when in 2008 I wrote a presentation on the concept of the subject on the internet. There I actually asked her what sense it made to reflect about digital theory in an economically and technologically backward country as Argentina. She replied that this was a political mistake of the left, the rejection of technology. Omar Acha shared my table, and in addition to having to endure my postmodern dilettantism, coincided to my surprise with Bunz. I guess they were both right. Poverty is digitalized. Access to the internet, cell phones and television reaches all social strata. In this sense, no person living in a city is free from the influence of digital capitalism.

Now, the question is: how is it possible to appropriate cyborgs, cyberpunks, noise, posmo-sadomasochists, etc., so that they really serve to build a revolutionary alternative to advanced capitalism? With each victory on the left the right regroups. Capitalism does not want to be associated with the right. It is more clever than that. For neoliberalism, the incorporation of minorities into the juridical system means the incorporation of consumers in the market. Equal marriage and gender identity do not go against the great Capital. They feed it. They might not totally change anything, it is true, but they introduce a bug that can later explode: a dislocation. That is what it is about. As Donna Haraway puts it: from new forms of oppression new forms of unity and organization must emerge. “Cyborg writing is about the power to survive,” she says. It is about writing, or dancing, as Pina Bausch and Kazuo Ohno would say. It is time to think about the post-digital as something opposed to the “virtual”, precisely, as post-virtual. The logic of interruptions is not a dream, a fiction. Intellectuals who underestimate the problems of the media and the body, as if they were subjects for science fiction, are blind to the true evolution of Capital. Marcelo Tinelli appropriated the homosexual body reducing it to a physical instance. The newscasts reduce the body to the corpse, the body to the crime: the victim’s body. They are the two bodies that television gives us: pornography and the corpse. That gays, lesbians and transgender people can appear on television and speak does not mean that our sexual customs are going to be revolutionized overnight. We must re-ask ourselves the big questions about production systems. There is nothing to take for granted. Pleasure seeks to overflow. But why think that there is something emancipatory in pleasure? Or in extreme aesthetics? What does it mean to suppress libidinal energy? Before, sex was not profitable. Sex is the topic of money. The current openness to sex is the incorporation of sex as an ideological commodity. Can we deconstruct sex without selling it? Can we live without selling? Is there a non-repressive or non-mercantilist sexuality? Aesthetics and sex come after the means of production. But this genetic asymmetry is not an ontological asymmetry. Post-digital logic is the logic of dislocations.

2.Futurities 

There have been many attempts (not in the sense of something ‘unfinished’ but in the sense of ‘ongoing’ achievements) to think and articulate new futures and futurities. Afrofuturism is one of the most powerful and representative examples. The concept itself, in its origins, wanted to emphasize the lack of representation of black people in the discursive universe of science fiction (SF) and technology. SF in its beginnings was not seen as a genre fittable for black literature. To begin with, black characters were rarely depicted in those narratives. On the other side, due to the white monopoly of technological clusters, technology itself was seen as something belonging to ‘white culture’. Alondra Nelson writes: “In popular mythology, the early years of the late-1990s digital boom were characterized by the rags-to-riches stories of dot-com millionaires and the promise of a placeless, raceless, bodiless near future enabled by technological progress” (Nelson 2002, 1). Hard core science fiction and space opera in general was characterized by an immaculate image of high-tech imaginaries. It was in the 80’s with William Gibson and the cyberpunks, that the optimist idea of SF started to fall permitting the space proletariat to show off its pain. Racial prejudices were however deep-rooted and if we think for example about some popular american cyberpunk films from the 90’s-2000’s, we still encounter there mainly white main characters. The concept of afrofuturism aims to destroy that epistemic illusion and re-appropriate technology and SF through new scopes.  

Notwithstanding it would be a big mistake to state that SF was always a monolithic phenomenon. Cyberpunk has found in Japan a very fruitful soil. Some of the early cyberpunk productions like Akira (1988) or Tetsuo (1989) are asian-futurisms in their own right and a crude reflection of the Japanese Bubble-economy. 

There are other kinds of futurisms. For example, within Latinxfuturism, we have Chicanxfuturisms that transforms the heritage of Aztec imagery into symbols of empowerment, as Laura Molina’s comic The Jaguar shows. Gulf futurism inhabits the inhospit techno-landscapes of oil-centered societies. Aesthetic serves here to imagine alternative topologies of power and to subvert the normalized hierarchical relations. Like post-digital aesthetics, I will argue that these new futurisms, although conceived in the field of art and literature, can play an important role as philosophies on their own.

The case of Sinofuturism has its own characteristics. As Lawrence Lek shows in his video-essay on Sinofuturism, China has become a economical and technological global power. On the other hand, as a counterpart of the West, Chinese people, as other Asians, did suffer different kinds of colonialism and discrimination. Symbolic violence also reached a new peak after the coronavirus outbreak in Wuhan, reinforcing the traditional stereotypes of the exotic and the oriental Other of the West. This same stereotype forecludes the multiplicity and the tensions inside China itself. The task of a self-consciouss Sinofuturism should therefore consist in articulating these multiple layers in a critical way. As Yuk Hui states in his book The Question Concerning Technology in China: “A sinofuturism, as we  may call it, is manifesting itself in different domains. However, such a futurism runs in the opposite direction to moral cosmotechnical  thinking. Ultimately , it is only an acceleration of the European modern project” (Yuk Hui 2016: 297).

Lawrence Lek, Sinofuturism (1839–2046 AD)

I will call all these ‘-futurisms’ ‘subaltern-futurisms’, because they aim to rehabilitate the way in which marginalized groups deal with the future. These futurisms allow us to imagine alternative ‘futurities’, challenging at the same time the status quo of the future placed as an horizont by capitalism. Under a traditional linear representation of time, a present is open to many – if not infinite – futures. The word ‘futurity’ offers a wider meaning. If we think of it as ‘the quality or the state of being future’, we could state that the present belongs to a futurity: even if it is not future, it has the quality of being future. Thus, a futurity includes the present and should not be thought as a multiverse of infinite roads, but rather as a ‘nepantla’ of possibilities. Of course, the image of a crossroad implies already choosing something in the present that will produce a change in the future. But the futurity implies not a single decision, but a framework of a collective imagination where multiple dislocations can happen. As Laclau writes in Dislocation and capitalism, social imaginary and democratic revolution (1990): “The imaginary is a horizon: it is not one among other objects but an absolute limit which structures a field of intelligibility and is thus the condition of possibility for the emergence of any object” (Laclau 2015, 48.)

Art by Angel Cabrales: http://angelcabrales.com

3.Challenges

There are at least 3 objections that could be made against this co-existence of subaltern-futurisms: a) relativism, b) eurocentrism and c) techno-pessimism. 

a) Relativismuskritik

I wonder how we can think about a futurism that does not fall into the trap of idolizing subjectivity. I am not saying that afrofuturism or chicanxfuturism do this, but both depart from concrete embodied experiences. It would be therefore possible to argue that these futurisms guide us to a dead-end of perspectivism. But this is not the real problem and the possible counter-proposal of universalism seems to be also a bad option. Nevertheless, to think about intersectionality in a radical way we need some trans-subjective alliances. The problem is hard, because to reduce the multiplicity of futures to a meta-futurity of any kind without reducing the uniqueness of each futurism could be seen as another plain strategy to re-introduce whiteness and colonialism in a space that should stay completely free from these discourses. 

I do not want to offer any solution to this dilemma. An usual objection against intercultural philosophy is that it presupposes what it actually condemns: culture. But this is a superficial claim. Interculturality is already a critic of culture. The difference is that intercultural philosophy is aware that this critique is always embodied and therefore, that there is not possible to criticize culture from outside. Subaltern-futurism, in this sense, allows us to theorize technology from the bottom up.

b) Eurozentrismuskritik

It could be said that supporting this multiplicity of futurities is just an evasive strategy. It is nothing more than what Sorel called an utopia, i.e. an intellectualist construction intoxicated with a blurry vision of the future that will never be actualized. Those who crave for distant futures become reformists. On the other side, the obsession with futurism, with post-apocalyptic aesthetics could also be understood as a symptom from a mind infected by the capitalist logic itself. In Rethinking the Apocalypse: An Indigenous Anti-Futurist Manifesto, the group Indigenous Action states that:

“Apocalyptic idealization is a self fulfilling prophecy. It is the linear world ending from within. Apocalyptic logic exists within a spiritual, mental, and emotional dead zone that also cannibalizes itself. It is the dead risen to consume all life. 

Our world lives when their world ceases to exist.

As Indigenous anti-futurists, we are the consequence of the history of the colonizer’s future. We are the consequence of their war against Mother Earth. We will not allow the specter of the colonizer, the ghosts of the past to haunt the ruins of this world. We are the actualization of our prophecies”.

A similar critique is made against afrofuturism here.

In this sense, to ask for a post-apocalyptic consciousness seems like an eurocentric-eccentric behaviour. In the best case, it is nothing else than pristine naïvity. It is true that post-industrial futures arise from industrial realities. The construction of alternative, intercultural post-world futures seems to suppose exactly that what we are supposed to fight against. Only assuming that capitalism is an universal logic would be possible to preach the need for subaltern-futurisms. Nevertheless, this critique does it’s own thing by putting on the same niveau technology and capitalism. The contribution of subaltern-futurisms would be, on the contrary, to create new concepts of technology.

In-between is not the center. 間柄 (aidagara) is not  中心 (chûshin). Futurism is not only about alternative futures, but about alternative presents. In this sense it works as an intellectual device for augmented reality. 

c) Technopessimismuskritik

The Gegenkritik to this last objection would be the accelerationist one. For example, it could be said that imagining multiple ‘broken futures’, rehabilitating ‘primitive technologies’ and having a playful approach to technocapitalism are reactive strategies with nothing to do with the real global condition.

Franco Berardi gives a great characterization of accelerationism in his Text: Accelerationism Questioned from the Point of View of the Body (2013):

“The train of hypercapitalism cannot be stopped, it is going faster and faster, and we can no longer run at the same pace. The only strategy, therefore, is based on the expectation that the train is going to crash at some point, and the capitalist trajectory is going to lead to the subversion of its own inner dynamics”. 

Here lies a different type of futurism, perhaps, one that resembles the first Italian futurism. For accelerationism, we don’t need to dislocate weird futurities within our own present, but to advance within the capitalist logic itself toward the future. That is, bringing the future nearer. Subaltern-futurisms, by proposing non-standard logics of technology will prevent underrepresented communities from participating fully in public global development. It could be said that subaltern-futurisms do not even decelerate development, they just obstruct it.

Nevertheless, Berardi concludes: “This is an interesting proposition to consider, but it is ultimately untrue, because the process of autonomous subjectivation is jeopardized by chaotic acceleration, and social subjectivity is captured and subjugated by capitalist governance, which is a system of automatic mechanisms running at blinding speed”.

Then, without idolizing subjectivity, subaltern-futurisms should narrate the histories of those subjectivities. In the meanwhile, the space created by those micro-narrations, should be the horizont of broken futurities, the nepantla del post-mundo.

F. Wirtz, March 2020

Videojuegos post-digitales

F. Wirtz

Hay diferentes manifestaciones de lo post-digital en el ámbito de los videojuegos. Lo post-digital se construye en oposición a la hegemonía del lo puramente digital, al mismo tiempo que es su resto. Los videojuegos capitalistas de hoy son aquellos pensados para las grandes y poderosas consolas, esos videojuegos de un hiperrealismo que recrean la guerra de Irak y entrenan a los jugadores en la matanza de árabes. En la orilla opuesta está el videojuego post-digital en sus dos formatos principales, el retro-game y el hack.

El retrogaming es más una tendencia que una nueva categoría de videojuego per se. Ocupa, sin embargo un espacio importante. Lo “vintage”, que en moda aparece como algo inofensivo y excéntrico, en el territorio digital irrumpe como un reciclado post-nostálgico. Recordemos nuevamente la fórmula de Luigi Nono, la “lontanaza nostálgica utopica futura”. Entonces, hay nostalgias que no son reaccionarias sino todo lo contrario, post-tópicas. No-lugares del pasado que se retro-proyectan en el futuro como ruinas para irrumpir la lógica del presente. De eso se trata. El videojuego de ciencia ficción es una representación fantástica y fracasada del futuro, cargada de todas las expectativas del neoliberalismo de los 90´. Esas fantasías contempladas hoy desde el post-mundo son tergiversadas y resignificadas, de modo que el fracaso y la ruina se vuelve algo “nostálgico-utópico-futuro”. En esta línea basta mencionar el proyecto MS-DOS Games que coloca en dominio público. juegos viejos. Su “curador” es Jason Scott, director también del proyecto textfiles.com.

El hack es una forma imprecisa de agrupar varios fenómenos diferentes. Por un lado, el hack propiamente dicho, es decir, un videojuego preexistente que es “hackeado” en su código para lograr un determinado efecto. Ejemplos de estos son desde los hacks artísticos de JODI, dúo de net-artistas que hackearon el Wolfenstein 3D y lo transformaron en una aventura abstracta (http://sod.jodi.org/) o el cartucho para Sega Genesis Fútbol Argentino, hack del J League PRO Striker 2, ejemplo de un hack sin fines “artísticos”. Por el otro lado, está el hack que reproduce la estética retro de manera tergiversada y política. Lo considero un hack porque, si bien no reemplea el código original (al menos, en principio) lo que hace este formato es resignificar el juego en términos políticos. Se trata de juegos ad hoc, juegos-panfleto. En esta categoría incluyo las producciones de http://www.shittygames.tk. Éstas explotan la estética retro para representar en formato de videojuego situaciones o acontecimientos políticos. Tal es el caso del Gendarmer (2014) y el Suicid.ar (2015). El primero reproduce hechos verídicos de violencia policial (un gendarme que simulaba ser chocado por un auto para obtener un motivo para detener y golpear salvajemente a su conductor) y el segundo recrea muerte del fiscal Nisman y propone tres perspectivas basadas en tres versiones de la muerte brindados por las tres cadenas principales de medios comunicación hegemónicos. Aquí, la jugabilidad no es lo principal sino la recreación y la participación del jugador en el acontecimiento, su caracterización como personaje y la desficcionalización de la realidad por medio de lo opuesto. Jugar al juego para denunciar la realidad. Ficcionalizar la realidad para revelar su cara más cruda.

Vale señalar que Suicid.ar no sólo se sirve de la estética retro per se sino también de la estética glitch, lo que lo vuelve un ejemplo clarísimo de las implicancias del concepto de lo post-digital, donde la tergiversación de lo digital asume un rol político.

(2015)

Instagram y la muerte del mundo

2015

F. Wirtz

Cuando entro en Instagram no puedo evitar querer ser como esas personas. Quiero tomar sus desayunos, vestir como ellas, vivir donde ellas viven y hacer lo que ellas hacen. Hipsters, artsies, neogeeks, da igual, no tiene que ver con esas absurdas post-subjetividades. No, Instagram es otra cosa, el formato es lo que importa. Una foto cuadricular y filtros vintage o artsy. El mundo se transforma y el post-mundo se post-mundiza. A través de esos filtros todo parece remitir a un pasado inexistente. Como si se remitiera a una época verdaderamente “cool” que sólo es posible revivir como imitación de segunda. La estética vintage redirecciona esas imágenes al pasado, pero son imágenes de la actualidad. ¿Qué se añora, un analogismo pasado? Lo post-digital es lo distópico continuo, el deslizamiento (glitch) permanente de la actualidad hacia los bordes. Instagram es la superficialidad, la alucinación. Con esto no pretendo confrontar lo “auténtico” con lo “superficial” o “aparente”. Instagram destruye esa dicotomía con la idolatría de lo cotidiano-burgués. Lo auténtico es lo aparente. Ya Nietzsche decía en El orígen de la tragedia que los griegos eran profundos por ser superficiales. Pero este es otro tipo de superficialidad. Es igual de nihilista, pero sin el sentimiento de lo trágico. Es la consagración de Starbucks, del desayuno, de la mañana. No sé si es auténtico o pernicioso. Lo que sé es que habla del post-mundo, que nos enseña algo acerca del fin del universo. Por eso admito que quiero habitar allí, comprendo esa nostalgia. ¿Dónde se puede ser más feliz que en el brillo esmeralda de una palta o en la nebulosa espuma de un cappuccino. Ahí es donde el mundo se pierde y se disuelve y ya no existe el futuro. Pero lxs datatrashers no se permiten esa lujosa evasión. El post-mundo les enseñó a base de desilusiones que no todo lo que brilla, brilla. Las imágenes bonitas sólo pueden pertenecer a otro tiempo. La Gran Máquina transforma todo en máquina y todo en deseo. El tiempo de las post-máquinas bosteza.

Post-hipertexto

2015

F. Wirtz

Si el hipertexto soñado por Ted Nelson fue la utopía (Xanadú) de lo digital, el post-hipertexto es la herida de lo post-digital. En su libro Noise Channels, Peter Krapp escribe bellamente del hipertexto: “Suggesting encyclopedic fulfillment and yet accessible only in constant dispersion, hypertext has the potential to radicalize literary production”. La cartografía del hipertexto es la cartografía de la diseminación productiva, del brainstorming de seres descerebrados como las estrellas de mar. La cartografía del hypertrash es el mapa del territorio vacío y estéril. Es el mapa del basurero y el cementerio. Si el conocimiento se dispersa en el ciberespacio, la antimateria de ese proceso es el datatrash. El post-hipertexto es el link caído. La página perdida. ¿A dónde van los archivos borrados? Todo ese material insólito es el datatrash. El post-hipertexto inaugura la edad de la arqueología web. Con ella, aparecen las preguntas políticas acerca de los archivos. El post-mundo es el mundo de las bóvedas abiertas.

¡Qué bella es esa pobreza ultra-plena de los márgenes! Si el hiper-texto es el rizoma deleuziano consumado, el post-hiper-texto es la diseminación de la diseminación, la putrefacción del sentido. El idioma se mezcla. El texto posthipertextual no sólo se abre sino que se emancipa de sí mismo. El idioma de internet es un idioma posthipertextual, referencias a referencias de otros idiomas. La historia de la literatura es la historia de la carrera por ver quién alcanza el grado más alto de hipertextualidad y texto ligero, el grado más alto de literatura volatil y post-metafísica pop. Pero el post-hipertexto es un ensayo más pobre y naïv. Escribir en el blog de la muerte, irse a dormir en el blog de la muerte. Lenguas que son lenguas de lenguas como los lenguajes de programación, universales y al mismo tiempo subdialéctos de pueblos raros. La posibilidad que brinda internet para que florezcan mil subdialectos y postdialectos es la verdadera vitalidad del post-mundo, post-post-Babel y post-post-diluviano. La promesa de la ομογλωσσία se cumple de formas extrañas. Las lenguas marginadas copulan entre sí para engendrar hermosas post-lenguas matrilineales, sin institución ni diccionarios.

La idea del hipertexto es, pues, la dispersión. El sentido, si hay tal, debe buscar allí, en la dispersión misma. En la referencia a la referencia de las hermanas y el hermanos del post-mundo. Ya no citamos autores sino hermanas y hermanos del post-mundo.

El concepto de glitch y lo postdigital

2011

F. Wirtz

En los últimos años ha habido una apropiación heterogénea por parte de una izquierda polimembrada y multimedial de las estéticas post-digitales. Esta apropiación, que como toda apropiación hace que el arte se retroalimente de ella, ha llegado finalmente a Sudamérica. Lo hace en un momento particular. No puede pensarse la estética post-digital sin tener en cuenta la coyuntura histórica a partir del año 2001 (si bien más adelante veremos que las décadas del 80′ y 90′ son cruciales también). El atentado del 11 de septiembre junto a los movimientos sociales que estallaron en Argentina el 20 de diciembre son dos hitos claves dentro de la configuración de esta constelación. En este ensayo se intentará aproximarse a la categoría de los post-digital desde el entrecruzamiento de los político y lo tecnológico.

Este concepto llega tarde. En todo sentido. Mi acercamiento a la categoría de los “post-digital” se debe a un artículo de Kim Cascone, “The Aesthetics of Failure: “Post-digital” tendencies in Contemporary Computer Music”. El artículo el del 2002 y parte como leitmotiv de una sentencia de Negroponte tomada de su libro Beyond Digital de 1998: “the digital revolution is over”. Y yo empecé a escribir este texto en el 2011. Había más de 10 años de retraso con respecto al fenómeno.

Kim Cascone describía el giro radical que dio la música digital a partir de los años 90´. “The medium is no longer the message in glitch music: the tool has become the message”. La herramienta se vuelve sobre sí misma, sobre sus propias falencias. Cascone se refiere al llamado género musical glitch. La palabra significa “deslizamiento” y hace referencia al sonido que se escucha al reproducir un CD rallado. Músicos como Oval, Mika Vainio y Alba Noto se sirvieron de estos micro-sonidos para generar soundscapes minimalistas e inquietantes a los que subyace la idea rectora de que la perfección y la pureza de la tecnología no es sino un mito.

Con el tiempo el uso del término “post-digital” se extendió para abarcar también manifestaciones de las artes visuales y el net-art. Es posible incluir en este género de artistas visuales a Takeshi Murata, JODI, Paul B. Davis, Paper Rad, Jon Cates, Jon Satrom, Iman Moradi, Rosa Menkman, Brian Mackern, entre otros. El termino glitch sirve para designar un tipo de error voluntario (o no) que se realiza modificando la estructura del código de un archivo de sonido, imagen o video. Se podría decir que se trata de un “error estético”. Se presentan tres dificultades principales para tematizar esto. En primer lugar, los abordajes teóricos sobre la categoría de lo “post-digital” no son homogéneos, como tampoco el fenómeno. En este sentido, resulta inevitable extender la categoría a un amplio abanico de técnicas que incluya al video arte, el net-art, la música y las artes plásticas. En efecto, la utilización a conciencia de errores en el material artístico tiene larga data. Si la amplitud de la categoría es una de las dificultades a la hora de abordar este fenómeno, la segunda dificultad son las diferentes técnicas y los diversos materiales posibles de los que se sirven los artistas. Un error en la estructura del código de un archivo puede generarse a través de la intervención directa del código (generando un “glitch”, es decir, un fallo o desfasaje), exponiendo un archivo a una determinada compresión (“datamosh”, “data bending”) o modificando circuitos de bajo voltaje (“circuit bending”). El material, por otro lado, puede ser un archivo de imagen o video, una página web o una antigua consola de videojuegos (“hacking”). ¿Qué poseen en común estas técnicas? ¿Puede pensarse un gesto común detrás de todas estas manifestaciones? Finalmente, existe una tercera dificultad: tratándose de un fenómeno reciente, el corpus teórico es escaso. Las reflexiones parten mayoritariamente de los mismos artístas, muchas veces agrupados en colectivos, aunque también de teóricos de los medios y filósofos.

La perfección es un estado estructural en el que cierta ordenación se coagula y autoimpone como orgánica y autosuficiente. La mónada leibniziana no sería perfecta sin su capacidad para bastarse a sí misma y, en efecto, pareciera que la noción de perfección no es independiente de esta capacidad. Una estructura autosuficiente es una estructura blindada, que no precisa de una conexión con su exterior para persistir. Cuando la perfectio alcanza este estado armónico, su autonomía la obliga a realizar dos funciones. En primer lugar, al consumarse, debe mantenerse igual a sí misma, so pena de cambiar y perder su organicidad. Pero al mismo tiempo que es estática, la estructura perfecta tiende a imponerse sobre otras estructuras, es decir, en su autocontemplación se ve a sí misma como esencia de otras estructuras. La estructura perfecta es autoritaria y repetitiva, va a tender a la normalización de toda diferencia. En esta instancia, el sistema crea un mecanismo diciplinario encargado de encontrar, codificar y sancionar las diferencias. El sistema teme, porque las diferencias amenazan con hacer menguar su monopolio. Entonces, las diferencias pasan a ser defectos, errores, bugs. Los errores amenazan a la perfección, no tanto por lo que ellos representan por sí mismos, sino por lo que revelan de la perfección. Los errores descubren el blindaje hermético que recubre a una estructura perfecta revelando su formato. Las estructuras suelen esconder su forma, suelen ocultar su propia cartografía. En el caso de un cuerpo, lo que se oculta es el esqueleto, en el caso de un software de computación, lo que se oculta son lineas de código de programación. La función positiva del error es la de revelar el dispositivo que se oculta detrás de una construcción. Por ejemplo: muchas veces no nos acordamos de que estamos viendo una película hasta que vemos algún error de montaje o algún detalle inverosímil en la escenografía. Un dolor de estómago puede indicar un mal funcionamiento del sistema digestivo y al hacerlo está revelando un mecanismo que a simple vista se oculta. Lo mismo sucede con errores de programación, ellos revelan de algún modo la textura, la historia del programa. Quizás la verdadera amenaza de los errores surge de la identificación de la perfección con estos. Sea como fuere, la cuestión es que los errores representan un peligro efectivo para las estructuras perfectas, de no ser así, éstas no se molestarían en desarrollar sus tecnologías de normalización. Uno de los filósofos que más se interesó en estas técnicas fue Michel Foucault. Una de las técnicas de normalización que él investigó a lo largo de su vida es el racismo. “El racismo que nace en la psiquiatría en esos momentos [Foucault se refiere al siglo XIX] es el racismo contra el anormal, contra los individuos que, portadores de un estado, de un estigma o de un defecto cualquiera, pueden transmitir a sus herederos, de la manera más aleatoria, las consecuencias imprevisibles del mal que llevan consigo o, más bien, de lo no-normal que llevan consigo”. Como explica Foucault, lo amenazante de la anomalía no es un “mal” abstracto del que ella es portadora, sino más bien su naturaleza “no-normal”, diferente. En informática se usa el término bug para referirse a alguna falla del sistema. El error es descripto entonces como un “bicho”(bug), es decir, algo pequeño, de poca importancia y extraño. La imagen de un artrópodo caminando dentro del CPU y provocando fallos en el sistema es naiv pero ilustrativa. Hay que tener en cuenta, sin embargo, que el bug no siempre es exógeno al sistema, muchas veces, por no decir la mayoría de las veces, el sistema engendra sus propios errores. De esto se sigue que el error no posee necesariamente un formato ajeno al sistema.

¿Cómo se relaciona el concepto de “error” hasta aquí tratado con la música? ¿Son términos relacionales? Hasta aquí dijimos que el error permite revelar el formato oculto de las estructuras perfectas. Tenemos entonces, por un lado, que buscar la relación de la música con el concepto de error y, por otro, su relación con el concepto de perfección. Empecemos por el segundo. Las piezas clásicas tienden ciertamente a cierta organicidad, a autoabastecerse. Y eso en todo sentido, armonía, interpretación y audición, todo exige excelencia en una obra tonal clásica. Sería injusto, no obstante, decir que no sucede lo mismo en obras atonales, dodecafónicas y sus herederas. La organicidad o autosuficiencia, no depende de la tonalidad en sí, sino de su capacidad para mantener alejado lo contingente. El modelo perfecto es un modelo válido a lo largo de toda la historia de la música. Como dijimos, lo perfecto tiende a imponerse, y la única manera de lograrlo es mediante la repetición. Con esto no me refiero necesariamente a un loop (entendido como repetición de un fragmento musical), ya que la verdadera reproducción del autoritarismo no debe entenderse como la repetición ad nauseam de un único slogan o fragmento, sino que consiste en la repetición de un formato bajo el cual deben ordenarse los diferentes fragmentos. Si realizamos un rastreo de los diferentes errores de los que trata de librarse la música pulcra, tendremos un panorama de lo que es una topografía del error. Los errores claro esta, varían a lo largo del tiempo. Lo que antes podía considerarse un error de interpretación, en la música contemporanea puede verse como un arreglo revelador. Esto sucede, por ejemplo, al golpear intencionalmente un intrumento. Este recurso contemporáneo, al mismo tiempo que explora todas las posibilidades sonoras del instrumento, revela el formato material del mismo. Pienso también en A-Ronne para ocho voces de Luciano Berio, donde uno de los cantantes, entre otras cosas, erupta. En los orígenes de esto, que podría llamarse “cartografía del glitch”, encontramos entonces al “ruido”, un sonido, inicialmente no intencionado, a veces molesto, que vendría a ser la contraparte de lo que se llama “música”. Se puede decir que el futurismo es la primer escuela que tematiza la potencia musical del ruido. Su euforía industrial los lleva a bogar en su manifiesto por un arte dinámico, de la simultaneidad frenética de la vida moderna y la cacofonía interior. De hecho uno de los firmantes del manifiesto, Luigi Russolo, escribe uno propio con el nombre del L´Arte dei rumori. Ahora bien, ¿debemos incluir al ruido como un antecesor o pariente del glitch? Ciertamente no creo que el caso amerite una genealogía, pero podemos decir que están emparentados, al menos indirectamente. L´Arte dei rumori derivó con el tiempo en el género musical conocido actualmente con la palabra inglesa de noise (ruido). El noise es efectivamente ruido, bochinche, a veces quilombo, producido mediante cualquier objeto, a veces muy violento y agresivo, y otras veces minimal. Asi como el error, el noise también le reclama algo a la “música”, pero pareciera que lo hiciera desde otra ubicación. El noise puro y violento se opone me forma acérrima a la música, parafrasendo el lenguaje de esta con cierto desdeño. Sin duda MTV alimentó ese desdeño, acaparando la bellas melodias de Britney Spears y convirtiéndolas en marcas registradas. El error, por el contrario, no se pone en la orilla opuesta de la música, lo que hace es crear desde el interior mismo del sistema una caligrafía con aquellos elementos endógenos pero marginados. No opone un nuevo lenguaje devastador, sino una microcaligrafía de la anormalidad. Una caligrafía de la resistencia que surge desde el interior mismo del formato técnico. Ahora por fin, vayamos de una vez al grano, ¿qué es el glitch? Su significado original es “deslizamiento”. Como bien explica David Casacoberta en Prospecciones binarias: estrategias creativas: “el término fue reacuñado por los ingenieros electrónicos americanos de la década de los cincuenta para referirse al malfuncionamiento súbito de un aparato electrónico. La causa, en aquel desmesurado mundo de válvulas de vacío primero y luego de transmisores, era normalmente un impulso eléctrico súbito de corta duración que generaba un error en un dispositivo […]. Según pasaron los años, el término se reutilizó para referirse a los chirridos que producía un CD cuando no se reproducía correctamente. Así, cuando éste se desliza y se leen las pistas de forma anormal nuestro equipo genera un ‘glitch’. Esta vez de naturaleza digital”. El glitch digital es lo que dará origen a un movimiento dentro de la música electrónica conocido como Clicks & Cuts o simplemente glitch. Este género surgido en los noventa usa los micro-ruidos que se oyen al reproducir un cd rayado sampléandolos como elementos de percusión. Claro que el uso que se le puede dar a un glitch es muy variado, pero dada su naturaleza bastante breve, cómo un golpecito, se lo suele asociar con la percusión. De este modo, el glitch y todo su potencial renovador no tardo en ser asimilado a la gramática no muy novedosa del tecno y el house (ver Philip Sherburne, From glitch to blog house). Eso no quiere decir por cierto que se haya agotado, de hecho ese es el verdadero triunfo del error: su persistencia.

La afirmación de que la revolución informática ha terminado es central para esta generación de artistas que nacieron una vez finalizadas todas las revoluciones. Se trata de un giro historiográfico dentro de la misma música. Las fallas y los errores siempre revelan las subestructuras que los sostienen. Que la música electrónica se haya vuelto violentamente sobre su naturaleza y sus medios tiene que ver también con el surgimiento de artístas que también se ocupan de teorizar sobre sus propias obras. Tal es el caso, por ejemplo, de la revista LIMB0, cuyo único número editado en el 2003 bajo la dirección de Gustavo Romano, Jorge Haro y Belén Gaché personificaba la nueva tendencia a la autorreferencialidad radical de la nueva escena. Esta autocrítica del sonido es impensable sin la autocrítica del marxismo. Ésta permite a su vez repensar los medios. Los géneros comienzan a abrirse. La música electroacústica y el minimal se asocian de manera radical. El tecno y el industrial incorporan elementos novedosos. Se puede incluir en la categoría de lo post-digital no sólo el glitch sino también el noise y al industrial vinculado con el digital hardcore como Atari Teenage Riot. Si bien son manifestaciones absolutamente heterogéneas, todas tienen puntos en común: la reivindicación del ruido, la reivindicación del error y la reivindicación de la política. Todo acompañado de nuevos paradigmas de distribución y prácticas.

Es posible dar un paso más: no restringir la categoría de los post-digital a la música sino extenderla a todo el ámbito del arte y la política, todo el ámbito de la representación. En cuanto a lo visual, llamese videoarte, videoclip, etc., hay un claro paralelismo con el glitch, el datamosh, así como las experiencias visuales de artistas y VJ’s multimediales. Por supuesto, no creo en una definición cerrada de estética post-digital. Todo este ensayo es un intento de deconstruir el fenómeno aportando términos teóricos que no restrinjan pero tampoco adornen vacuamente el movimiento. El movimiento, repito, no sólo es heterogénero y heterodoxo, sino que está sucediendo, es nómade y está cambiando ahora mismo. Ya está pereciendo.

En el ámbito de la política, el desafio es mayor. ¿Hay una política post-digital? ¿Hubo una política digital en sí? Que las prácticas políticas han sido influenciadas con el desarrollo de las llamadas “nuevas tecnologías” no cabe duda. Los candidatos políticos usan twitter y redes sociales mediante los cuales se comunican con sus electores. Los sondeos parecen pertenecer a una lógica de lo digital y del Big Data. Los movimientos sociales se comunican y organizan por medio de redes. La información circula. La vigilancia se extiende. Wikileaks, por nombrar un ejemplo. Assange, Schwartz, Manning, Snowden. Estos nombres son pruebas transparentes de que internet y, por lo tanto, “lo digital”, no ha permanecido ajeno a los cambios políticos. Ahora bien, ¿significa ello que la política está dominada, subsumida a lo digital? ¿O es simplemente un soporte material de una batalla de poderes que nada tiene que ver con los medios? La categoría política post-digital implicaría que hay un agotamiento de la política puramente “ideal” de los medios. Implicaría un fracaso de la política puramente representativa en términos cuantitativos. Y es el caso. La idea de que la política no puede realizarse únicamente por medio de las redes sociales quedó a la vista luego de los movimientos de los “indignados”. Pero no sólo eso, la política representativa misma entró en crisis. Y si resuena la idea de terrorismo con tanto énfasis en nuestros días es justamente por eso. Lo material siempre se resiste. Se vuelve a hablar de geo-política y de geo-estrategia como Alex Jones. Si la globalización fue el resultado de la lógica de redes, el post-mundo es el resultado del fracaso de esas redes.

Nota bene: Estos escritos sobre lo postdigital son anacrónicos. En primer lugar, su categoría principal se basa en un fenómeno que marca la transición entre el siglo XX y el XXI. En ese sentido, es un concepto que parece servir sólo para explicar ese proceso. Por otro lado, la bibliografía que utilicé es anacrónica. A veces utilizo términos anticuados como “cyber-punk”, “cyber-espacio”. Otras veces cito obras que nada tienen que ver con la era digital. Y otras veces, el anacronismo se vuelve distópico y se proyecta ilusoriamente hacia un futuro imposible, primitivo y postapocalíptico. Elegí este método a sabiendas. Didi-Huberman, el historiador del arte, trata de repensar el pecado del anacronismo para el historiador. El anacronismo revela, como el glitch, el funcionamiento del mecanismo historiográfico. No se puede dibujar una historia clara y pura. El anacronismo siempre contamina. Nuestra memoria se contamina de la memoria del pasado y la memoria del futuro. Es por eso que este es un texto que busca trabajar en las anacronías, persistir en las anacronías que persisten y resisten, en las distopías utópicas. O para usar una expresión de Luigi Nono, “la lontananza nostalgica utopica futura