quarta-feira, abril 30, 2014


: Fear of Disappearing

Permanent Vacation - Cory Arcangel, 2007 (2 computers stuck in an out-of-office email loop)

What we should not expect from Turing-land is art which will be accepted in Duchamp-land. Duchamp-land wants art, not research into new aesthetic possibilities of new media. The convergence will not happen. -- Lev Manovich

Permanent Vacation - Cory Arcangel, 2008 (2 computers stuck in an out-of-office email loop)

Cory Arcangel (today in Serralves, Porto, Portugal) talked about his works or in fact about his current developments. The artist that was called to take part in the "New Perspectives" cycle, taking place at the Contemporary Museum of Serralves in the city of Oporto, decided to talk about his need to explore new forms of expression which lately have been taking the shape of archival and branding in order to "spread them throughout the world".

"When you made net art works, ten years ago, you should really get the attention of people that were not looking for artwork". Cory Arcangel

As the lecture went on and Cory started to wonder inside his own computer (mind) all the body of work started to be part of a stream of consciousness that relates to the "fear of dying", in the sense that as every human being is a day closer to its own ending (even if you are not afraid of flying), a fear that becomes even larger in meaning if you think about the randomness and volatileness of life nowadays. That same sense of being absorbed into the digital void ending up in this kaleidoscopic-pop-ageless-of-non-culture place is transcribed in his work as a form of preservation not only of the digital but of everything that can be preserved and (if possible) shared with the world "in print". That creates the idea of a cloud that is not about going offline but in the place of the online is a direct exchange with material artifacts that are no longer part of a mass culture but instead a world connected because they're exposed to things they care and crave the most.

Maybe the Fear Of Missing Out is being replaced by a need of leaving limited editions to be remembered after.

segunda-feira, abril 28, 2014

Everyone wants to live forever



The company plans to store data from Facebook, Twitter, e-mail, photos, video, location information, and even Google Glass and Fitbit devices. While you are living, you can curate and add to this material; you can also choose privacy settings and determine what information you want stored and made public. Eterni.me then allows you to create a list of people who will be contacted and given access to your account in the case of death, giving your descendants quick and easy access to that Instagram pic of your latte or a detailed history of your Facebook pokes.

Read more: http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/elements/2014/04/how-to-become-virtually-immortal.html?utm_source=www&utm_medium=tw&utm_campaign=20140404

Missing Links

Today the Web is ubiquitous. A good half of our existence is manifested in data that is hoarded by corporations and divvied up by a few select members of quasi-monopolies. It wasn’t impossible to imagine, even before Edward Snowden’s disclosures, that all possible data has been furtively fed into a sinister machine of political control. But the amenities of the Web are simply too seductive for us to pay this much heed.

By Stefan Heidenreich

sábado, abril 26, 2014


“Some things, once you've loved them, become yours forever.
And if you try to let them go...
They only circle back and return to you.
They become part of who you are or they destroy you“ A.G.

Be careful, you are not in wonderland
I've heard the strange madness long growing in your soul
but you're fortunate in your ignorance
in your isolation
you who have suffered
find where love hides
give, share, lose
lest we die, unbloomed.

quinta-feira, abril 24, 2014

Of coffeehouses and airports

People that look to invisible imagined horizons.
People that talk motionless words.
Return to innocence.
Songs that cover the icy and glassy silence.
Individuals that share their immense solitude.
Waiting for the next step outside.
The real world on the sidewalk.
The world unveiled underneath the clouds.
Electri-city is the entire world.
Digital omnipresence.
Dim lights.
Read, talk, breath, 
Dream, pause, rest.
Deeply submerged and tied to the original seaplants.
Nothing is easy.
Nothing will ever be easy again.
Shattered glass.
Shattered humanity reflected on the mirror.
Unsolved lives that are life itself.
Slow motion jitterbug. 
We don't know how to dance.
Old white hats, blinded sights, unteethed mouths
Hipster chains, gelly lenses, smiled pretensions.
Traveller you bare the world and are doomed
To see humanity entirely. Whole. 

sábado, abril 19, 2014

Esthétique du Mal (VII)


How red the rose that is the soldier's wound,
The wounds of many soldiers, the wounds of all
The soldiers that have fallen, red in blood,
The soldier of time grown deathless in great size.

A mountain in which no ease is ever found,
Unless indifference to deeper death
Is ease, stands in the dark, a shadow's hill,
And there the soldier of time has deathless rest.

Concentric circles of shadows, motionless
Of their own part, yet moving on the wind,
Form mystical convolutions in the sleep
Of time's red soldier deathless on his bed.

The shadows of his fellows ring him round
In the high night, the summer breathes for them
Its fragrance, a heavy somnolence, and for him,
For the soldier of time, it breathes a summer sleep,

In which his wound is good because life was.
No part of him was ever part of death.
A woman smoothes her forehead with her hand
And the soldier of time lies calm beneath that stroke.


(Wallace Stevens, 1944)

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada]
To view the complete poem, click here

quinta-feira, abril 17, 2014

only lovers left alive

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

terça-feira, abril 15, 2014


... Those windows, opening towards the same sky.
Windows that enclose personal stories
Of an universe of people gathered
In the same and common thought.
The sky is only one. The same sky above us,
Protecting us,
That sky where ideas float,
Where Man, once thought of becoming a bird,
Where the power of wings, comes
From the will and desire of connecting the world,
Sharing, where he also becomes one,
Like a mirror reflecting an ideal humanity, always
But always,
The same.