Connect the dots... La la la la...

"The past may dictate who we are, but we determine who we become." - unknown

I recently attended a small celebration of the life of Nam June Paik, the self-described "world's most famous worst pianist", at the Smithsonian American Art Museum. I immediately regretted the fact that I had not come to know this man better until now. It is rare to find a person so willing to embrace life outside the box so effortlessly and enjoy it so damn much from what I could tell. Nam June Paik was a pioneer of video-based artwork which still has a powerful impact today despite his passing. The speaker for this session, Russell Connor, was a colleague of Paik and found his own artwork heavily influenced by his encounters with the offbeat artist. To paraphrase this genuinely clever gentleman in his own right, he has come to see his own work as "before Paik" and "after Paik."

Nothing like a good head beating on a piano to get your point across... (8:40)

About half way through the presentation, it struck me suddenly how connected Paik experiments with electronic video signals were with the digital interactive art that I am so involved with today. But instead of using coding and keyboards, he used magnets on cathodic ray tubes, aka televisions. In essence, he had taken what had become familiar and turned it on its head. Whether playing the piano poorly from the perspective of his fingers or using commercials, animation, and movies to manifest sensory overload through works like Megatron Matrix, Paik twisted the senses and created an electronic (not digital) virtual reality that leaves a profound impact on those who allow themselves to be absorbed it. Today, interactive digital artwork allows the audience to become the one who alters reality as the they test the bounds of each new experience, whether in a video game or a simple interaction like in Camille Utterback's Text Rain. All of this was foreshadowed by this brilliant, eccentric Korean man who laid the ground work for digital interactive artwork to make its own way into the museums and humanities at large.

But what of Paik's own work? Names like Marcel Duchamp and Joseph Beuys quickly pop up when talking about the art historical linage of Nam June Paik. These artists, like Paik, took the familiar and twisted it. Mass produced objects, oriented in a way that made you rethink what you thought you understood, once again pushing at the perceived edges of reality. The medium has changed but the creative forces driving the artist to twist reality remain as just a potent. In fact, in a twist of irony, Beuys has recently been announced to be the subject of a summer school at Moyland University in Germany that seeks to explore how digital technology can be used to re-engage the public with his collection of works at their museum, which were often performance based with the artist himself taking a direct role. A potential direct connection between mediums and eras that may have more in common then has been previously explored.

These connections of past, present, and future all root to something deep within ourselves as human beings. Our nature as insatiable animals of curiosity means that we will always look to challenge our reality and bend our perception of it. Art, with all its many forms, will always capitulate to those pioneers who look to take the lead and say "Look! Everything you think you know might not be wrong, but here is another way to think about it." Digital interactive art is an extension of that tradition, just as Paik, Duchamp, and Beuys before it. The dots are all there, sometime we just have to connect them ourselves to see the bigger picture. 

And for those of you who caught the title reference... Ironically, here is another way of saying all this...Tongue firmly in cheek. ;)

A boy and his sentient proto-type Ipad...

A mass produced, personal collection...

Well, its been a crazy couple of weeks but I'm back on top of it!

Part of the reason for my hiatus was a recent trip back to my home state of Ohio, which included a meeting with the parents of an old high school friend. As it turns out, this retired duo of educators were quite the Atari computer enthusiasts, starting from the mid-1970s until the company's untimely demise in the mid-80s. In turn, they asked me to take a look at their Atari 800 collection instead of trashing it outright. (Good call!) As I sat there and looked at the massive amount of old floppy disks and cartridges I transported back with me to my little apartment/room, I found myself thinking about my own, now small, personal collection. Particularly, I found myself thinking about a small shadowbox display I made that contains an original copy of the NES versions of Metroid and The Legend of Zelda. Neither game are particularly rare at this moment in time in this form and both are easily accessible on current video game systems or via emulation. So why did I frame them like a piece of artwork?

A personal collection

In one of my earlier posts, I made the argument that the durability of a digital object may have little to do with its physical incarnation. From an empirical point of view, this still stands true. However, when you start talking about people's personal collections, something of considerable note happens. Each of these Atari 800 objects become more than another copy of Q*bert or Microsoft Basic II. They each come to have a story of their own. Raiford Guins states as much in his recent book Game After: A cultural study of video game aftelife when he effectively argues that mass produced digital objects, such as an original arcade machine for Space Invaders, each have their own story to tell and identity. The Space Invaders cabinet sitting behind glass at the The Strong museum's eGameRevolution exhibit is not the same as one you might find at the local Barcade in Brooklyn, NY. This is no different for personal collections as well.

Returning to the donors of the Atari 800 collection, their story was integral to understanding their collection as a whole. Both played a strong role in setting up computer learning programs for my home county, which is rather rural by Ohio standards, and was something quite cutting edge at the time. These donors often attended meetings with other local, like-minded educators in barns and homes to discuss and compare notes on the latest developments. At a time before the internet was in wide usage and computers were often looked at as a passing fad and viewed with suspicion, this was how you got business done. In turn, they also took in upon themselves in innovate and do their own programming, a necessary skill since many computer magazines at the time would provide written programming code for new ideas that expected the reader to manually enter into their own systems and disk drives. (And we complain when the app store doesn't download something correctly!) This innovation went well beyond their own software experiments, as they also modified their computer hardware in significant ways, some officially sanctioned modifications... some not. As I began to document and list their collection in preparation for donation, I began to see this story unfold. Not only did I come to understand "what" they had, I also began to comprehend "why". These objects told me as much about the donors as the donors' story told me about them.

I have some sorting to do....

Now in the midst of my conversation with them, one particular innovation of theirs was particularly impressive in my mind. Dubbed the "Puff and Sip", this custom interactive game controller was designed and programmed to allow a disable individuals to play video games or generally interact with a computer. The software for this amazing invention was programmed using some of the very computers and programs I am currently documenting for donation. Collectively these components tell a far more compelling story than another copy of Microsoft Basic II or an Atari 800 computer system alone. The "Puff and Sip" was never intended for mass production but its significance, considering the time and place it was created, is an important commentary of the early days of mass distribution of computer technology, despite the fact it never reached a mass audience. This is a concept that often escapes large software and hardware companies who often hold their own in-house collections of failures and misfires in contempt, which are often intentionally destroyed or lost as time moves forward.

Enter the most recent discovery that has set the gaming preservation world on fire: The discovery of the Sony Nintendo Play Station Super Disk System. (If you haven't read about it, check it out here.) This piece of hardware represents an key moment in video game history that has repercussions even today. Only 200 of these prototypes were ever produced. Sony's management ordered them all destroyed in the wake of the embarrassment they suffered at a trade show by Nintendo, who was originally their partner in the project. Through a series of mishaps and a bit of serendipity, one found its way into the closet of a former custodian and only re-emerged, via YouTube video and pics, a few days ago. Only a few are have though to have survive Sony's purge of the hardware and even fewer are accounted for today. Yet, it is the story of how this particular piece of hardware survived that purge that makes it even more interesting. (You didn't read the story link, did you? Do it!)

A wild Sony Nintendo PlayStation appears...

So the questions I ask you to consider are this: In light of these stories, are personal digital object collections any different than any other kind of personal collection? Does it really make a difference if an object is mass produced or not in this regard? Finally, what is more important? The object itself or the story behind it? These are just a few of the questions facing those of us looking to preserve digital history in all its forms and ones that are far too often overlooked. This is our heritage, both personal and as a culture and its up to us to make sure that it so future generations can truly understand how we got here in the first place.

This is why I have those two, seemingly unexceptional game cartridges framed in my room. It's not for concern of the games themselves as physical or digital objects, but their role in my own personal journey to becoming not only a museum professional dedicated to the preservation of our collective digital cultural heritage, but also a clue as to why I am who I am as an individual today. I am a part of their story as much as they are a part of mine.

Playing politics

"Politics is not a game, but an earnest business." - Winston Churchill

During a recent gallery talk at the Smithsonian's Watch This! exhibition with mixed media artist Kota Ezawa, I was given the opportunity to ask him to clarify is views on the relationship between politics and animation. (He had passingly mentioned it earlier in the talk.) He graciously answered that he felt that any artistic medium that requires money and resources inevitably include a mostly unwelcome level of politics. His primary example was that of the Disney and its almost monopolistic hold on the majority of people's concepts on the possibilities and limitation of animation. While I might take issue with that example, as a former French and Japanese animation junky during my undergrad years, I certainly understood what he was trying to say.

Kota Ezawa's Beatles: California Uber Alles

The digital medium has an inherent level of politics alone due to its cost and availability to freelance artists. Art and computer technology is an awkward marriage at best since it is the rare exceptional artist that can successfully embody both talents singularly, not even mentioning its uneven accessibility on a global scale. There is a reason why the most sophisticated graphics and media technologies are locked up with major video game publishers and special effects companies, who use their considerable resources to create large collaborative efforts in order to achieve the amazing virtual creations we see on our big screen high-definition televisions. This is not say that the digital medium is completely inaccessible to the singular freelance artist, but there are considerable challenges when trying to match the level of spectacle and attention major publications demand. (Recent developments, such as crowd-source funding like Kickstarter, has helped bridge some of this gap.) So it becomes a question of politics when an artist has to collaborate with others to realize his or her's singular vision, as each person involved impacts their achievement directly or indirectly. However, without collaboration and resources, an artist's true vision may never come to fruition. A political paradox indeed.

My follow up question to Kota was to ask if he thought that if the increasingly availability of computer technology on the individual level has in any way affected this dynamic. His response was that is it didn't really matter since its was more about how an artist chose to use the medium of their choice rather than the sophistication of the medium itself. While saying he humorously felt that he was a "bit of a dinosaur" when looking at some of the interactive digital art pieces in the gallery, he emphasized that there was a great temptation to push the limits of new technology rather than capitalize on the potential of "older technology". He used Ed Fries Halo 2600 as an great example of how the use of older technology, such as an Atari 2600, can allow us to re-examine contemporary concepts in a new light. Bungie Software's Halo series for the Microsoft Xbox series of video game consoles is a far more sophisticated interactive digital experience, but the Atari version forces a re-evaluation of the artistic concept of Halo itself. This concept of "de-makes" is not one that has been lost on the larger publishers, but it is certainly not exclusively their domain. Whether popularity of the "de-make" genre is simply a question of nostalgia or evidence of the timelessness of a chosen medium is something only time will reveal. Regardless, digital artists who aren't able to use the latest in technology often run the risk of being ultimately dismissed as insignificant in the eyes of the general populace. A passing fancy.

Video: IGN plays Halo 2600

Article: Ed Fries talks to the Smithsonian about Halo 2600

So I leave you by asking this: In the scope of the history of art, has anything really changed? Most of the greatest/most popular artists in history also boast an equally impressive list of patronage with considerable resources and workshop collaborators. Many of these artists were formally trained in a school of art or via apprenticeships. In the same breath, artists without those experience and resources have often been categorized as "primative" or "folk" artists despite their equal creativity, passion, and ambition. The medium may have changed, but the business of politics in art remains the same even in the digital age. And business is better than ever.

When bombs are dropped

"Wow, that sounds really cool but I have to ask "why?" What's the point? Anyway, I have to go! Bye!"

This was a random and sudden interjection from a conference attendee as I was explaining to a small group about our upcoming presentation on digital interactive media as pedagogical and academic research tools. (Coincidentally, I also was the first time I felt compelled to stab someone in the face in public too. Who does that and walks away? hmmmmm  But I digress...)

The truth of the matter is that "why" isn't necessarily obvious for those who only have passive experience with interactive digital historical reconstructions. Afterall, what is the point when we already have thousands of images of nearly every artwork imaginable on the internet? If that isn't good enough, why not just visit a museum or a historic site in person? Or just read a few books about it? Does virtual simulation have anything to offer that more traditional methods do not?

Obviously, I wouldn't be talking about this (or delivering a conference presentation on the subject) if I felt otherwise. What it really comes down to is this medium's potential to deliver interactive context. Take a moment to watch this short HD clip from the video game Assassin's Creed II, which was shown at our presentation:

Looking beyond its video game trappings and some historical detail inaccuracies, what do you see? Basillica di San Marco has rarely ever looked so stunning, thanks in part to some liberties taken by the programmers on the lighting. What is more important however is how the intricate details of the church is presented. Not as flat images, but perceivable 3D objects. Even footsteps of the character reflect the marble flooring and large spaces of the church adding a sound element to this representation. The paintings and mosaics are placed how they would have been in 15th century Venice and even the famous Pala di Ora has its distinctive metallic sheen with all its fine details intact. The art historical context such a simulation provides beings to make sense when considering how all these works of art come together within a shared space. (And without the tourists!) But is that really all the digital interactive medium has to offer? A private virtual museum space, more or less?

I would argue that it is the interactivity within these spaces that truly set this medium apart from traditional recording methods. The interactive space, where art and history begin to meld together, goes beyond just placing a person within a virtual reconstruction. It allows them to exist within the reality it presents in order to gain a stronger insight and perceive deeper subtexts that just aren't possible in more traditional mediums. Consider this next video of the indie video game September 12th, taking moment to read the instructions presented at the beginning:

This "serious game" illustrates a key difference between a static reconstruction (which one could argue the San Marco video represented) and a truly interactive one. The player's actions affect the virtual world directly and effectively highlights the realities of civilian casualties in missile warfare. You aren't just reading about it or looking at videos of the aftermath, you are an active participant. While the visuals of this virtual reconstruction are merely a shallow representation of a contemporary middle eastern city, the interaction allows it to transcend its inaccuracies in order to drive home its ethical point. The repercussions of any action quickly becomes clear. Now it must be said that September 12th is definitely intended to be an art piece with a specific agenda in mind, though I suppose one could make that argument for any historical account. However, it does provide insight into how interactive elements can deepen the experience and provide an understanding that goes beyond the medium itself.

To wrap this up, lets return to Renaissance Italy once more but in a different setting:

While this video isn't the best in demonstrating the interactive elements, it does demonstrate the potential of a "living" virtual environment. The virtual residents react to your behavior as they might have during that period of time. For instance, if I would run into a merchant carrying some goods, he would drop his crate and curse at me in Italian. If the patrolling cabinari witness the scene, they would come over and violent push me away while chastising me for my behavior. If I continue to act belligerent or draw my weapon, they would then attack me forcefully or give chase if I should flee. Soon my face would start to show on wanted posters after repeat violations. This a simple demonstration that offers numerous levels of interpretation. The more elements added, the deeper the experience and potential to develop a new understanding of a place that no longer exists. Giving a player room to experiment within a historical context provides the potential for a deeper understanding of that time and place by allowing them to push at the edges and see what comes loose through their virtual actions. It is not hard to imagine from there that a sophisticated and accurate enough reconstruction could yield academic revelations that might have remained elusive otherwise. As technology evolves to create even more detailed "living" virtual worlds, we will only find ourselves deeper in that rabbit hole. In only a few short years, the Assassin's Creed games already include the ability to manage merchant economies, represent virtual weather patterns, and even include observational anthropological activities what allow a player to better understand what they are seeing. (i.e. watching a farmer go through his daily activities is a side task in Assassin's Creed III.) It would be exciting to see what a massive collaborative effort by the best historians and programmers in the world could yield in a truly academically-driven interactive virtual reconstruction.

Ultimately, this is just the tip of the iceberg, but the possibilities are very real. And while this might only be a short answer as to "why" interactive digital reconstructions are significant as pedagogical and academic research tools, it is clear to me that we are only beginning to understand this medium's true potential as such.

Thank you! But our painting is in another castle!

Let's begin, shall we?

"On a long enough time scale, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero." -  Jack, Fight Club

While attending the Nordik 2015 conference and its commendable digital art history sessions, I often found myself pondering the fragility of digital objects versus "real" objects. Not in a physical sense but in their existence. This is to say "When does an object cease to be an object?" New Materialism theory, which has admittedly factored heavily into my more recent research, states that the existence of an object is determined by its Ontology (the nature of its being), Agency (the evidential impact of its existence), and Politics (how it relates to objects outside its own existence). So my question in the context of this blog: What is the difference Super Mario Bros. and La Gioconda as objects? More importantly, what would it take for either cease to be? These are important questions for not only preserving these objects but for preserving an understanding of ourselves as human beings.

monalisa by Laurentiu Todie, digital photograph

Da Vinci's La Gioconda, or the Mona Lisa if you prefer, is a bit of an art history phenomenon in terms of its influence and popularity. Not even considered Da Vinci's best work, it has been long argued that its elevated cultural status has more to do with the history of the object (especially noting the famous heist in 1911) rather than the experience or quality of the artwork itself. The ontology of the Mona Lisa is that of a 15th century Italian Renaissance painting/portrait, but its agency transcends this physical manifestation. It has been speculated that this painting has inspired more related artwork in song, poetry, literature, and popular culture than any other painting in existence. Digitization of its iconic image presents an interesting question however: Are these digital copies also the Mona Lisa? The knee jerk reaction would be to say "no". That only the painting itself can be considered the actual Mona Lisa. But ask yourself how many people in the world are familiar with this painting through a copy of its image versus those who have actually experienced it in person? Which truly has a greater impact on human culture at large? The original physical painting begins to seem more negligible in this context. So I ask you, if the original painting ceased to be for some tragic reason, would the Mona Lisa also cease to be as an object? Arguably, the biggest impact of such an event would be a slightly less crowded room at the Louvre today. (Perhaps a commentary on the politics of the object?)

Dark Mario World by Jose Emroca Flores, oil painting on wood

Shigeru Miyamoto's Super Mario Bros, in contrast as a digital object, has no singular, original physical form. Its ontology is that of a late 20th century Japanese video game, but its agency is far reaching. The virtual hero of this game, Mario, was identified in the 1990's as more recognizable to American children than Mickey Mouse. (To date, the game has sold over 40 million units.) This video game's impact on the world and human culture is clearly evident from the global athletes we have dubbed "Super Mario" to the game's impact on the entire gaming industry itself. An upcoming Australian 2015 exhibition by Aurela Carbone and Alex Bishop-Thorpe (which in the spirit of disclosure, I will be contributing an catalog essay to) has the famous Minus World glitch from Super Mario Bros as its central visual element. However, unlike the Mona Lisa, no original incarnation of Super Mario Bros exists. (It's publisher, Nintendo, has long since discarded the original computer hardware and software code.) Our collective experience with this game, beyond the original developers, is that of some form of copy only. But its agency and its resulting politics (another subject for another time) arguably has had as great of an impact, if not more so, than the Mona Lisa today. In this context, is the Mona Lisa any more "real" than Super Mario Bros?

In short, I currently believe the physicality of an object is mostly irrelevant to the state of its existence. While physical preservation is important to a degree, there are far more pressing factors to consider in preserving an object whether physical or digital. (Interactivity is a whole other subject as well!) Ultimately, it is when an object slips from our collective memory as human beings or ceases to influence our actions and thought processes that an object truly becomes endangered. As the opening quote suggests, that may only be a matter of time for not just anyone, but anything as well.