25 Feb 2010

Watching the watchers: Inside Westminster's CCTV control centre

http://www.guardian.co.uk/uk/video/2009/feb/27/westminster-cctv-control-centre

Millions of people walk beneath the unblinking gaze of central London's surveillance cameras. Most are oblivious that deep under the pavements along which they are walking, beneath restaurant kitchens and sewage drains, their digital image is gliding across a wall of plasma screens.

Westminster council's CCTV control room, where a click and swivel of a joystick delivers panoramic views of any central London street, is seen by civil liberty campaigners as a symbol of the UK's surveillance society.

Using the latest remote technology, the cameras rotate 360 degrees, 365 days a year, providing a hi-tech version of what the 18th century English philosopher Jeremy Bentham conceived as the "Panopticon" - a space where people can be constantly monitored but never know when they are being watched.

Paul Lewis

24 Feb 2010

Temperley London Circus Zoetrope from LEGS, 2010










Temperley London Circus Zoetrope from LEGS on Vimeo.

This zoetrope was built for New York and London Fashion Week 2010

http://www.glossyinc.com/legszoetrope.html

Masstansiscope - New York, 2008

Gabby Shawcross & Jason Bruges - The memory project, 2008

BBC NEWS Technology Life in London captured digitally:




A digital photography project has started in which a snapshot of London is taken every five seconds from the banks of the River Thames.
The Memory Project, which is reminiscent of a Victorian cyclorama, is recording a 360-degree panorama each minute over three days.
Members of the public can control the circular, time-slip viewing gallery, which will display about 47,000 photos.
Heat sensors detect visitors' locations and activate monitors with the images. As people move towards the edge of the cylinder, photos from 17 April are displayed.
When they step towards the centre, the latest images appear."

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/technology/7355777.stm

Matt Collishaw - Shooting stars, 2008

Sony Bravia advert 2008



Eric Dyer




I love this, exactly what I was looking for, thanks Pete for posting it on your blog!
Eric Dyer creates film animation using rotating 3d sculptures, often made of paper.

23 Feb 2010



German photographer and film maker. He studied at the Akademie der bildenden Künste, Munich (1987–9), the Kunstakademie Düsseldorf (1989–92), Cité des Arts, Paris (1992), Goldsmiths College, London (1993–4), and the Rijksakademie, Amsterdam (1995). Demand's large photographs of generic interior and exterior views are of imaginary places that he constructs himself from paper and cardboard. Works such as Diving Platform show scenes that at first appear plausible, but on scrutiny reveal their carefully contrived nature. In the mid 1990s Demand produced photographs whose banal appearance belied dark or sordid historical referents. Flur (Corridor) shows a characterless space, actually based on a photograph of the corridor that led to the apartment of serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer. Demand's first film, Tunnel presents successive journeys through a generic road underpass. The scenario is given no specificity or narrative, the film concentrating instead on capturing the formal aspects of the model underpass with a special effects camera. The status of film and photography as objective documentation is questioned by fabricating the subject, highlighting the way photographic mediation affects the values we give to our experience of the world. Demand lives and works in Berlin.

JOHN-PAUL STONARD, 10 December 2000

http://www.tate.org.uk/servlet/ArtistWorks?cgroupid=999999961&artistid=2641&page=1&sole=y&collab=y&attr=y&sort=default&tabview=bio

Pierre Bismuth and Michel Gondry - The All-Seeing Eye, 2005






Pictures from
http://www.bugadacargnel.com/en/pages/artistes.php?name=pierrebismuth&page=portfolio&categ=3#


Take a perfectly nice bourgeois apartment, strip it down piece by piece until all that’s left is an empty art gallery, and there you have the new video work by artist Pierre Bismuth and filmmaker Michel Gondry. Or at least, that appears to be one of the jokes contained within this eminently simple yet thoroughly engaging exercise in deconstruction called The All Seeing Eye (2005).
Bismuth and Gondry’s second collaborative effort, following the success of the film Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004), (for which they won the Oscar for Best Original Screenplay along with Charlie Kaufman), brings their particular talents to the fore; Gondry’s visual inventiveness and penchant for low-fi special effects combine with Bismuth’s ironic sense of humour and conceptual rigour to create a coolly surreal décor drama. A camera revolves at moderate speed around a generously furnished room; Eames armchairs, an elegant dining set and potted plants pass in and out of view. As the room continues to spin, however, things slowly start to unravel. Incompatible scenes appear through the windows (Moscow’s Red Square beside the Atomium in Brussels), while furniture disappears as if whisked away by a mischievous djinn (removed by the artist while the supposedly panoptic eye is not looking). This subtractive process goes further than simply emptying the room of its decorative elements; the floorboards, windows, the illusion of other rooms and the very existence of an outside world all vanish, leaving nothing but a white cube. From the gregarious environment of the furnished apartment we arrive at an image of solitude: the eye that sees all becomes an eye that gazes on nothing.
Figure of death? Momentary negation of aesthetics? The more traditional romantic desire to penetrate the humdrum realm of appearances in order to access the real is here replaced by the sober application of a rule or, better, by the exploitation of a formal possibility. As Bismuth remarked in a recent interview: ‘I don’t think that the conscious motivation behind the work was very profound. We emptied the room because the possibility of doing so is contained fundamentally in the very nature of the cinematic set.’ The interest lies precisely in the unexpected connections that arise between ‘naive’ formal considerations (dismantling a set) and wide-ranging ‘philosophical’ problems such as panopticism, reality versus illusion, or the camera as metaphor for the mind. Think of the film Groundhog Day (1993) – its treatment of the heady metaphysical theme of the eternal return is also a reference to the basic feature of filmmaking: there is no live performance but only a series of takes. To use an antique vocabulary, form is revelatory of content.
The only element that resists the inexorable process of subtraction, curiously enough, is not visual but aural. Throughout the video a television plays a scene from Eternal Sunshine, yet even after disappearing, the film’s soundtrack continues to be heard. The voice of Jim Carrey worrying, ‘I don’t understand what I’m looking at … Why am I standing here?’ takes on a particularly ironic significance when accompanied by the image of the stripped-down cube, and at a certain point the film music seems to be channelling Bernard Hermann’s classic score for Vertigo (1958).
‘The All Seeing Eye depicts God looking over the universe before His act of Creation. The Eye, missing nothing, sweeps all over the universe.’ These sentences come from the liner notes of the 1965 Wayne Shorter album that, one might surmise, provided the title, if not part of the inspiration, for Bismuth and Gondry’s video. Yet their All Seeing Eye conspicuously reverses the biblical logic of Shorter’s composition; rather than celebrating the miraculous passage from Nothing to Something, we go instead from Something to Nothing. Presence, not absence, is the fundamental starting-point; the void is ‘something’ actively to be produced. Is there a deeper truth lurking in this speculative reversal? The 16th-century Jewish mystic Isaac Luria once developed a peculiar theory of divine creation known as the doctrine of Tsimtsum: God, owing to His very immensity and all-encompassing nature, needed to retract a part of Himself in order to make space for the genesis of the universe. Accordingly, the challenge of the artist–demiurge is not to add to the furniture of the world but to institute a kind of absence, to cut through the massive ballast of already existing things. Is this not the proper paradigm for thinking the act of creation?


Aaron Schuster
http://www.frieze.com/issue/review/pierre_bismuth_and_michel_gondry

Shaun Irving - The Camera Truck



Dirceu Maués' - Somewhere, Alexanderplatz





Dirceu Maués is a photographer whose oeuvre constitutes a far-reaching investigation into the photographic process and the techniques and equipment involved. His works, therefore, are always in-depth examinations of the photographic mechanism as such, and this study presents him with his own opportunity to define a camera’s functional categories. The current omnipresence of digitally generated images is an occasion for Dirceu Maués to reflect on more original forms of photography in his works. Deliberately setting them apart from the predominantly functional parameters to be found in today’s modern cameras, he constructs his own cameras using the simplest of means. Over the course of time, in this way the so-called “pinhole” technique based on the principle of the camera obscura has developed into his main means of aesthetic expression.


http://www.artknowledgenews.com/2009-12-06-22-05-55-kunstlerhaus-bethanien-features-brazilian-photographer-dirceu-maues.html

My Pinhole Camera, February 2010


My pinhole camera made from a matchbox from a model found on the internet.

http://www.matchboxpinhole.com/index.html






Langlands & Bell


Tate Gallery / Millbank Penitentiary, 1992
BBC Billboard Project, Horseferry Road, London



The British Museum, 1987

Images of three wood and glass encased books containing scale models of three buildings or structures: The British Museum in London, layout in plan showing the Round Reading Room at the centre of the building; the interior of The Round Reading Room at The British Museum, showing the readers tables radiating out from the librarians desks and catalogues at the centre of the room, and a perspectival model of the interior of a Panopticon prison at Breda in Holland showing the individual cells and access gantries as seen from the centre.




Millbank Penitentiary, 1994

Millbank Penitentiary was a prison which existed on the site of what is now Tate Britain in London. While the two institutions may be very different by their primary nature, similar practices and interactions occur within them. The attractive symmetrical form of the plan of Millbank Penitentiary allowed the masters physical and mental control. The six petals/prison blocks permitted the gaolers to split apart the various inmates by type and danger.
Millbank Penitentiary embodies many paradoxes: the flower like formality of the punitive plan, and the journey from Old World penal institution to modern day art gallery. The role of Tate, like most art galleries, is arguably to manipulate and control art. The works are split up in much the same way as the Millbank prisoners, categorised, and treated differently in each section. Visitors are processed through the galleries by prescribed routes, while receiving a particular set of experiences. The final irony is the high level of social constraint imposed. In order to maintain control certain rules are applied. Throughout the galleries the visitor route is monitored. The whole visit is surveyed.




Maison de Force, 1991

The chair mediates between the body and the building and the arrangement of furniture within a room reflects evidence of the relationships between people using the space: witness a parliament, a court room, a school room, or a prison.
Seven white chairs containing models of seven prisons from Europe and north America. The plans of the prisons are cast as shadows on the floor, calling to mind the way we become imprinted with buildings as we use them.
One of the main functions of architecture is to contain and direct social activity. The prison is the place where containment and order are achieved with more emphasis than anywhere else. In some senses the prison may operate as a metaphor for the social function of architecture.


17 Feb 2010

Pufferfish

Pufferfish Touch-a-Balls from Pufferfish on Vimeo.


Pufferfish HardShells from Pufferfish on Vimeo.

My Proposal - 1


This is a quick sketch of a possible proposal for my final project. I would like to have a helium filled balloon-like structure with a projected eye from the inside that interacts with the crowd. The eye will react to a small camera attached to the balloon. The camera will pick a person to interact with and move according to that person' s movements. The short clips filmed by the camera will then be projected onto the small window panels of the shed-like building in the park. Each rectangle will be allocated to a different film and it will play in a loop until the computer decides otherwise. I'm not entirely sure about the place where films will be projected, but I like the idea playing with the seeing and being seen.

Big Brother



Big Brother is a reality television show in which a group of people live together in a large house, isolated from the outside world but continuously watched by television cameras. Each series lasts for around three months, and there are usually fewer than 15 participants. The housemates try to win a cash prize by avoiding periodic evictions from the house. The idea for the show came during a brainstorm session at the production house of John de Mol Produkties (an independent part of Endemol) on 4 September 1997. The first Big Brother broadcast was in the Netherlands in 1999 on the Veronica TV channel. It was picked up by the UK the following year and became a nation-wide sensation. Since then it has been a prime-time hit in almost 70 countries. The show's name comes from George Orwell's 1948 dystopian novel Nineteen Eighty-Four.

Jeff Guess

Fonce Alphonse, 1993





From Hand to Mouth, 1994


California-born Jeff Guess was an American photographer in Paris, where he had been living and working as a photographer since 1988, when in 1993 he was suddenly informed by the local authorities that his work permit had expired and he would have to leave the country. His response to this all-too-real threat to his livelihood and his person is readable in two works produced that very year in which Guess enlisted his cunning and his body to both allegorize and ironically subvert this unwelcome intrusion by the State. In the first, an extraordinary 22-meter long panoramic installation of 24 stenotype [or pinhole camera] photographs, Guess used his mouth as a camera obscura to expose a series of quotidian objects presented manually to his built-in »apparatus.« The work’s title - From Hand to Mouth - not only invokes the condition that would have resulted from the suspension of his ability to work, but also describes the installation’s mode of production. Indeed, the issue of embodiment and labor is foregrounded both by the thoroughly corporeal technology Guess employed in making these images and by their means of display, a continuous circular strip which, when viewed from within, places the spectator in a force field whose focal point is none other than the implied site of the photographer’s own body as image-making machine.

The second work which Guess produced in 1993, while no less subtle and inventive in its irony, began with a classically subversive institutional maneuver: having decided to marry his French partner and thereby »regularize« his employment status, Guess and his wife-to-be rushed off to the official ceremony in classic - which is to say, readily readable - wedding attire [black tuxedo, white wedding gown complete with headpiece], racing down a street in Lyon known for having a photographic detection device to capture infractions of the local speed limit. Like clockwork, a few days later a handsome photographic memento of this transgressive moment arrived at their house, depicting the soon-to-be-married couple in their car complete with date and time stamp: this was, so Guess explains, their only wedding photograph, provided free-of-charge [including home delivery] by the State. One can only imagine the scene at the Préfecture de Police when the now-married [and thus »legalized«] Guess appears with the »evidence« of his »crime« and explains that his excessive speed was because he was late for his wedding [which he "proves" by means of his official marriage certificate], harnessing the pathos of family-values to provoke the sympathetic official to waive the fine and wish him a long and happy marriage.


by Thomas Y. Levin

http://www.guess.fr/artwork/from-hand-to-mouth/en/

From Book : T.Y. Levin, U. Frohne, P. Weibel, 2002, [CTRL] SPACE Rhetorics of Surveillance from Bentham to Big Brother, ZKM Center for the Art and Media, Karlshruhe, Germany; and Massachusetts Institute of Technology, p.612-613.

Denis Beaubois - In the event of Amnesia the city will recall, 1996-1997

by Thomas Y. Levin


In June 1996 the Australian artist Denis Beaubois embarked on a series of performances which took place throughout the city of Sidney in public spaces marked by the more or less visible presence of the increasingly ubiquitous surveillance camera. Arriving on the scene three days in a row unannounced and without having solicited or received permission to do so, Beaubois simply positioned himself in direct view of the camera whose impassive gaze he returned in kind. Armed with an unusual capacity for willed immobility [thanks to training in Bodyweather performance technique a form Butoh], his ostentatious stasis and ocular fixity sooner or later provoked some sort of response. Sometimes it was so swift that Beaubois was »escorted« off the »public« premises only minutes after his arrival, the »explanation« being that he was disturbing the peace, or lacked a permit, or some equally inconsequential - and symptomatic - bureaucratic banality. On other occasions, where his stoic performances were graciously [even if often uncomprehendingly] tolerated by the authorities, it was the passersby who became engaged by his presence, interrupting their purposive passage to stare and inquire in an attempt to establish what exactly was going on.


From Book : T.Y. Levin, U. Frohne, P. Weibel, 2002, [CTRL] SPACE Rhetorics of Surveillance from Bentham to Big Brother, ZKM Center for the Art and Media, Karlshruhe, Germany; and Massachusetts Institute of Technology, p.608-611.

Peter J. Cornwell

Face [Value], 2001

Surveillance of Assailants, 2000-01
Surveillance of Assailants is an installation work, which creates a simulacrum of the apparatus of urban surveillance systems using artificial intelligence and high performance parallel computing techniques. By analysing video in real time, the work synthesises a virtual surveillance camera through 3D modelling and incorporates live reflections from the installation space. This virtual camera responds directly to the behaviour of viewers. The result is the palpable presence of an independent software agency in the gallery, which continuously builds a knowledge of viewers and their actions: whether they are watching or looking elsewhere. The virtual camera plays a game of »hide and seek«; feigning disinterest when people stare at it. Alternately, it mercilessly pursues an individual until he or she is out of sight, while ignoring everybody else. Sometimes appearing humorous, the work also parallels potentially sinister technological developments, which are being exploited for surveillance purposes, increasingly beyond the control of any one state or organisation. Phenomenologically the work produces an image that clearly and overtly scrutinises those who encounter it - that of a solid camera moving in response to viewers' gestures and carrying their reflection from the real world. However, this is achieved by gathering visual information, analysing it and determining how to respond, and then generating moving imagery; all so fast as to appear instantaneous. The techniques and computing power employed by Surveillance of Assailants could also be used to recognise individuals from a database of facial features, enabling the cross-referencing of information about us that is held in government and corporate data structures distributed around the world.

Face [Value], 2001
Persistent Data
To reveal more clearly the growing primacy of information in social power structures and the extent to which data about individuals has escaped human control, it is necessary to look, as Thomas Levin identifies: »[beyond] more traditional imaging and tracking technologies to the largely invisible but infinitely more powerful practices of what is referred to as 'dataveillance' - that today constitutes the extensive arsenal of social control«. Surveillance machinery has conventionally pre-supposed a clear beneficiary of the information gained. A conspicuous early example of electronic surveillance was the development of early warning radar during WWII, and today the renewed appetite for very costly space-borne systems to detect and potentially intercept missiles in flight attests to the perceived deterrent value of the risk of detection. However, the surveillance machinery that acquired a peculiar glamour during the cold war and much military spying technology in general, is covert. Concealed cameras, in the same way as movement sensors and microphones - the bugging that pre-occupied films like The Conversation and the Watergate investigation of the same period - fail what we might call a »Panoptic test«. They do not establish a disciplinary power structure through continual awareness of the possibility of discovery and ensuing self-regulation of behaviour, as does Bentham's spatial design. Rather, discovery is not anticipated, as was the case following the Tiananmen Square demonstrations when footage from street cameras that were previously considered innocuous was used to deadly effect by the Chinese government.
Whether covert or otherwise, the correlation of surveillance data and beneficiary is no longer so clear. The intersection of ubiquitous data communications and technologies gathering every possible kind of information imaginable into a common digital representation, has created a global trade in information about each of us as individuals. Some repositories, such as banking, insurance, law enforcement, medical, property, taxation and vehicle information are directly accessible only to governments and institutions. Others, built from daily transactions on credit cards, loyalty cards and travel are openly traded; each pigeon-holing us ever more accurately as targets for everything from window frame sales to television license investigation. Even when national legislation attempts to protect information in these databases they are scarcely hermetic. Information about us leaks continually into new data structures: our conversation with the doctor is temporarily secure, but the medication prescribed, the date and the location are immediately loaded on to the pharmacy computers. More information still is accrued by implication. The bar codes on our groceries contribute to the profile of the district in which we live, betraying us even when we resort to cash purchases and enabling the creation of meta-data from other information known about us as individuals.
It is the internet that has etched this individual information fingerprint most deeply. Secure digital financial instruments have made internet retail commonplace and data-mining and autonomous search robots - freely roaming programs charged to search without costly human intervention for as long as necessary - have made the trade in information truly global, beyond the control of governments or corporations [the internet provided the only live and uncensored coverage of events in Tiananmen Square to the rest of the world]. The involuntary traces that we leave everywhere on the internet are also more difficult to recognise, and almost impossible to recall. Many internet sites that we visit, especially those of technology companies, secretly interrogate our computers; analysing our habits, reporting the serial numbers of products that we have loaded and leaving information for later exploitation. Our information fingerprint is now a persistent and monotonically expanding trace of our lives, distributed among countless computers across the globe and in space and independent of any specific surveillance agenda. We can no longer determine all of the information that is recorded about us and it will continue to accrue long after our lives are completely forgotten by distant descendants.

However, in contrast to transaction-based data gathering, surveillance imagery is a much more potent source of information about the individual. Combined with the ability to search and cross-reference globally distributed databases, automated image analysis is poised to revolutionise information privacy. The current explosion in numbers of camera installations in public spaces for the »safety of the individual« is only a faint intimation of the forthcoming integration of intelligent imagers with every possible appliance, structure and vehicle.
Closed circuit television cameras have been replaced by the semiconductor imager - the camera on a chip - that is already part computer. Fabricated in hundreds of millions of units from cheap raw materials through the economies of the electronics industry, these computer cameras have become ubiquitous, emulating older analogue equipment where necessary to gain wider market share. However, instead of a television picture waveform, the native format of semiconductor imagers is data, of potentially very high resolution, and they consume very little power. Gone are the colour errors and limited resolution of analogue electronics and expensive conversion equipment for computers. Already it is possible to purchase a computer camera which has only a network address and which is never intended to produce a video tape or printed image, for less than $300.
Once in digital form, image information can be manipulated mathematically; analysed using an armory of software and duplicated without error, almost instantly, on the other side of the world. For example, instead of sending an image of a speeding car, the license plate can be »read« from the image and just those characters, plus the speed, time and location forwarded for automatic issue of a fine. The symbolic information about the car occupies less than one thousandth of the space of the original image. Offences can be transmitted and processed immediately; but every car passing every camera can be relentlessly recorded, each event remaining accessible for future analysis by unknown agencies.
The potential of automatic derivation of higher order information from live imagery is highly significant, having both far-reaching cultural implications and marking a major departure in the functioning of surveillance. The huge numbers of cameras already installed in public spaces, retail outlets, restaurants and innumerable other locations, exceed our capacity to store timecoded imagery exhaustively. However, intelligent cameras which determine for themselves what to record, or better, derive symbolic information such as an ID from facial analysis, allow surveillance information not only to be kept in perpetuity, but also to be filed, correlated and continually analysed, all without human intervention [1]. Freeing visual surveillance from the need for operators to analyse all of the imagery captured, enables far greater numbers of cameras, at ever decreasing costs, to be managed effectively.
It is difficult to resist comparison with the science fiction writing of Bob Shaw, who in The Light of Other Days postulates a culture in which the state has scattered billions of tiny fragments of a material called »slow glass«, which permeate every space of the planet [2] . Shaw's slow glass, like ordinary glass, delays the passage of light compared to its speed in vacuum. However, light might emerge from slow glass days or even years later, depending upon how it is made, enabling imagery to be replayed from the scene of a crime simply by gathering up glass fragments that »witnessed« the event. No action nor even fleeting facial expression is finally lost for many years. Rather, its image, from several perspectives, continually emerges from one slow glass particle or another.
Our own society, littered with intelligent cameras will have much in common with Shaw's, with the notable distinction that symbolic information from each moment, if not the image itself, will persist for long periods - possibly for the duration of our culture itself. This contrasts notably with Wolfgang Welsch's notion of the fugitive "lightness" of imagery derived from information [3] . The symbolic information scavenged by intelligent cameras and flowing into data structures worldwide is potentially very long-lived. Unlike the data cards in our digital cameras, symbolic information in databases is never discarded: rather, ever more sophisticated techniques are developed to store and access it whenever the capacity of our systems is exceeded.
Technically, formidable problems remain in developing image analysis software that could be employed routinely to identify individuals from facial characteristics with complete reliability, although commercial software already achieves this in a controlled environment. Cheap intelligent cameras are already being used for the identification of gestures either for use in more natural human-computer interfaces or to determine when to register events or record images. Although we are aware of the multiplicity of cameras around us and of the conspicuous control room screens and operators in environments such as public transport, we do not know if we are merely observed or whether the imagery is recorded; or if the recordings are discarded periodically. Here the logic of the Panopticon is extended temporarily by the persistence of information and the ensuing possibility of its future use against us.
We are less aware of the trade in information about us which is derived from transactions such as credit card purchases. Nagging doubts might pursue us when a personally addressed invitation to take out a loan arrives while we have cash flow problems, but the trade in such information, its currency and continual analysis, is not so prominent as to influence the behaviour of many people. Less obvious still, is the increasingly automated agency by which this data is manipulated. It is not clear who has access to which elements of our information fingerprint at a given time. Corporations, states, institutions and individuals all hold and exchange information about us, but so do independent software programs - fugitive artificial intelligences instructed by potential beneficiaries of information, but which search networks and databases hindered only by other programs - data defences - until they fulfill their goals. Few viruses have yet appeared which gather and manipulate information about individuals, but it is possible that such agencies might be created which specifically seek to conceal the beneficiary of their activity or indeed, themselves become completely autonomous. The field of genetic algorithms which actually synthesise new software without human intervention is beyond this discussion, but it seems that autonomous software agencies will increasingly become the only means of determining the location and accessibility of personal information. Once again science fiction has already visited this territory - here William Gibson, who describes precisely such an eventuality in Neuromancer [4] .
With the advent of ubiquitous intelligent cameras we have departed completely from the logic of Bentham's Panopticon. Instead of a spatial design ensuring the possibility of observation, we are inextricably woven into the fabric of a virtual information space. Surveillance no longer operates according to a clearly defined logic. Rather, the complexity of the virtual space and the speed with which information is created and manipulated within it is now forever beyond our direct comprehension.
1 Jaques Derrida, Of Grammatology, reprint edition, trans. Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, Johns Hopkins University Press, January 1998. Some far-sighted observations about information technology arise in Derrida's Of Grammatology which, concerned with the science of writing, was published in the same years as the first geographic links between computers were developed. Derrida identifies the writing of »theoretical mathematics« as being »where the practice of scientific language »challenges intrinsically and with increasing profundity the ideal of phonetic writing and all its implicit metaphysics ...« and speculates that »the theory of cybernetics is by itself to oust all metaphysical concepts...«. He proceeds to observe that »development of the practical methods of information retrieval [which] extends the possibilities of the 'message' vastly, to the point where it is no longer the 'written' translation of a language, the transporting of a signified which could remain spoken in its integrity...«
2 Bob Shaw, Other Days, Other Eyes, Victor Gollancz Ltd, 1972.
3 Wolfgang Welsch, Undoing Aesthetics, trans. Andrew Inkpin, Sage publications, 1997. In Artificial Paradises Welsch discusses the phenomenology of electronic worlds and in particular addresses the ontology of computer-readable information.
4 William Gibson, Neuromancer, Ace Books, 1994.
Peter J. Cornwell

From Book : T.Y. Levin, U. Frohne, P. Weibel, 2002, [CTRL] SPACE Rhetorics of Surveillance from Bentham to Big Brother, ZKM Center for the Art and Media, Karlshruhe, Germany; and Massachusetts Institute of Technology, p.594-599.

Niels Bonde - I never had hair on my body or head, 1995/2001

by Anke Hoffmann


The phenomenon of social control mechanisms is a key theme for the Danish artist Niels Bonde. Sometimes used as a neutral subject, he examines symptoms of social control and its effects on the individual, probes the boundaries between voyeurism, narcissism, authority, and power, and invites viewers to take a critical look at associated questions.
The installation I never had hair on my body or head consists of the minimum needed to refer to a domicile, furnished with a table, chairs, a child's bed and pot plants. In the bed there are soft toys, teddy bears, objects familiar to us from children's rooms. However, these seemingly harmless toys have small surveillance cameras implanted in their furry bodies by the artist. For instance, the camera lens replaces one bear's left eye, and with others it grows out of their foreheads. The toys seem to stare at us with their manipulated heads. The toys become suspicious puppets, the innocence of mere objects yields to the implementation of power. A cactus with a tiny camera implanted in it is even droller. The whole arrangement becomes a laboratory whose secret mission is obvious, even though the technology is hidden.On the other side of the room stands the table, covered with several tablecloths as if a child had made itself a cave. Under the table there are several small monitors showing the interior of the imaginary room and the people moving around in it. The realtime transmission of the images filmed by the soft toys and the plant can be watched directly on the monitors in the cave. Bonde's construction of a typical surveillance system conveys the ambivalent feeling of being at once threatened and safe. Hiding cameras in everyday objects embodies the attempt to carry out surveillance in a subtle manner. Are these Orwellian utopias of total control? The home, the last refuge of the undisturbed private sphere, becomes an experimental field of interests wanting to penetrate the intimate sphere of the individual. In most cultures, the home has a protective function that could almost be called sacred; unwanted intrusions are seen as trespass. We are not safe from the gaze of strangers in the street or public squares, but in our own homes, preservation of privacy is the supreme law. Niels Bonde attacks this law with his surveillance system within one's »own four walls«. Bonde reacts to the threat to the private sphere posed by the implementation of surveillance technology by presenting a symbiosis of innocence and moral authority, by manipulating things that represent our familiar surroundings and turning them into threatening tentacles of invisible authorities. The fact that these are soft toys in a child's bed can be understood as a direct commentary. However, it would rather seem to be a metaphor for the way things that are too familiar can become invisible enemies.It remains uncertain who is watching and supervising whom, who installed the cameras, and who looks at the pictures. Is it the parents watching their children or the babysitter? Is it invisible agents acting for political or bureaucratic interests? Or is it young Dorian Grays looking for attention and desire, who feed their own pictures directly into the Internet, seduced by the media's promise of fame? Is it a question of the power of authoritarian control, of moral pressure or of exhibitionism in the sitting room? Just as the boundaries between the private and the public sphere become blurred in Bonde's installation, those between the perspectives of subject and object also appear indistinct in the context of surveillance. Connotations related to the voyeurism and exhibitionism of the webcam idiocy that reaches new heights of excess in TV shows like Big Brother are just as logical associations as those of a totalitarian surveillance state and its perfidious culture of informants. The installation's title is meant to be a commentary on the paranoia about surveillance which Bonde deals with in his works. I never had hair on my body or head is a quote taken by the artist from the psychiatric questionnaire issued by a Copenhagen clinic. The doctors there assessed the psychological state of their patients using the »yes« or »no« answers to these irrational statements. [1] Bonde's work does not take the aestheticization of voyeurism as its theme, but the obsession with this phenomenon: surveillance paranoia. Since the nineties, Niels Bonde has made a name mostly with installation and media art. In Big Brother Blueprint for the Buenos Aires Biennial Festival 2001, for example, he deals with the large-scale mediatization of the private sphere under surveillance by drawing the floor plan of the TV Big Brother house on the walls and adding quotes from Karl Marx to Foucault dealing with the topic of social control. In a preceding work, The Conversation, he invites the visitors to sit down in a sort of cupboard, in which he has collected childhood memories of games involving pursuit. Here, he uses his own adolescent experiences of insecurity and humiliation caused by forms of social control. In the Take Away project of 2000, he, along with other artists, photocopied his diary, and distributed the copies as reading material on the local public transport. Bonde used the probably most excessive form of exhibitionism for his CCTV installation of the millennium party put on by Josh Harris in a New York loft. The party, which could almost be called an orgy, lasted for a whole week and was attended by around 50 invited guests. For the installation Wet Dream, Bonde's contribution to the exhibition Quiet, around 90 cameras transmitted live pictures from the party loft to the Leo Koenig Inc. Gallery, the organizer of the exhibition. Details from this work also found their way into the Big-Brother version of Josh Harris's WeLiveInPublic.com made shortly afterwards. The work of Niels Bonde reflects the process of habituation and suspicion, of self-interest and discomfort, while dealing with forms of social control.


Translated from German by Tim Jones


From Book : T.Y. Levin, U. Frohne, P. Weibel, 2002, [CTRL] SPACE Rhetorics of Surveillance from Bentham to Big Brother, ZKM Center for the Art and Media, Karlshruhe, Germany; and Massachusetts Institute of Technology, p.510-513.

Sophie Calle - The Shadow (Detective), 1985




«In April 1981, at my request, my mother went to a detective agency. She hired them to follow me, to report my daily activities, and to provide photographic evidence of my existence.» (Sophie Calle. Double Game. With the Participation of Paul Auster, London 1999)In «The Shadow» she sets the detective's photographic account against her own observations: the observer becomes the observed. The viewer is the third witness. This search for her own identity fails to reveal a clear picture here, too. Sophie Calle's face does not appear in any of the pictures: her figure emerges like a shadow throughout the detective's photographs.


From Book : T.Y. Levin, U. Frohne, P. Weibel, 2002, [CTRL] SPACE Rhetorics of Surveillance from Bentham to Big Brother, ZKM Center for the Art and Media, Karlshruhe, Germany; and Massachusetts Institute of Technology, p.410-415.

Walker Evans - Subway Portraits, 1938-41





In the 1930s Evans photographed passengers in the New Yorker Subway. Using a 35mm camera hidden under his coat he captured the person opposite unobserved. This selection of portraits of women, intended for an earlier unpublished version of «Many Are Called,» which Evans called «The Passengers (Hidden Camera in the New York Subway)», was compiled around 1961. Sarah Greenough said of The Passengers: «[It] emphasizes the mug-shot-like quality of some of the photographs.» (Sarah Greenough, «Many Are Called and Many Are Chosen. Walker Evans and the Anonymous Portrait,» in: Walker Evans, Subways and Streets, ed. Sarah Greenough, Washington 1991 (pp. 13–46), p. 27). The complex work of Walker Evans combines confronting the surveillance and depicting process used by the police with other aspects – such as generating the anonymous in the realm of modern urban life.

http://www.mediaartnet.org/works/subway-portraits/

Diller + Sofidio


moscone.com



Facsimile, 2001-2003

A 16’ foot high by 27’ wide video screen is suspended by a vertical structure that rides on a horizontal tracking system. Several live video cameras are fixed along the height of the structure pointed into and away from the building. The structure travels slowly along the surface of the exterior facade and broadcasts live and pre-recorded video imagery to the screen as it moves.
While the live images naturally correspond with the speed and direction of the scanning motion, the pre-recorded programs (fictional vignettes, virtual transparencies into fictional office buildings) are constructed to simulate the same speed. The apparatus could be seen as scanning device, a magnifying lens, a periscope (a camera at a high elevation looks toward the city), and as an instrument of deception substituting impostors for actual building occupants and spaces.


Refresh, 1998
Diller + Scofidio have taken office webcams as their point of departure, with the intention of examining the role of live video technologies on everyday life. A webcam is a camera that takes pictures at set intervals, that can range from 15 times per second to once per hour, then instantly transmits the images to a web server, where the image becomes simultaneously available to anyone on the web. At present, thousands of webcams exist, broadcasting live pictures of fish tanks, traffic conditions, vending machines, private bedrooms, offices... The artists speculated on the motivations for these cameras: "The live cam phenomenon can be thought of as a public service, or a mode of passive advertisement, or it may be a new type of exhibitionism, or self-disciplinary device. The desire to connect to others in real time may be driven by a response to the "loss" of the public realm. But, however varied the motives, live cam views always seem casual and lacking dramatic interest and content; they appear unmediated. Despite this apparent innocence, cameras are willfully positioned, their field of vision is carefully considered, and behavior within that field cannot help but anticipate the looming presence of the global viewer." For each of the dozen sites located in the US, Europe and Australia that Diller + Scofidio selected for this project, they have constructed fictional narratives using text and fabricated images. For every site there is a grid of twelve images, one of which is live and refreshes when clicked; the other eleven have been constructed for this project with the aid of hired actors and Photoshop. None of the people from the actual location appear in the fabricated images; however, the juxtaposition of the live and the fictional establishes a provocative correspondence. The stories, which range in time from a single day to several seasons, concentrate on subtle changes in behavior as a consequence of the acknowledged presence of the camera in the office: a gradual shift in dress style, the activities of an after-hours cleaning crew, a ritual of stacking paper, one person's discreet and incessant ordering of take out food, and a potential office romance unfolding by the water cooler. There is nothing shocking or dramatic, rather, everyday conventions are slightly modified, either to perform for or to hide from the camera. The flip side to the performative role chosen or imposed on the people at the live site is the role of the spectator at the other end. Diller + Scofidio argue that liveliness appeals to both ends of the technophile/technophobe spectrum: "For technophobes who blame technology for the collapse of the public sphere, liveliness may be a last vestige of authenticity -- seeing and/or hearing the event at the precise moment of its occurrence. The un-mediated is the im-mediate. For technophiles, liveliness defines technology's aspiration to simulate the real, in real-time. Lag time, search time, and download time all impair real-time computational performance. But whether motivated by the desire to preserve the real or to fabricate it, liveliness is synonymous with the real -- an object of uncritical desire for techno-extremes." Regardless of where one falls on the technophile/phobe spectrum, it is hard not to be captivated by the potential of witnessing something uncensored, no matter how banal. Yet this excitement requires an act of faith that what you are seeing truly is "live," a faith increasingly difficult to achieve given the bag of technical tricks available, especially on the Internet. This skepticism aids, to a degree, these artists' desire to tease the distinctions: to undermine the authority of "live" over mediated experience and to collapse the two into an indeterminate unity.
Sara Tucker