Artist's digital exhibit at Butler Institute proves provocative,
innovative
By Dorothy Shinn for the Beacon
Journal
We know what a virus is. You catch
one, you come down with a cold, or as the medical practitioners would have it,
an upper respiratory infection.
Most of us know what another kind
of virus is -- the kind you can get on your computer that can wipe out all your
data, what computer programmers call hell on Earth.
There's a great deal of similarity
between the two types of viruses -- the biological one and the virtual one --
and it's nothing to sneeze at.
So if you thought that the term
``computer virus'' was just a metaphor, think again.
Better yet, go to the Butler
Institute of American Art in Youngstown and see Joseph Nechvatal:
Contaminations, a digital art exhibit on view through April 23 in its new
Beecher wing.
Nechvatal teaches at the School of
Visual Arts in New York City and at Stevens Institute of Technology. He also
writes periodically on art and new technology for Artforum, The Thing,
Intelligent Agent, Tema Celeste and Zing.
In Nechtaval's computer
robotic-assisted paintings and computer programs, it's possible to see, among
other things, how similar in behavior and structure the computer viruses are to
the ones that make you feel crappy.
Nechvatal has created paintings
from images that he's infected with computer viruses, modeled to be autonomous
agents living in and/or off the image. In other words, his computer viruses
simulate a population of active biological viruses functioning within another
biological system.
``A virus will pick up information
from its environment, decide on a course of action, and carry it out,''
Nechvatal explains in gallery notes.
``A virus will perceive the pixel
it is on and the eight adjacent ones... In order to decide on a course of
action, each virus is programmed with a set of randomized instructions of
different kinds; some relate to direction, others to a change in the color of
the current pixel (the one the virus is in). Others control the implementation
of the program and carry out tests.''
The program executes random
actions, moving to adjacent pixels and changing them, even reproducing itself.
In order not to die, the virus needs to gain energy, which it does by degrading
the image. The more it changes a pixel's color, the more energy it acquires.
Does this begin to sound familiar?
It's what kids playing computer games are indoctrinated to do: Their character
can destroy other characters only so long as it keeps a certain amount of power
(i.e., energy) and it gains power by acquiring (eating) certain objects.
Thus, by examining Nechvatal's
work, we can see how viruses work; how a creative mind can take something
abhorred by legions of computer programmers and make it create new images; and
how through games our children are being programmed to do the work of the
future.
This latter observation is not
news. Many books and papers have been written on how each new technology has
spawned new games to train children to enter the workplace.
What is new, however, is how
Nechvatal offers up an image to a virus that he's programmed to degrade and
transform it into a new image. These new images he enlarges and prints in
acrylic inks on canvas.
Part of the exhibit is concerned
with these ``paintings,'' which are in their own way quite engaging. The
exhibit is also trying to provoke the viewer into considering the implications
of what he has done.
``We can see from a virus's
behavior and direction whether it will be more or less adaptable, more or less
able to survive,'' Nechvatal writes.
Each time a virus divides, it
mutates. The newly created viruses behave in ways different from the parent.
Some of these differences are more successful than others. All of this points
to behaviors that correspond to Darwin's theory of natural selection.
But the fascinating part of the
exhibit is in the back of the gallery, where viewers can watch a projection of
a computer image that is being attacked by a virus.
There are four computers running,
with infestations, degradations and transformations occurring at different
stages on each. Eventually, the virus eats up the entire image, at which point
all the viruses die, and the program begins again. It's quite unsettling to see
a little blinking thing on a screen eat a hole in someone's face.
All the while in the background
viewers hear something that sounds like many large mouths chewing. That's not
the sound of the virus eating the image, but the magnified sound of a computer
processor crunching databits.
This is an affecting exhibit, for
it not only gives us yet one more way in which computers can be used to make
art, but it also expands our understanding of how computer viruses have come to
be.
One of the images being projected
on the wall started out as a photograph of a man, which was, when I saw it,
almost all gone, looking uncomfortably like one of those grisly discoveries on
CSI in which a corpse's face has been eaten away by maggots.
As the image declines toward total
destruction, its colors change from the subtle, almost bland tints of an old
magazine photo to the glorious, unmitigated CMYK colors that bloom like
tropical flowers wherever destruction is most intense.
In essence Nechtaval's art depends
on both irony and chance operations of a sort. He programs a virus, lets it
loose, and at a certain point he may stop it, print up what he's got, or decide
to let it continue.
Chance operations have their
origins in Dadaist activities, philosophies and approaches to art making.
Dada, a nonsense word that some say
is French for hobbyhorse, was the term attached in 1916 to the activities of a
group of nonconformist artists who wanted to express their disgust with
materialism, narrowness and lack of culture, as well as a certain unfortunate
blind faith in the politics of power, in particular the military type.
There are other interesting
parallels between Dada and what Nechvatal is doing. Dada artists experimented
with new media also, which in their era was photography and film. They created
stop-action film animation, photomontages, and spinning disks on which spirals
hypnotically rotated, all of which was said to be intensely disturbing to audiences
of the day.
Naturally, Nechvatal has a Web
site: www.nechvatal.net where he not only provides a complete
overview of the Butler exhibit, but also presents visitors with his views on
the current state of politics and the shame of the Abu Ghraib abuse scandal.
His work is provocative and
requires an openness to new ideas, but then so do the works of most artists.
New ideas, after all, are what art is all about.