We never break as much as the earth and we only walk where it is still attached. The story of a tallness that precedes the sky turns its light on again when the darkness embraces it. If a mirror is the duplication of our same side, humanity is the multiplication of the others in it. But the reflection is brief when an image is missing. Time is what comes when everyone leaves.
When we go to sleep, we face fairer and more terrible worlds than the one we abandon. Everything can happen there, where our humanity is placed before any consequence, in that version that we don’t take care of, and even so does not seek to take our place. When we wake up, those that walk are our replicas. We create monsters to invent fear. We start everything that can be interrupted. We are the territory where the war is taking place. Not even in our mind a battle is being waged, but in the structure that we have defended throughout life. We are the site of the discoveries and the one who hides them; uncertainties that move from one place to another. We trust in everything that we hope to not have to comprehend, but our lies do not hold new worlds. They fear them. We distrust of the incredible events when repeated over time because nothing amazes us if it occurs more than once. Isn’t it odd, then, that, even so, we continue to believe in everything that we never see? We visit the places that others conquer, we stumble on the ruins when we don’t fall. Some countries have enough bombs to keep our families safe from the others. That ever some disaster be our refuge. We are afraid of those who have less, of those who only have themselves. A terror based on the certainty that we are only what they can take from us. When access is the only thing that legitimate us, the lack of access expels us. There is an eternal absence that is our own, because we are the promise that others fulfill. The historical genetic completes us but what we have left over lacks us. Once again, the world of others conquer us. What will come always disembarks over what it does not comprehend. But the heart is a great crust that, in order to join, knows how to break any distance. There is a world that commands us to sleep because it never does. Humanity is what remains of Humanity.
In the way we combine our words, there was always a reason to resort to them: an objective planned by people whose fear had led them to conquer all.
That’s why, sometimes, it is necessary for some event to occur, so that it changes the difficulties of the scene and transgresses it to locate them in a place that achieves to reunite us.
We have learned from the systems we create and for a while we started to operate like them.
This time, we react like the system acts, answering with its own tools and dedicating to it the mechanisms used to convince us.
But, how to stop a system that makes us walk?
Time and history does not belong to us because they are the major terms that never complete us.
We have built a world that does not believe in us, but we create fictions to imagine the reality.
Can global systems change when they are overcome by individual ideas?
What would happen if those ideas simulate being part of that system?
When our ideas are not convenient, they can also replicate massively. And these are dangerous when they can only survive without a practical reason.
If we think, we are smart.
If we insist, we are spam.
We have not got here by a template. We can’t allow them to prefer us presetted. There is a way to reflect ourselves, and it is not on others (our image returns to Him by BCC). There is a way to last, and is not in the pictures. We are the message that the system refuses to receive, but let’s continue trying because we could make it collapse.
We are the last of the first. We are those who believe in what does not easily convinces to those who abound. However, we were always more.
There were people in this world who are in other social networks: he, who died saying that the earth revolves, she, who slept in a laboratory to cure us, those, who lost their lives to defend a truth that never agreed with the power. All of them left, but they also left [...]
There have always been social networks, only that now we are facing the digitization of our links. Since long ago we experience a detachment from others, while still maintaining a fluid contact between us. Digital social networks capitalize the natural fact of communication, mediating between our words and others, although the emitter is often also the receiver, being the one that spends more time near the information that is communicating and who often revisit it daily. Immediacy does not improve the way we know each other. To do this, we need silence, reflection, time. Today it seems a simple act to communicate with others, but, when it’s been like that? No system optimizes our bonds, but rather directs them, generating habits and devices that merge concepts as antagonistic like complex and accessible, toward the assimilation of the incomprehensible. The encounters that the system cannot anticipate and the distances we generate without apparent reason, live between the bases that refuse to accept it in the short-circuit of the most rebellious pact: the human condition. We are the resource that the medium takes to remain, despite our ability to communicate, but we must not forget that the first encounter in between two civilizations has been the result of conquest and invasion. We still travel overflying wars. If we thought Humanity in computer terms, it might be easier to accept that we are being deleted by an operative system, our countries formatted, our ideas erased. As we descend from a plane we crash against reality, however, everything assumes us safe. This world of analogous bodies and digital feelings, transits the fluctuation that extends between the userization and the humanization. The promise of access is what turns human into user. The search for intangibles purposes is being replaced by the conformity of the accessible. That’s why art is the expressive reaction to an oppressive system. When our [...]
The first invention of man is the human being, who stumbling with the fire has invented himself inaugurating his relationship with what is not known. The sunlight and our shadow are the origin of the interaction. Man is man’s environment and his genealogy is the addition of all his worlds. That’s the Man Increased: the first person singular, plural thinking himself. There is a nature alien to his fate pretending he is not there. That human’s first world is the one he invents to modify. No one better than he knows the time, ever since the start of his verticality has made that the sun to turn him into its first watch. The meridian is a ruler that scratches upon the world a wise truth. We all walk. We all feel cold and warm. Thought is like that meridian if repeated with each of our steps. It is this succession of infinite lines that keep us on this round paper leaf with water. We are the millimetric, those who know to count, the ones that keep falling of the ruler, but invent another. The brevity of our passage through the story is proportional to the choreographic quality with which we move in time. We invent an operating system and then replace it with another. To each successful replacement we call vanguard, when transformed into something else right before fulfilling its promise. When did Art stop questioning the system? When did Art stop interpreting it to accept it if it’s capacity consists on exceeding it? If Art functions as an operating system it should be treated as such. Then: RESET ART.
Art does not contemplate solutions or answers, because it is itself perfectly unpredictable and admirably useless. I think about the avant-garde, not like the irruption or contrast with previous Arts, but like a complex system of relocation, mechanisms, that lead to certain combinations of abilities and impact (set of ideas and styles) to be given a name. This appears in front of us as it is when it inevitably becomes another thing. After a natural disaster, the landscape can change. Majestic trees are uprooted and along with their great roots, they are transplanted. There are no safe places. In front of us, everything that we will learn to see for the first time appears. Throughout history, Art has fallen in love with the media, trying to define that relationship through an adjective that always comes after it. If the term “Cloudy Art” existed, we would be forced to think that a climatic phenomenon has such an important effect in the world that it is inevitable that Art is interested in it. Artists try to form an alliance with the new medias but these inevitably escape towards the other direction: Art is always going to be wrong, and Technology is going to agree with it. There are no sensitive technologies, because in them creation is not implied in any way. It is the artist who must do without technology to be able to use it beyond their conception. Such is the eagerness of Art to be fused with its loved one that it is able to surround it in all type of variables until there are no signs left of it. But Art is a virus that operates on itself, given its impossibility to create damages to the system by which it has been fascinated. For that reason, I think that Art can change the world, but only when it has truly agreed to take chances and be destroyed with it or simply when it decides to emancipate itself from its second name. Once the glare provoked by the first encounter between Art and [...]
We live in a system that allows mistakes only when the solutions can be found solely within it. We live in a system and we function in it, except when we make art. I’ve always dreamt of a world that doesn’t have the fear of making mistakes, never about a world that flaunts being right. In a historical moment that privileges the emergence of new devices, people have easily become used to assimilating ideas that others think for them, when actually thoughts must be newer than the novelty. Those who feel confident about being part of a large audience believe in the assimilation of technological media as the only way not to fall behind, ignoring that this behavior is the worst way of moving forward, only delaying the invention of our next fire. Every error disturbs us because it shatters the certainty of our centuries of knowledge, but every time we are wrong, a part of us usually proves us right. In an error lies a combination of possibilities that avoid function and that is a quality shared with art, and its residual value consists in being useless, in its lack of practicality. An error bursts onto the scene. Objects fail on purpose, forcing us to contemplate their inherent creative nature. The main purpose of every object is to fail, and by doing so, they turn into something more complete: the result of what we expect and do not expect. It becomes a new object, with new features, that will travel through a path that maximizes it. When things fail they look like us, they acquire the human condition. Errors always return to make us the same. In a world where thinking is considered erroneous, thinking becomes a duty. Error is creation.