Cyber Fluids – Curatorial Statement

Adelina Allberg / Amanda Kessaris / Helene Skuterud / Maria Josef / S.R. / Yanina Zaichanka

Meta.Morf 2024 – [up]Loaded Bodies / Galleri Blunk / June 23 – 26 /
Curator: Galleri Blunk / Header Graphics:  Video-still from “The Third Place”, courtesy of the artist.

Cyber Fluids

With the overall theme for this year’s Meta.Morf Biennale being [up]Loaded Bodies, we wanted to put together an exhibition that had a certain bodily fluidity. A fluidity that flows between the digital and the physical, never fully settled, thriving in a liminal space. Liminal comes from the Latin word ‘limen,’ meaning threshold.

The exhibition “Cyber Fluids” is the in-between state, a transitional ecosystem between the digital and the physical, a river delta forming archipelagos of islands and fertile soil. The digital soil of the river banks lays the groundwork for a new culture to emerge, as the river historically has always done. The soil of the river banks in ancient Mesopotamia provided its peoples with clay tablets to inscribe some of the earliest recorded writings on; this led to the widespread use of cuneiform, one of the earliest writing systems. The digital soil has also provided us with new ways of expression and new ways for art to be distributed, produced, and consumed.

The internet, however, is not a peaceful river, and the cultures of Mesopotamia had a prevalent flood myth (a predecessor to the story of Noah’s arc). What happens when the digital river overflows the physical land? Will it still be possible to surf the web, or will we need to build boats? Or to swim? Or drown?         

This exhibition shows a selection of student works.

Ode to Ada (2023) / Yanina Zaichanka 

Ode to Ada (2023) / Yanina Zaichanka  

In this project Yanina Zaichanka is studying and exploring the implications of unthinking people out of the public memory and the notions of (in)visibility in the digital era. The artist also meditates on the people behind the technologies (read: women) who have been forgotten while their work lives on. As Ada Lovelace once wrote, “That brain of mine is something more than merely mortal as time will show.” Ironically, her input into the development of computers and programming has very often been downplayed and only relatively recently has her figure reemerged in public discussions, articles, and books. 

History is still overwhelmingly written down as his story, with the lives of women often being omitted. As Linda Nochlin claims in her influential 1971 essay “Why Have There Been No Great Women Artists?”, it was next to impossible for people who were not middle-class white men to achieve any renown. Yet still it doesn’t mean that other identities did not contribute. Even though there have not been many “great” women, there have been women. They still haunt public memory like defective pixels that persist in manifesting themselves, distorting the “whole” picture, and disturbing the status quo. 

However, there is a difference between being seen and being observed. In the era of surveillance capitalism, people are the product rather than the subject of technology, and their lives and experiences are reduced to faceless numbers and potential profits. Big data is too big to pay attention to detail. Information seems to be easily accessible, but at the same time, nuances are often overlooked. 

Seemingly objective technologies in the hands of those who desire to maintain their own status in power can and do lead to human rights violations. Authoritarian regimes have been using “state-of-the-art” technologies to control people. One of the recent examples is the 2020 protests connected with the presidential elections in Belarus. Then, the regime employed internet shutdowns to disinform the citizens, and AI face recognition features and data from social media were used to trace down people who disagreed with the rigid power structure. People are serving their sentences in prisons for Orwellian thought crimes. 

Ada Lovelace was using the phrase “poetical science” when talking about her holistic approach to the world around her. It’s very likely that it was this unconventional approach that led her to think into existence the first computer program at the age when people could barely imagine some basic uses for a calculating engine. Paying homage to Lovelace, Zaichanka suggests a new term, “poetical technology,” to address the missing link between the Humanities and STEM. New technologies appear every day, presenting endless possibilities, but too few are made to benefit people rather than big corporations. In view of this, bringing in the Humanities to the development of technologies could turn them in a more ethical and humane direction. 

Drawing inspiration from Sadie Plant’s book “Zeros + Ones: Digital Women + the New Technoculture,” remembering the connections between the weaving loom and first programs, and employing cross-stitching as an analog predecessor of pixels, Zaichanka creates a series of portraits of the willingly and unwillingly invisible people. People forget; algorithms do not. Could it get to be otherwise? 

Yanina Zaichanka (BY) is a Belarusian artist who is currently studying at the Oslo National Academy of the Arts. Prior to moving to Oslo, she had been actively involved in the contemporary art scene in Minsk. In 2018-2019, she studied Contemporary Art and Drama at the European College of Liberal Arts in Belarus. Her work has been shown at several solo exhibitions, including Untitled at the gallery Seilduken 2 in Oslo (2023), the Freedom (of Speech) from the Unbearable at Pradmova Festival of Intellectual Literature in Minsk (2020), and Being a Woman at ECLAB in Minsk (2019). Zaichanka has contributed to group shows, among others – Solarpunk Festival Exhibition at Kinogalleriet in Rjukan (2023), Solidarity with political prisoners in Belarus at Sophus Bugges Hus in Oslo (2023), CIAHLITSY, an exhibition of queer art in Minsk and Brest (2019), and Halasy, exhibition of art de-stigmatizing people with mental health conditions (2019). The artist has also taken part in several art residencies and projects, the most recent being Solarpunk Campus Summer School in Rjukan (2023), I CONSENT Summer School at UKS in Oslo (2023), and R22: Repression – Expression // Violence – Creative Resistance at PRAKSIS in Oslo (2022).

Zaichanka has been working on different topics, ranging from political oppression and collective trauma to environmental and historical justice. Her artistic practice includes embroidery, sewing, ceramics, as well as painting and performance.

instagram.com/what.yanya.saw

Krets4.0 (2023) / S.R. 

Krets4.0 (2023) / S.R. 

When I was three years old, we got a family computer. It was a giant white box that we placed in the middle of our living room. I was intrigued by this mysterious machine, and we would soon spend a lot of time together. Though I could not yet read, I quickly, with a little help, was able to access the sites I wanted to explore. There was little to no information about internet safety at this time, so I basically got free range of the computer as long as no one else was using it. 

In the beginning, I exclusively used this computer to play online games, which was the only thing anyone of my age would find the computer useful for, but as the internet grew, there would soon be a plethora of sites for me to explore. I don’t think there were many who could predict how much these new inventions would influence our lives over the next twenty years. 

We were always excited about how new digital technologies would improve our lives. How they could aid us, connect, teach and entertain us. But now it feels like what was once given to us as an option has become a necessity. I depend so much on it that I don’t even know how I could function without it. 

I feel as though all these changes crept up on me, and by the time I became aware of what was happening, it was too late. I never used to question how my use of digital gadgets shaped my life and how I interact with my surroundings, but in recent years, I have been made acutely aware of the potential negative effects it can have on both my mental health and life in general.  

I hate the fact that ’m so connected that anyone can reach me at any time of day. The frustration of being addicted to apps and sites littered with advertisements trying to sell me useless products while stealing my attention. How corporations create algorithms to best determine what products they can manipulate me to buy. Or how the new boom in AI technology could change the way we relate to the world forever.  

“Krets4.0” (Cicuit4.0) is the fourth rendition of my exploration of the circuit. The circuit is found in all electric apparatuses and is responsible for transferring electricity, data, or signals. In this project, I was drawn to the aesthetics of the circuit as an abstract illustration of the technology that surrounds us. In the same way that the circuit is responsible for transferring information, my previous renditions of this series inform the decisions made for the next one.   

The 4th rendition is a series of prints that can be assembled to build a larger piece. Each of the prints is unique but can be put together in order to create a seamless transition. With this series, I wanted to create a physical representation of the technology that surrounds us in our daily lives.

S.R. (NO)
I go by the name S.R. and I have an ever-growing captivation for technology and the relationship between humans and machines. As a huge Science-Fiction nerd, I often wondered how new technological advancements would influence our lives. At what point does utopia become dystopia? This fascination has become a large part of my practice where it’s expressed by abstract geometric pieces.     

My formal education began at Stavanger School of Art, where I completed a two-year education in Visual Arts. During these years, I was introduced to printmaking, which would soon become one of my most used mediums. Along with printmaking, I also work with other two-dimensional mediums, such as drawing, painting, and video. When I create my works, I often feel like a one-person factory; all the decisions regarding the piece have been made in advance, and I am left as a cog in the machine. Removed from thought and uncertainties, I can focus solely on the work that needs to be done.  

In the fall of 2022, I started my bachelor’s degree in fine arts at the University of Bergen, where I am currently in my second year.   

instagram.com/s.r_art2.0

The Third Place (2023) / Maria Josef 

The Third Place (2023) / Maria Josef 

“The Third Place” is a 3D computer-animated looped short film. The title of the work references a PlayStation ad from the year 2000, based on the idea that the PlayStation was a gateway from your everyday life and contained a place that was neither work nor home but something entirely different. Here, “The Third Place” is neither physical nor digital; it is a backroom of conscience, a surreal space of emptiness and lack of humanness. It does not contain or represent any specific bodies, and the narrator could be anyone and everyone. References consist of Søren Kierkegaard’s philosophies on being and existentialism, Plato’s cave allegory, Mamoru Oshii’s 1995 “Ghost in the Shell,” and Hideaki Anno’s “Neon Genesis Evangelion” from the same year, Donna Haraway’s “Cyborg Manifesto,” and Lisa Nakamura’s essay “Cybertypes; Race, Ethnicity, and Identity on the Internet”.

Maria Josef (DK/NO)
I work interdisciplinary with digital media, including 3D animation, creative coding, video gaming software, and sculpture, such as 3D print and ceramic. My work often centers around digital realities and how they relate to questions about identity. I am interested in the line between materiality and immateriality and how one affects the other. These might be thoughts in line with the meaning of having a physical body as opposed to existing only digitally or how the representation of identity virtually differs from the one in our offline lives. At the moment, I am particularly concerned with acts of cloning. Reproducing, replicating, and duplicating, and specifically in virtual spaces. What happens with our sense of identity, living in an age where digital reproduction of our bodies is constant?

mariajosef.myportfolio.com 

Reconstructing Olympia (2023) / Helene Skuterud 

Reconstructing Olympia (2023) / Helene Skuterud 

3D-printed Ceramic in white stoneware clay with porcelain terra sigillata and birch ash. Fired to 1240 °C in a reduction atmosphere.

“Reconstructing Olympia” springs from the piece “Deconstructing Olympia” created in 2022, which I hand-built in clay, layer by layer, using a traditional coil-building technique. The sculpture draws inspiration from the classical posture of reclining women in art, “Venus Pudica,” and Edward Manet’s painting “Olympia” (1863). Unfortunately, this sculpture broke in two during the firing process. The two pieces were 3D-scanned and digitally manipulated before rematerializing in clay through the 3D printer. “Reconstructing Olympia” is part of my ongoing project, which involves exploring a 3D-scanned form through digital manipulation and 3D printing in clay. One can distinguish the original sculpture’s two pieces by their surface texture: one is smoothed out, and the other retains the distinctive coiled pattern from the 3D printer.

A 3D printer functions as an automated coil maker, duplicating my actions with much greater precision than I can accomplish myself. While I program the machine, it also exerts its influence on the process, effectively becoming a collaborator. In this struggle, we emerge as equal participants in the creative process, with me becoming inseparably intertwined with both the 3D printer and the clay.

In my work, I explore questions about how 3D technology and hardware become new focal points alongside the material and myself as an artist and how this influences my artistic expression. What occurs when there is suddenly a computer, digital technologies, and a multitude of metal and mechanics between the clay and me? Can we still love each other? Do I lose the emotional aspect in the machine’s interpretation? My form is digitalized, analyzed, processed, and then built up layer by layer, replacing the smooth surface with contour lines that form a topographical description of the sculpture’s terrain. For every loss, there is also a gain of something else that invites new interpretations.

Posthumanism challenges the anthropocentric mindset and redefines what it means to be “human” in a world where technology and nature are inseparably intertwined. It does not perceive humans as isolated entities but rather as integral parts of a larger ecosystem that includes technologies, animals, plants, and machines. Both biological and technological entities can be considered equal participants in a posthuman world. 3D printing in clay exemplifies how technology and nature can come together. The technology and machine are utilized to shape a natural resource. From a posthumanist perspective, one can regard the 3D printer as a non-human actor of equal importance to me, the user. Given that the 3D printer plays a vital role in the process, it can also be seen as a subject, parallel to myself as an artist.

For me, 3D technology has unlocked new avenues for exploring form and materiality. Integrating technology into ceramic sculpture enables me to delve into questions of identity, consciousness, and the human experience in a world where technology assumes an increasingly significant role. It influences our perception of ourselves and our connection to the surrounding world, ultimately shaping our understanding of what it means to be human.

Artistic practice is an eternal journey of exploring ideas, concepts, and techniques. Challenging myself to not always seek completion, but instead to remain in the method and repeat the same process multiple times has resulted in significant learning. Repetition introduces variation in both the process and the results. Having a digital sculptural form in contrast to a finished fired ceramic object grants me the ability to revisit and adjust. This ensures that the process remains ongoing, and the 3D print captures a momentary snapshot of the progress rather than representing a finished object.

Helene Skuterud (NO) resides and works in Oslo. She is presently pursuing studies in material-based art at the Oslo National Academy of the Arts. Previously, Skuterud earned a bachelor’s degree in Three-Dimensional Design from the Birmingham Institute of Art and Design and a Master’s degree in Lighting Design from Sydney University. In recent years, she has served as a designer/maker for Lysrommet. Skuterud’s primary medium is sculpture and clay. She molds organic and abstract forms, ranging in size from handheld pieces to larger objects. These sculptures are either hand-built using coiling techniques or assembled from handcrafted and cast elements. Additionally, she delves into 3D technology, providing her with new avenues to explore form and materiality. Through incorporating technology into ceramic sculpture, she explores questions about identity, consciousness, and human experience in a world where technology holds an increasingly prominent role. Using clay, Skuterud strives to convey something about our surroundings and the bodies we inhabit. She seeks something familiar in the clay, aiming to engage the senses and consciousness through this material.

instagram.com/helene.skuterud

Reclaim (GIF); Reclaim (Sculpture) (2023) / Amanda Kessaris 

Reclaim (GIF); Reclaim (Sculpture) (2023) / Amanda Kessaris 

The work “Reclaim” (sculpture) consists of a metal, armor-like underwear set with hinges that allow the undergarments to open and close like ports to the naked female body. The feminine underwear, and the more masculine metal, work together to create a shield against rape and sexual assault culture. Furthermore, the work allows the wearer to reclaim the right to their own body, deciding when this protecting armor is on or off. Installed half open, the work invites the viewer to imagine themselves stepping into the sculpture’s negative space and wearing it as a shield.  

The sculpture reappears in the complementing work “Reclaim” (GIF), depicting the armor-like undergarments being taken on and off an avatar of the artist, Amanda Kessaris. As the armor is being removed, it is unveiled that the avatar has no nipples or pubic hair. To the viewer, the avatar virtually does not have breasts or a vagina. Without nipples or a vagina, is her body naked? Without her ‘female’ body parts, can she become a sex object? Without anything being unveiled under her metal bra and underwear, the avatar escapes the male gaze and unwanted sexualization. Through the GIF and the sculpture, “Reclaim” transforms into a fantasy of what life would be like as an avatar woman without her ‘sexual’ and ‘sexualized’ body parts. As a digital avatar floating in nothingness, Kessaris finally feels the ecstasy of having bodily autonomy, something that has felt virtually unattainable in the real world. 

Amanda Kessaris (DK/US) is a multidisciplinary artist who uses her pieces as outlets to investigate gender roles, identity, and her experience of being a girl and woman within different cultures and generations. Kessaris works interdisciplinarily in a physical and digital reality to “reclaim” and portray traditional feminine symbols and materials as motifs in a contemporary context and as strong feminist symbols. Growing up around Hollywood’s “look at me” culture but very close to her Danish egalitarian-oriented family has created a form of identity crisis, which appears in her works. The concept of identity being something that can be taken on and off, as well as the eternal conflict between her multiple selves, act as reappearing themes throughout her practice. 

As she studies how her identities flow into one another, Kessaris experimentally investigates how materials have the potential to do the same. Her works examine the possibility of creating fluid boundaries between various artistic mediums. Doing this can allow a single work to be simultaneously classified as an independent installation, video, sculpture, photo, performance, and/or wearable piece. With the intention of creating works the viewer can become one with, Kessaris often works with unconventional but recognizable materials that people have a physical relationship with, such as undergarments or furniture. Doing so allows the viewer to interact ‘with’ and mentally place themselves in the negative space ‘of’ her pieces and understand their deeper intentions.

instagram.com/amandakessaris

Loop Sequence (2023) / Adelina Allberg

Loop Sequence (2023) / Adelina Allberg

Loop Sequence is a material story of the bodily impacts of living in and being affected by digitality. Through the body of the Stag beetle, the work examines the possible disorientation and dissolution of bodies, habits, and identities in digital spheres. The work is constructed of an oak/metal tentacle that is looping into the air space in search of information. Mounted along the tentacle are the put-apart and rearranged body parts of the Stag beetle. Its characteristic claws are open and reaching for a grip. The loop emerges from an electric wire, providing its play with current and energizing its twists. This looping can be seen as a symbol of entanglement with an acceleration hard to escape. It is also a gesture of reaching out and returning home with somewhat changed knowing, and so being a structure for awareness and of seeing and staying with information.

Timothy Morton writes about the surrounding intimacy of ecological awareness and the looping format it reveals itself by being a twisted, weird state. Digital reality provides a similar kind of strangeness in its familiarity. It is a world inhabited by extended or remade versions of oneself and where there’s always another update to move forward with. The loop is a state of ongoingness. Yet, it’s a shape of unknowing; the twist it moves in leaves a part unexposed. To some point, we are always estranged; maybe a body part is positioned wrong, and it is not for us to know. The structure in the “Loop Sequence” ends in openness, the tip of the tentacle is reaching out of the loop. Browsing for whatsoever. On it is the head of the Stag beetle with eyes and mouth open for the unthinkable in the future to come. The scene can be seen as a suggestion of the formations we bend into in digital reality, of the pathways we change, and what endless possibilities and functions do to one’s habitual mode. It is a back-and-forth loop about locating reality.

Adelina Allberg (SE) is an artist based in Trondheim, currently receiving a bachelor’s degree from the Trondheim Academy of Fine Art. Her work evolves around found objects and a rearrangement of them materially. This is done through highlighting certain characteristics or by twisting them in unexpected turns, and so in search for new identities. It is a play of material narration proceeding from the possibilities in the object itself, aiming to affect format as well as interpretation. Following an ecological stream of thought where the interconnectedness of entities is crucial, the studio practice is based on nonhuman interaction and co-creation. The works carry forward the, at times, irrational logic of insects, body structures of objects, and leftover material through subtle storytelling where categorization is of fluidity.