Animationer: 'Trolldrum' - Torkild Kleppe Halland, 2023
Tekst 'Remote Nature Cam(era)' - Christian Lindvang Samsøe, 2023
Prospekt består af en serie på ni online udstillinger, der udfolder samtidige spørgsmål gennem tre forskellige perspektiver: nutidige arkitektpraksisser, historiske værker og andre praksisformer. Et prospekt (fra latin: prospectus = udsigt, udsyn) er en topografisk skildring af landskab, byer eller arkitektur. Formatet udvikledes i 1400-tallet og var en saglig og nøgtern gengivelse, der gav overblik og nye udsyn.
Formålet med 'Prospekt' er, at undersøge konkrete problemfelter gennem kunstneriske frembringelser inden for arkitektur. Målet er ligeledes at pollinerer vores arkitekturkultur med perspektiver, der går på tværs af tid og medier.
Hvor de tre første udstillinger i Prospektserien beskæftigede sig byggeriets enheder og formater, beskæftiger de tre næste udstillinger, 'Remote Nature Cam(era’), ‘The Ark' og 'Alkaline Growth' i Prospektserien, sig med landskab og kontrol.
Stor tak til Statens Kunstfond, for at støtte projektet.
Remote Nature Cam(era) 1
Grease on the camera lens tonight takes the form of myths from forgotten times, reminding us that the desire for an omniscient deity is a destructive force of a passing era, but not yet the end of one.
What falls as a dim light in the valley is the hum of distant folklore. Tales of telling tales hide beneath the embodied layer of a thousand new ecologies. It is in this light that we see the resemblance between the screen and the aurora, and we might misread one as the other. “Did I hear it right,” or is it through the retelling of these tales that the difference emerges?
The glimmer of ancient times differs from the glittering green glow encapsulated in copper and lithium. Both qualify as valid technologies in terms of technique, but only one bears the devastating cost of production. What remains after the extraction of both precious metals is the alkali dream of regenerative symbiosis.
In this short animation, something takes the form of someone for a mere thousandth of a second.
Remote Nature Cam(era) 2
The flooding of the valley seeps through our collective minds like the heavy drape of reappearing times. It splashes against the unbreakable panzer glass, and we slowly raise our hands to grasp the ecology of the aquarium.
In this cauldron, our eyes are an autonomous entity in the hands of algorithmic order, an aesthetic mechanism caught in the gaze of artificiality. Only the sensory switch between shifting poles lets some of us know amidst the flickering of the rest. "Is it that turning away from the generic scrolls of light is equal to the deep dive through ancient times?"
If the aesthetics of non-visual entities equals the establishment of non-human agency, then it calls for an unlearning of the stories that clog our veins and diminish the natural flow of the flood. This flood is not to be looked upon as a mass replacement but as the drizzling sensory soundscape.
In this short animation, it’s the sound that imprints itself on our minds.
Remote Nature Cam(era) 3
In the solitary glow from millions of pixels, the line blurs between spectator and participant as we observe light traveling beyond its demise. We ask ourselves the question. "Who serves as the messenger, and who stands as the receiver of this phenomenon?"
From the heart of this solar system, blue flares extend into the depths of the wetlands, where the planktonic movements of an infinite number of rotifers contribute to the decomposition of this world's soil. We comprehend that this causation is not a substrate line that vanishes but rather a cycle we yet have to witness. "I can't discern whether it's the mountain beckoning to the universe or the explosion of ancient stars forewarning us of a looming future."
The distinction between object and subject is a human imposition upon non-human, and it will diminish through the development of human-created intelligence.
In this short animation, it’s not about the rotifer, the mineral, the light, or us.
Remote Nature Cam(era) 4
Particle dust from dying stars falls down the screen as we emerge from the dream of alkali. In the damp morning, we are greeted by incoming waves of radio signals from the realm of virtuality. What is transmitted through the minerals of this Earth's crust takes on the form of an isolated theft.
Monstrous mechanisms assemble from the tracks of trolls as they plow through the landscape. We follow the crystallized footprints that lead to the plant in the sump of ionic salt and electromagnetic radiation. This is where parts become products of a modern spell. "Does anthropogenic sorcery thrive within this factory?"
As we gaze upon the endless production lines of copper and lithium soldering, it becomes apparent that the solitude of emerging artificial devices is intertwined with the dying of the term local.
In this short animation, the virtual windmill plays the role of the lonely troll of the tale.
Remote Nature Cam(era) 5
Does oil from the core of this world rise to deform fragile ecosystems in its image, or is every fossil subject to human terraforming?
The sessile nature of this sticky realization bursts through electrostatic discharges from the screen to the cloud. The folklore is encapsulated in the following radiation, and if we listen closely to the echoing, we hear the solitary thunder of synthetic materiality. "Is it that we've created materials for technological foresight that will destroy future environmental foundations?"
It's at a safe distance that we project these theories of ordering the terrifying circumstances, while it's through leaving the cloud and embodying the tale that we become the regenerative solution.
In this short animation, it's the distance that keeps our bodies clean from the sticky realization.
Remote Nature Cam(era) 6
On this early morning, the letters "e," "r," and "a" stick to the motherboard after our feverishly tapping to make sense of the tale of this odd encounter.
What emerges as strange strangers disappear as the image of someone strangely familiar. It is in this light that we see that what started as the resemblance between the screen and the aurora is merely a mirroring of ourselves in time. "Do we control the object of the spell? Yes, we did hear it right!"
After trying to pan this view to engulf the valley beneath, we coincide with a zoom-out into the atmosphere. Symbiosis with this landscape leaves the periphery of the last cornered pixels as the dream of embodying the telling of ancient tales coincides with pulsating soil.
In this short animation, it's not the end or the beginning, but the loop throughout.
The six short essays are inspired by several thinkers: Karen Barad, Ursula K. Le Guin, Timothy Morton, Theis Ørntoft, Anna Lowenhaupt Tsing, Laurie Anderson, Félix Guattari, Gilles Deleuze, Bruno Latour, Hito Steyerl, Alenda Y. Chang, Maggie Nelson, Donna Haraway, Benjamin Bratton, Shoshana Zuboff, Sara Ahmed, among others.