Rocks, Dreams and Techno-Imaginaries
(The hacker, the smuggler and the cave)
Some notes
From a pedagogical stand point, this is about holding a space for literacy - as well as introducing a space for dreaming.
What do a dream and rock have in comment? Perhaps that one is present in other, have you ever dreamt about a rock? This a place for dreaming, the cold dark. This is a place for reading and rereading. Reading these lines on the walls, like the lines on your hand. There’s a fate in it but maybe there isn’t.
A place for quiet restorative dreaming. I’ll dare you to dream about something set in stone. This is a place where I’ll dare you, and where you’ll dare. What are you holding here, a seance, somewhere to hide as he approaches.
There are many, layers to this. We have always been here. Welcome Welcome, it won’t quite make sense right now. But we’re asking you to read the lines in stone like the lines on your hand. Soft, soft, soft now. We’re moving round. We’re moving round again. This is a place for dreaming, I insist. I invite. Maybe it was worrying, it was cold. But now.
In a cave, there is not much to describe - especially when it is dark. I’m adopting someone else’s voice now.
What is mine.
Writing 02.05.23
In a story, there is a line.
We move through a rock cut in half. The art of pressure creates a wholeness. Presses together time, and moments that once, once, could be distinguished. Who told that story, who heard that whisper. But no. Now it’s altogether, and all-forgotten. Rocks, Dreams and Techno-Imaginaries. Do androids dream of electronic geology? Or will we lose that too? How long does it take to form a sedimentary rock upon a shore, and when it is significant enough in size, can we count it as a moment (history)? And do the giants of the future, kick us along the shore too?
Who's to stay? And, what is distinguished in a future where we live in bliss. It’s bliss they shout. Whilst other’s sit in line, waiting to be called, an audition for a role in a play written when “imagine you are a well known playwright, read my play and tell me if you think it is worthy or not. If it isn’t please explain why, with examples”.
There’s an absurdity, in my thinking when it’s observed by passers-by. Multiple lines along my face and their hands jarr the theory of the making of this world. Although it shouldn’t - I exist.
Notes on this
A project that is both poetic and pedagogical - but how do I do this?
Geological narrative, emulating the layering one finds in sedimentary rock.
Key questions: who gets to tell stories?
The idea is that this takes place inside of the cave, it’s the inside of a ‘seemingly impenetrable’ system/rock face.
Fostering critical thinking about an authority centred (king and ‘big tech’) narrative.
The caves, funnily enough, where the place where storytelling seems to have begun. What is the significance of this?
It’s important to have a non-human perspective. I’ll start with talking from the perspective of the cave.
What is my position as an artist when talking about technology, AI, existential risk etc.
I want to bring in writing, animation, rotoscoping and TouchDesigner.
What I’ve been doing:
conversations
learning
writing
03.05.23 - writing after feedback session
(feedback did not go very well, as in the text was deemed opaque and confusing. I'll move forward trying to counter this, although in essence I personally like the text)
In a story, there is a line.
There is a line to follow in a story, a line of reasoning perhaps. There is theory of narrative, in the western tradition it is very linear. Crossing lines.
We move through a rock cut in half.
This is to state where you are, imagine a rock cut in half. You are looking down a rock cut in half and you can see its layers.
The art of pressure creates a wholeness.
Consider this it’s a complex thing, it is not one or the other. The art of pressure, pressure creates sedimentary rock - it presses layers together and in your hand you feel one thing. But it is, it was many things. What does this do? What happens when many things become one? Where else is this pressure present, where else do many things become one?
Presses together time, and moments that once, once, could be distinguished.
They once were distinguished, we each have our own perceptions, how is one decision for a collective made?
Who told that story, who heard that whisper.
We forget as history goes who told and who listened.
But no. Now it’s altogether, and all-forgotten.
History is perhaps an act of forgetting.
Rocks, Dreams and Techno-Imaginaries.
This is the original title of the work, it’s an example of layering. This is perhaps random, but not if it is the title.
Do androids dream of electronic geology?
Will the sentient bots of the future have this same problem with their own history.
Or will we lose that too?
Or will they create their own, will the way they remember history be completely different.
How long does it take to form a sedimentary rock upon a shore, and when it is significant enough in size, can we count it as a moment (history)?
This introduces the idea that a sedimentary rock is a piece of time, a moment of time.
And do the giants of the future, kick us along the shore too?
We kick rocks along a shore, with all the moments it holds. Perhaps it was present a funeral, perhaps it was present at a birth. But now all we see if a rock, quite an ordinary rock. And will our history, be just a stone at the foot of a new consciousness, of a more “sentient” being.
Who's to stay?
Now I’m wondering, who will make it into this future.
And, what is distinguished in a future where we live in bliss.
And, briefly I go back - and ask, why does it matter that we can see/hear the layers (i.e. not just the dominant form, the one form) if life is a utopia.
It’s bliss they shout.
Some people of the future tell me it’s bliss.
Whilst other’s sit in line, waiting to be called, an audition for a role in a play written when “imagine you are a well known playwright, read my play and tell me if you think it is worthy or not. If it isn’t please explain why, with examples”.
But, can it be? Will there not always be people at the bottom of the pile. What happens to storytelling, when we have a Chat GPT which has read every play ever written?
There’s an absurdity, in my thinking when it’s observed by passers-by. Multiple lines along my face and their hands jarr the theory of the making of this world.
This draws a connection between nature and man, the individuality of the lines on someones hand and the layers of a rock. These lines are sometimes read to see our future. It it is many lines, not just one line (the line of innovation).
Although it shouldn’t - I exist.
Why is it that absurd?