Flocks (Journal of Visual Culture & HaFI, 46)
This is the forty-sixth instalment of a collaborative effort by the Journal of Visual Culture and the Harun Farocki Institut, initiated by the COVID-19 crisis. The call sent to JVC’s editorial board, and a wide selection of previous contributors and members of its extended communities, described the task as follows: „There is a lot of spontaneous, ad hoc opinion-making and premature commentary around, as to be expected. However, the ethics and politics of artistic and theoretical practice to be pursued in this situation should oblige us to stay cautious and to intervene with care in the discussion. As one of JVC’s editors, Brooke Belisle, explains: ‚We are not looking for sensationalism, but rather, moments of reflection that: make connections between what’s happening now and the larger intellectual contexts that our readership shares; offer small ways to be reflective and to draw on tools we have and things we know instead of just feeling numb and overwhelmed; help serve as intellectual community for one another while we are isolated; support the work of being thoughtful and trying to find/make meaning…which is always a collective endeavour, even if we are forced to be apart.'“ TH
By Isobel Wohl
Now that the leaves have fallen from the trees, we can see the birds more easily.
The other week my mother and I were walking along our road when we saw a group of tiny grey birds, heavily paunched. Each had a yellow spot on the top of its head and white streaks on its face. The birds hopped up and down branches only as thick as two threads together, and their beaks darted quickly as they seemed to find some food, maybe bugs too small for us to see. They took off and batted their wings fiercely and resettled on the next branch over. They ate more, took off again, and moved to the next tree. We walked with them. Sometimes one bird would grasp a branch with its long toes and hang below it, nibbling joyously at some movement above.
In the house, on the news, the election was still happening, and we were afraid. We had voted and volunteered and it seemed it might have just been enough but we were not yet sure. We had gone out into the world to get away from the news but we could not go far into the world because of the virus. The faces of our friends were dangerous. We missed the world and were afraid of it.
I asked my mother if the birds were chickadees. (Those are her favourite bird.) She said no. We left the flock we had been watching and began to walk more quickly back to the house. Soon we saw another group of the same tiny birds and among them a bigger one with a black marking covering the whole top of its head. It was on a sturdy branch. That’s a chickadee, said my mother, the big one, the kind of fuzzy-looking one. When we got back to the house we looked the smaller birds up in our field guide. They are called golden-crowned kinglets. They often travel in flocks with chickadees.
Isobel Wohl is a writer and visual artist from Brooklyn, NY. For seven years she lived in London, where she studied at the Royal College of Art. Her first novel, Cold New Climate, will be published by Weatherglass Books in April 2021.
04.01.2021 — Rosa Mercedes / 02
Hyperallergic über die Umweltbelastung durch Kryptowährungen aus Anlass jüngster Auktionen von NFT (non-fungible token)-Kunst: „This is not the first time the art world has come under scrutiny for being on the wrong side of the climate conversation. Artists and activists have protested everything from the carbon footprint of physical art fairs to the fossil fuel money funding major museums. But some say the energy consumption of cryptocurrencies is particularly egregious, and research shows it’s relatively easily quantifiable. A study by Cambridge University, for instance, estimates that bitcoin uses more electricity per year than the entire nation of Argentina. (Ethereum mining consumes a quarter to half of what Bitcoin mining does, but one transaction uses more power than an average US household in a day, according to the Institute of Electrical and Electronics Engineers.)“
Nicholas Mirzoeff on “Artificial vision, white space and racial surveillance capitalism”: “Based as it is on ‘epidermalization’ (the assertion of absolute difference based on relative differences in skin color), AI’s racial surveillance deploys an all-too-familiar racialized way of seeing operating at plan-etary scale. It is the plantation future we are now living in. All such operations take place in and via the new imagined white space of technology known as the cloud. In reality, a very material arrangement of servers and cables, the cloud is both an engine of high-return low-employment capitalism and one of the prime drivers of carbon emissions.”
Sara Ahmed on the performativity of disgust (from The Cultural Politics of Emotion, 2004): “To name something as disgusting is to transfer the stickiness of the word ‘disgust’ to an object, which henceforth becomes generated as the very thing that is spoken. The relationship between the stickiness of the sign and the stickiness of the object is crucial to the performativity of disgust as well as the apparent resistance of disgust reactions to ‘newness’ in terms of the generation of different kinds of objects. The object that is generated as a disgusting (bad) object through the speech act comes to stick. It becomes sticky and acquires a fetish quality, which then engenders its own effects.”
David Graeber (1961-2020) on What Would It Take (from his The Democracy Project. A History, a Crisis, a Movement, 2013, p. 193): „We have little idea what sort of organizations, or for that matter, technologies, would emerge if free people were unfettered to use their imagination to actually solve collective problems rather than to make them worse. But the primary question is: how do we even get there? What would it take to allow our political and economic systems to become a mode of collective problem solving rather than, as they are now, a mode of collective war?“
T.J. Demos on why cultural practitioners should never surrender, via tranzit.sk: „For artists, writers, and curators, as art historians and teachers, the meaning-production of an artwork is never finished, never fully appropriated and coopted, in my view, and we should never surrender it; the battle over significance is ongoing. We see that battle rise up in relation to racist and colonial monuments these days in the US, the UK, and South Africa. While the destruction of such monuments results from and is enabling of radical politics, it’s still not enough until the larger institutions that support and maintain their existence as well as the continuation of the politics they represent are also torn down. This is urgent as well in the cultural sphere, including the arts institutions, universities, art markets, discursive sphere of magazines and journals, all in thrall to neoliberalism, where we must recognize that it’s ultimately inadequate to simply inject critical or radical content into these frameworks, which we know excel at incorporating those anti-extractivist expressions into further forms of cultural capital and wealth accumulation. What’s required is more of the building of nonprofit and community-based institutions, organizing radical political horizons and solidarity between social formations.“