How a trip to the Emergency Room with your 4 year old child becomes a point of departure for a photographic, digital art based series
How often do we find compelling interest in a barren landscape which presents us with perhaps a few trees, a running stream of water, mountains in the background, and a sky (which rally’s in hue modulation at the horizon line which is often obscured by the landscape itself) enough to represent the visage via readymade tubes of paint, brushes, and canvas?
The answer should be in the quantifier of ZERO, NEVER, NOT SINCE 1909 (unless we are re-invested in finding oral histories that have been shifted to the margins … yes we still have margins and no I will not discuss the implications of this for time sake) .
The discourse to support such answers are held within the qualifier of the break with Modernism, the fleetingly unstable Post Modernism, and the move toward what I am phrasing as the Pre-Second Renaissance.
Without entering into the entire debate, and standing with the assumption that the reader understands what kinds of computerized devices are carried by, or at least available to, nearly all humans in the world today. The cameras on our hand-held phones, along with the dozens of applications spitting algorithmic chaos in syncopated harmonies to alter and extend the visual photographic medium has surpassed our age old impaired lingual skills (or viral disabilities depending on what circles one subscribes to). Investigating the pulse of the three dimensional world thru this combination of form re-representers often fills what once was benign with a multitude of identifying signification, such that the eye of the audience has become perhaps more pliable, forgiving, and passive in its efforts to censor that which is pre-deliniated outside the realm of taste; the great variable in the algebra of successful art. Yet with less time to be all of that and more, we seem to be managing “pixel-time” with the great hashtag and are compelled endlessly.
Ryan Sloan, #transcendentalaccidentalism