2023

About a decade ago, Hito Steyerl speculated that if a hypothetical alien archaeology were to start recovering material from the dawn of the digital age, the most abundant find would be spam. By 'spam', Steyerl means low-quality images reproduced in a virtual and unwanted environment, in particular faces and bodies distorted to the point where human representation becomes impossible. By cancelling out any relationship with reality, the lack of definition in this case means the impossibility of discerning the real reference of these images, disowning them to a field of self-reference. We could perhaps speak of a century of shadows, pixelised and ambiguous.

Steyerl's analysis, however, is complimentary towards spam, putting it in contrast with a series of concerns regarding privacy issues in the digital context. It's important to mention, however, that at the time phenomena such as Instagram 'lives' or 'stories' still belonged to the realm of science fiction and were therefore not included in this definition. In any case, spam is presented as a form of anonymity and thus of resistance. This resistance is aimed at two age-old questions. Firstly: what does an image really represent? Then: how will the future think of a present based on its representation? In short: how can an image produced in a period of photographic, graphic and visual exhaustion be thought of?

For Steyerl, the answer is clear. If we live in a period in which the image is brought to a point of exhaustion and this makes it impossible to attribute to the representation a real, expandable body that can be related to a framework of gestures, occupations, desires, failures, then the image can only represent anonymity, its negation. On the other hand, this picture of exhaustion also opens up a series of questions about what negation holds, what is hidden under the dimension of anonymity. And this is precisely where the interest lies in spam as a phenomenon of evasion of representation; as an image detached from a real, autonomous dimension, and thus as a strategy of resistance to a digital world of total exposure. Perhaps as the first step in an escape strategy. But what next? Is it possible to devise another strategy? Faced with exhaustion, will the realm of the imagination tend to deny itself or explore new forms of representation?

Considering this context, it makes sense to emphasise a certain interest in the extra-visible dimension of matter that has been noted in some artistic practices, particularly in relation to natural elements such as water or earth and the organisms and micro-organisms that inhabit it. This interest can be seen, for example, in the work of Diana Policarpo, Diogo da Cruz, Gabriel Ribeiro or Luzia Cruz, whose transversal line is an intersection between a speculative dimension beyond the realm of representation, immersing themselves in a field of post-human perspectives, and the appropriation of a scientific discourse as a fictional language. Sometimes this trait is revealed more at the narrative level, as in the practices of Policarpo and da Cruz. In other cases, such as Ribeiro or Cruz, the emphasis is on the material dimension. In one way or another, however, the intersection results in a speculative framework that focuses on dimensions that human knowledge has not yet been able to formulate, outlining a metahuman - or posthuman? - which is almost always positioned in a critical context in relation to the 'nature/civilisation' binomial.

"Ciguatera", a multimedia installation by Diana Policarpo presented in Venice as part of the exhibition 'The Soul Expanding Ocean' in 2022, is a clear example of this approach. Comprising two large rock sculptures, three video works and a sound piece, the installation combines the different elements to create a dialogue between a humanised sphere and an extra-human natural sphere. In this case, Policarpo focuses on highlighting the historical, testimonial dimension of marine rocks, contrasting it with a scientific and univocal vision, polluted by colonial preferences, omissions and power relations. "Ciguatera" is, in essence, the enunciation of the possibility of a history made from the perspective of the rocks themselves, thus proposing the cancellation of a hierarchy between culture and nature.

Similarly, Diogo da Cruz's work is situated between a fictional, speculative field and a scientific field, which assumes that the aquatic environment - in particular, the ocean - occupies an unfavourable position in a power relationship with civilisation, being both despised and idealised. In da Cruz, this relationship is subverted through satirical narratives in which human knowledge goes bankrupt, namely by confronting dimensions outside the realm of its language. The film "Hydrophilic Bounds", for example, presents a scenario in which the growth of an underwater civilisation threatens the amount of oxygen produced in the ocean, causing the death of hundreds of millions of people. As in Policarpo, here too the ocean floor is presented as a historical repository and political space, referring to the enslaved bodies thrown into the sea and deposited there over centuries of colonial trade routes.

Contrary to what happens with spam, practices such as those of Policarpo or da Cruz seek to situate themselves in a field of negation of representation through speculative elements, using narratives structured around the possibility of a post-human vision. In addition to the character, it is important to emphasise that this strategy of evading representation also has an important material dimension. After all, at the centre of the problematic common to these practices is the way in which natural elements are alienated by a logic of exploitation that consigns them to the status of mere objects. Recognising their perspective therefore implies reclaiming their bodies, insofar as a point of view requires agency. A historical view from the rocks, for example, thus implies removing them first and foremost from a position in which they are seen only as objects.

Indeed, Gabriel Ribeiro, whose practice focuses on the immobility of flora from a motor point of view, as well as its dependence on other agents to expand, certainly makes this position clear. Ribeiro works with a series of gelatinous materials and resins, with particular emphasis on agar-agar, a gelatinous seaweed extract capable of absorbing large quantities of water and remaining in a solid state in the form of a non-absorbable gel. The material exploration, which stages states of evaporation and dehydration in artificial environments, fundamentally seeks to realise the sensitivity of the material itself to its surroundings, thus serving as a stage and archive for a gesture, ultimately marking the trace of an exchange or transfusion. The extra-visible dimension thus enters a haptic, almost biographical domain, formulated as a gelatinous gaze in which the material breathes. 

On the other hand, Luzia Cruz's work merges the material field with the critical field, turning matter itself into a narrative element. In 'Feeding porcelain for a more sonic archeology', for example, cryonics and archeology merge into one dimension, resulting in an installation whose ultimate aim is to destroy a porcelain column through a process of over-fertilisation. The thematic relationship is sustained within the framework of an environmental critique, since all the principles that govern the practice of cryonics presuppose that the resources that maintain it will be inexhaustible, from the electricity that allows the machines to work to the idea that the world will continue to exist in the same way. In a way, this is the same principle that justifies the practice of fertilisation, which aims to maintain a stable level of soil nutrition and guarantee its future productivity. The exhaustion of porcelain thus appears as a negative of exhaustion, caused precisely by an outdated idea of productivity that foresees an inexhaustible consumption of resources.

But even if the itinerary proposed by these artistic practices succeeds in presenting an approach of dissent that does not vow to exclude, the truth is that it is not free of possible contradictions. Starting with its speculative nature. Is speculation a self-referential dimension of spam, or rather a critique of reality? If the former, then it runs the risk of isolation. In the case of the latter, the question remains unanswered: is speculative criticism an extension of the human imagination or an exploration of the possibility of dehumanisation? On the one hand, it could be a reflection of the exhaustion of the Anthropocene, a sketch or rehearsal of new ecologies. On the other hand, we can't rule out the possibility that this interest corresponds to the same dynamic of discovery that aims to decode the unknown in order to occupy it, precisely what the critical element aims to identify.

In any case, this is a tension that it may not be up to artistic practice to resolve. If it is now possible to map the seabed using sonar and represent it visually without water, as if it were a rendering of a mountain range on the surface, then it is likely that exhaustion and ambiguity are already a political element and not just an artistic one, a real element. By isolating itself in its own dimension, spam does not allow itself to contribute critically to this tension. It is therefore necessary to redefine strategies of dissent, preferably by finding a balance between exclusion and sustainability. Perhaps the above practices are an outline of this direction.

Originally written in Portuguese. Translated and published by Umbigo