Decolonising the Digital: Technology as Cultural Practice is a collection of critical essays, showcases, and interviews by Australian experimental artists, and diverse digital media theorists.

How can we imagine communities that are not shaped by the human superiority? Who are we in the light of eco-critical imaginaries? What constitutes us? Who are the others that are to be included in our community?

This two-day online symposium seeks to address the aforementioned questions by engaging the dialogue between philosophy, neuroscience, anthropology and art. It will take place on 17 & 18 September 2020. The symposium will be held in English, fully streamed online, participation is free.

Programme

17 SEPTEMBER, Thursday

11:00—11:15 Opening & Welcome Speeches: Rimvydas Petrauskas (Rector of Vilnius University); Jonas Dagys (Director of the Institute of Philosophy, Vilnius University), Kristupas Sabolius (organizer, Institute of Philosophy, Vilnius University).

MORNING SESSION Moderated by Daina Habdankaitė

11:15 —12:00 Catherine Malabou (Kingston University / University of California Irvine) Not Mandatory: When Addiction Replaces Law

12:00 —12:45 Vittorio Gallese (University of Parma / Columbia University / Humboldt Universität) The Empathic Body. Embodied Simulation and Experimental Aesthetics

12:45—13:00 Break

13:00—13:45 Kristupas Sabolius (Vilnius University / MIT) We Are Milieus

13:45—14:30 Panel discussion: Catherine Malabou, Vittorio Gallese, Kristupas Sabolius, Scott F. Gilbert, moderated by Elizabeth A. Povinelli

14:30 —15.30 Break

AFTERNOON SESSION Moderated by Ignas Šatkauskas

15:30 —16:15 Rita Šerpytytė (Vilnius University) The Challenge of the Subject in the Face of the Real

16:15 —17:00 Ruslanas Baranovas (Vilnius University) Grammatology and the Sadness of Being Human

17:00—17:45 Chiara Bottici (The New School for Social Research) Rethinking the Human Through the Philosophy of Transindividuality

17:45 —18:30 Panel discussion: Rita Šerpytytė, Ruslanas Baranovas, Chiara Bottici moderated by Catherine Malabou

To start our run up to Halloween, Thogdin Ripley and Philippa Snow of avant-horror publishers Hexus Journal pick thirteen films that blur the worlds of horror and the avant-garde to frightening, funny and sometimes shocking effect Horror film and experimentalism in film go hand in hand.

It’s 2017 and computer graphics have conquered the Uncanny Valley, that strange place where things are almost real... but not quite. After decades of innovation, we’re at the point where we can conjure just about anything with software. The battle for photoreal CGI has been won, so the question is... what happens now? CREDITS: Written and animated by Alan Warburton with the support of Tom Pounder and Wieden + Kennedy. Music by Cool 3D World (cool3dworld.com/) Special thanks to: Leanne Redfern, Nico Engelbrecht, Iain Tait, Indiana Matine, Katrina Sluis, David Surman, Jacob Gaboury and Daniel Rourke. Animated backgrounds generously provided by: • Quixel (quixel.se/) • Katarina Markovic (youtube.com/channel/UCcr4QTtAK9N96pf_Z_zVqWg) • Roman Senko (vimeo.com/rendan) Featuring work by: • Al and Al (alandal.co.uk/) • Albert Omoss (omoss.io/) • Alex McLeod (alxclub.com/) • Barry Doupe (barrydoupe.ca/) • Claudia Hart (claudiahart.com/) • Cool 3D World (cool3dworld.com/) • Dave Fothergill (vimeo.com/davefothergillvfx) • Dave Stewart (vimeo.com/davegrafix) • Drages Animation (youtube.com/user/drakhean) • El Popo Sangre (vimeo.com/elpoposangre) • Eva Papamargariti (evapapamargariti.tumblr.com/) • Filip Tarczewski (vimeo.com/ftarczewski) • Geoffrey Lillemon (geoffreylillemon.com/website/) • Jacolby Satterwhite (jacolby.com/home.html) • Jesse Kanda (jessekanda.com/) • John Butler (vimeo.com/user3946359) • Jonathan Monaghan (jonmonaghan.com/) • Jun Seo Hahm (vimeo.com/junseohahm) • Kathleen Daniel (duh-real.com/) • Katie Torn (katietorn.com/index.html) • Kim Laughton (kimlaughton.tumblr.com/) • Kouhei Nakama (kouheinakama.com/) • LuYang (luyang.asia/) • Mike Pelletier (mikepelletier.net/) • Nic Hamilton (nichamilton.info/) • Pussykrew (hybrid-universe-emulation.net/) • Rick Silva (ricksilva.net/) • Sanatorios (instagram.com/sanatorios/)Cast: Alan WarburtonTags: CGI, computer graphics, uncanny valley, technology, software, art, film, history, catmull, pixar, ilm, VFX, animation, interstellar, Nolan, avengers, experimental, economy and cool3dworld

In his talk, Paolo makes a case of the origins of VR culture or rather counterculture. Notably by comparing two traditions of VR: the one concerned about extending cinema and simulating reality and the more psychedelic and visionary one that dominate the earliest research in the 90s and sci-fi.The latter has mostly disappeared and has been demonized in the mid-90, which is a great loss. Paolo will make sure this is brought back for indie developers to inspire from.

Paolo Pedercini | http://molleindustria.org/ Molleindustria | Italy Paolo Pedercini is a game developer, artist and educator. He teaches digital media production and experimental game design at the School of Art at Carnegie Mellon University. Since 2003 he works under the project name “Molleindustria” producing provocative games addressing issues of social and environmental justice (McDonald's videogame, Oiligarchy, Phone Story), religion (Faith Fighter) and labor and alienation (Every Day the Same Dream, Unmanned).

A MAZE. http://a-maze.net A MAZE. / Berlin http://amaze-berlin.de

Twitter http://twitter.com/amazefest Facebook http://facebook.com/amaze.festival

Video recording by SAE http://sae.edu Video editing by Nomi http://www.thenomi.com

A presentation I made for the Edge of Frame Weekend seminar at The Whitechapel gallery in East London, December 2016. Artists, curators and academics were asked to explore where experimental animation practice sits in relation to independent animation, visual art, histories and institutions. Rather than presenting papers, we were challenged to cite up to three works that illustrated our case.Cast: Alan Warburton

If you happen to find yourself in Sydney this week, you have the unique opportunity to have sex with the earth. You just need to stop by the "ecosexual bathhouse," which is currently part of the Syndey LiveWorks Festival of experimental art.

Paul Soulellis: Your recent work takes the form of animated GIF collages that convulse with explosions, weird animals and jerky gestures—scenes that are usually playful but often perverse. Most of it is presented in mad looping cut-out form, with jagged, silhouetted edges and sudden jump-cuts that have become your signature motifs. It’s easy to see how these GIFs harken back to early web vernacular, but I’m tempted to draw an even deeper trajectory. I see Stan Brakhage, Jack Smith, Maya Deren, and other experimental filmmakers in your use of the image as malleable, pleasure-seeking collage material.

Earlier works, like these compositions from 2010 and in particular this set focused on your mother’s jewelry, use sequences of tightly framed shots that construct almost conventional narratives. Presented as a stack or a linear progression, sometimes barely moving, the looping in these pieces is more “manual;” my gaze has to follow from frame to frame as I piece the story together.

Whether sequenced as a chain (narrative) or oscillating (disjunctive collage), your GIFs draw upon a distinct cinematic lineage. Do you seek to resolve these disparate ideas, or a synthesis between them, or something else?

In an experimental collision of chaos and purpose, glitch art exists as a low-key but important form of new media that broadly encompasses works of photography, video stills, moving pictures, and other image data that has been corrupted.

Combining French New Wave and social media, 'The Villains' - a pseudo-remake of Jean-Luc Godard's "La Chinoise" (itself a pseudo-remake of Fyodor Dostoyevsky's The Possessed). In this case, the film takes the group of young revolutionaries as a jumping off point but changes Mao with Marshall McLuhan, and when watched online, is collaged with other algorithmically-selected videos. View the full film for free at thevillains.org Read about it at ANIMAL New York here: animalnewyork.com/2014/artists-notebook-rhett-jones/Cast: rhett jonesTags: The Villains, Trailer, net art, experimental film, Godard, La Chinoise, data moshing, Marshall McLuhan (Author), digressionism, Appropriation (Exhibition Subjec, mashup, fair use, post internet, Remix, independent film, DIY, Do It Yourself, pixel shifting, Pixel Art and Glitch Art

An experimental movie featuring thoughts about wearable/fashionable technology, 3d printing, audio visual production and the deconstruction of reality. It was produced with a headmounted web-cam. I was wearing it half the monday to test how it feels and what it means to record everything you see and hear. The computer was processing the live image in a deconstructing way, doing basicaly the opposite of "augmented reality". In the evening I prodcued the soundtrack and cut together the movie. So the movie can be seen as a compressed view on my activities on this specific monday.Cast: leaving the planet

In “Prometheus as Performer: Toward a Posthumanist Culture?” Ihab Hassan uses the metaphor of the mythological Prometheus to frame his discussion on posthumanism and positions him as a trickster with a double nature that he wishes to reconcile. Hassan’s overarching argument about posthumanism is that it must be viewed as the representation of the convergence of two opposing aspects of our reality. These opposing aspects are not singularly defined, but have to do with the mind’s struggle to grasp the overlap of imagination and science, or myth and technology. Both Hassan and Neil Badmington (“Introduction: Approaching Posthumanism”) talk about how posthumanism is viewed as a “dubious neologism” that implies a sense of Man’s self-hate. Yet, both also insist that humanism is coming to its inevitable end, and that we must accept the transformation for what it is – the beginning of Man’s end, and transformation into the posthuman subject.

As one of the first theorists to discuss the emergence of posthumanism, Hassan begins by letting his readers know that he will not be focusing on postmodernism, but rather on the necessity of accepting that the human form is changing and in need of re-examination. He insists that there is nothing mystical or supernatural in the process leading us to a posthumanist culture, but that it is a “sudden mutation of the times” (Hassan, 834) where the conjunction of imagination and science, as well as myth and technology, has already begun. This process is able to move forward only once the human mind can begin to understand and accept the dematerliazation of life and existence.

Here, he is not speaking of the literal end of Mankind, even though he evokes the writings of Levi-Strauss in A World on the Wane, who stated: “The world began without the human race and it will end without it.” Furthermore, he also cites Foucault, who in The Order of Things wrote: “Man is neither the oldest not the most constant problem that has been posed for human knowledge [...] man is an invention of recent date. And one perhaps nearing its end” (Hassan, 843). Again, Hassan is convinced that this does not mean the literal end of man but the end of an image of man shaped by Descartes, Thomas More and Erasmus. He is talking about contemporary structuralist thought and how it emphasizes the dissolution of the “subject” and the destruction of the Cartesian ego, which has turned the world into an “object” that Man has mastered. On the contrary, the self, for structuralists and post-structuralists, is an empty place.

This is a predecessor of sorts for Badmington’s argument that over the course of the centuries, Man’s self-love has suffered, according to Freud, “two major blows at the hands of science. The worst was when they learnt that our earth was not the centre of the universe but only a tiny fragment of a cosmic system of scarcely imaginable vastness” (Badmington, 6). Here, Badgminton insists that “to read Freud is to witness the waning of humanism,” because “Man loses his place at the center of things” (Badmington, 5). Lacan, who for Badmington is the central anti-humanist, found himself, along with Althusser and Foucault, issuing “a warrant for the death of Man” (Badmington, 6).

Returning to Hassan, he argues that the death of Man is both the death of Humanism as well as the rise of the machine. To comment on the former, he insists that thanks to contemporary Western thought, Humanists have always insisted on dividing the mind into reason and feelings. Using examples such as experimental science and the incorporation of technology into the arts, Hassan argues for an undeniable convergence that has already begun, and the “unified consciousness” that Man must strive towards if it wants to evolve into the transformative homo sapien. Hassan cites Elizabeth Mann Borghese who argues: “Human nature is still evolving. The postmodern man may not be the same homo sapien. Posthuman philosophy must now address artificial intelligence, which is no mere figment of science fiction – it is alive in our midst” (Hassan, 846). The “chilling obsolescence of the human brain” does not know when or how it will become obsolete, but it must revise its self-conception.

Citing Arthur Koestler, Hassan discusses the possibility of the human brain as a mistake in evolution, asking: “Will AI supercede the brain, rectify or, or extend it?” While he does not provide an answer, he does say that AI will help to transform the image of man as well as his conception, as an “agent of the new posthumanism.” Hassan reminds us that visions of AI are not science fiction that are meant to shock us, as they are immediate and relevant thoughts. Technology is apparently no longer empowered by human reality (Heiddeger, 1966), and no longer responds to the human measure. Hassan wonders whether Man is too daring in his pursuit of technological extension, and whether “transhumanization” will lead to the literal end of Man.

Badmington also talks about the crisis that Man has put himself in through his involvement with technology, citing several Hollywood science fiction films that popularize the rise of machines as well as the transformation into the cyborg. Badmington insists that this idea addresses the crisis of Humanism by presenting us with the end of Man as we know him. He repeatedly cites the work of Derrida in the hopes of reiterating the necessity of rethinking the anti-humanist position. This article concludes with the insistence that Humanism never manages to constitute itself; it forever rewrites itself as posthumanism. This movement is always happening, and humanism cannot escape its inevitable transition.

My homage to iTunes 10 has been transcoded and extruded into another iteration! A collaboration with Alex Myers. You can hear, see and 3D print it at your own great expense in the forthcoming Run Computer, Run exhibition, Rua Red, Dublin.

DANIEL ROURKE + ALEX MYERS Daniel Rourke is a writer and artist. His work explores error, noise and kippleisation through words, sounds, performance and whatever ideas are to hand. He is one half of GLTI.CH Karaoke, an experimental performance platform exposing the course of accidents, temporary lyrical disjoints & technical out-of-syncs. Daniel writes regularly forRhizome.org and Furtherfield.org. He is currently undertaking a practice-based PhD in Art and Writing at Goldsmiths, University of London. machinemachine.net / twitter @therourke Alex Myers makes artgames to explore how accidental meaning/anomalous discourse emerges by breaking rule-based game spaces to disrupt player expectations and concepts. He is an Assistant Professor and Director of Game Studies at Bellevue University. Alex has exhibited at NP3 in Groningen,Nikolaj Kunsthallen in Copenhagen, Lab for Electronic Art and Performance, Berlin, Interaccess in Toronto, FACT in Liverpool, and LACDA in Los Angeles. www.alexmyers.info / twitter @aandnota

run computer, run : RAWerTUNES10.EXE (3Dude Remix) RAWerTUNES10.EXE is a noise-art album made in homage to the now late, (great?) iTunes 10 release. As iTunes 11 makes its way onto computers across the globe this album will remain as a media-archive of splendid noises transcoded from iTunes 10 executables. Exapted from the same raw code each track is now accompanied by its own ‘Dude’ ready to be 3D printed, at your own (great) expense. DANIEL ROURKE + ALEX MYERS Daniel Rourke is a writer and artist. His work explores error, noise and kippleisation through words, sounds, performance and whatever ideas are to hand. He is one half of GLTI.CH Karaoke, an experimental performance platform exposing the course of accidents, temporary lyrical disjoints & technical out-of-syncs. Daniel writes regularly forRhizome.org and Furtherfield.org. He is currently undertaking a practice-based PhD in Art and Writing at Goldsmiths, University of London. machinemachine.net / twitter @therourke

Alex Myers makes artgames to explore how accidental meaning/anomalous discourse emerges by breaking rule-based game spaces to disrupt player expectations and concepts. He is an Assistant Professor and Director of Game Studies at Bellevue University. Alex has exhibited at NP3 in Groningen,Nikolaj Kunsthallen in Copenhagen, Lab for Electronic Art and Performance, Berlin, Interaccess in Toronto, FACT in Liverpool, and LACDA in Los Angeles. www.alexmyers.info / twitter @aandnota

GLTI.CH Karaoke has been on hiatus, but that doesn’t mean its ceaseless energy has ceased! No. No. No. No. No. Spinning into my Facebook feed today was a piece at Slate on a new project by Raymond J. Lustig’s called : Latency Canons. Working with the New York-based American Composers Orchestra and a carefully tuned hookup on Google Hangouts, Lustig and his team orchestrate musical ‘canons’, pushing bandwidth delays into melodious syncopations between NY and Manchester, UK. The project is an obvious homage to GLTI.CH Karaoke, delivered with such a fine degree of modesty that Lustig was too embarrassed to mention us. That’s OK Lustig. We understand and hope to see the kitsch and high-art music worlds pulled closer together through projects such as this. How about putting the orchestra back into Karaoke? After all, the word KARA-OKE is a portmanteau coinage of KARA ‘empty’ and OKE ‘orchestra’. We love Latency Canons, lovely Lustig, and we’d like to sing with you. It’s exciting to see the potential of latency used to such creative effect. What’s more, to have such a strong emotional response from an audience, tweaked through simple, off-the-shelf software (this is the GLTI.CH Karaoke philosophy). The possibilities of latency play was explored to its experimental environs by Kyoung Kim, Ryan ⊥ Dunn and Edwina Portocarrero for their Supraconductivity series, delivered in the run up to GLI.TC/H 2112. The final ‘performance’ included an hour-long video chat in which Ryan battled extreme 3G latency and the cold Chicago winds in order to find and converse with a dog. It was a special moment, extended to 60 nail-biting minutes of glitches, audio-visual sludge and bandwidth feedback. The GLI.TC/H community revelled and regrouped, safer in the knowledge that LOVE OF FAILURE was what bound us. We have exciting project news to announce soon, but for now, keep Google Hangingout, TinyChatting and PLAY THAT LATENCY JUST LIKE LUSTIG!

In 1968, William Greaves conducted a filmmaking experiment in Central Park, wherein a film crew (directed by himself) filmed the non-existent movie "Over The Cliff", while a documentary film crew filmed the filming of the film, and another documentary film crew filmed the filming of the film of the film. The result was Symbiopsychotaxiplasm, [1h15m, NSFW (language and situations); trailer] an experimental film wherein the observers are observed observing of the observed, with Greaves attempting to capture real moments in contrived circumstances.

"Million Short is an experimental web search engine (really, more of a discovery engine) that allows you to REMOVE the top million (or top 100k, 10k, 1k, 100) sites from the results set. We thought it might be somewhat interesting to see what we'd find if we just removed an entire slice of the web." Developer Sanjay Arora, founder of Exponential Labs, explains the thinking behind his development of Million Short and its inverse, Million Tall, "which ONLY indexes the top million (or top 100k, etc.) sites."

My sprawling review of the Goldsmiths Art MFA Degree Show, 2011 Originally published by Groupe d’Etudes Interdisciplinaires en Arts Britanniques The labyrinth. Turning; coiling. An allegory of improbable human journeys. Physical; mental; spiritual. Beyond; behind; within. But underneath the mythos and symbolism labyrinths are simple structures. The maze is corners, mere corners. Unfurl them all and the labyrinth becomes a cul de sac; a doorless hallway; a vanishing point leading nowhere. Browsing an MFA final show can feel like an endless hall. No matter how many artworks you peruse, how many studio spaces you violate, how many £3 lukewarm beers on which you ruminate there’s always another curtain asking you to draw it back. I don’t mean to begin this review on a downer, indeed, given a few more paragraphs I hope to have you cursing yourself for missing this year’s Goldsmiths Postgraduate Degree Show. What I do want to do is move you away from the grand figure, the thread of Ariadne convincing you with its singular lineage that degree shows tell you something about the institutions that house them. Goldsmiths’ reputation, were I to spend 1,000 words bullying and poking at it, might tell us more in fact about the figure of the labyrinth than it does about the artists who have scrawled its name all over their curriculum vitae.

Consonants and vowels featured highly in this year’s degree show; ‘Nada’ carved in giant, pink wooden lettering marked a studio of ‘Nonsensical objects I made with my neighbours’, with no indication as to the identity of the artist (or the neighbours). The admission “I was going to install a video piece here but I fucked up” is scrawled in black ink on the cupboard of an electrical circuit breaker. Located on its own floor this year, the Art Writing MFA showcased words and sounds in ways the Fine Art show could not manage alone. Behind one particularly black curtain the text “This image has nothing to do with the video that shall begin imminently” overlays a freeze-frame of old age pensioners in a work by Liam Rogers. As the image finally ebbs away droll, haunting bass tones punctuate a narrative milieu: two black cats lounging in digital shadow; an extreme close-up of a flea, trapped between strands of human hair; a strutting chicken and the voice of Ayn Rand “I will not die, it’s the world that will die.” In another recess of the Laurie Grove Bath studios Noam Edry’s politically anarchic sketches and suggestive graffiti were being photographed, constantly and throughout the opening event, by two neutral looking observers. Upon entering the room my bag was searched by a mock custodian. To one side, beside a massage therapist actively working on the spine of a fellow ‘member of the public’, an arrow on the wall labeled “Groovy Little War Mix” pointed to a monitor propped-up on chunks of rubble. On its screen the letters G-O-L-D-S and M exploded in successive puffs of computer enhanced tom-foolery. Clutching university issue headphones to my ears I watched a performer dressed as a giant date taunt one of the MFA’s directors into dancing with her. Before I could move on to the next room (an imaginary ICA show on comedian Andy Kauffman, compiled by the Curating MA) a team of volunteers enthused me into having a Turkish coffee. Titles and scrawlings; etchings and subtitles continued to surround me. “Remember Taj Mahal, India” Johann Arens’ video work implored: “Close your eyes.” Caught between two HD flat-screen televisions (two eyes? two halves of the brain?) Arens’ work ‘Effect Rating’ engineers a confusion between the object and its representation. In this case, the object was the human brain, slowly conveyered into the centre of a donut-shaped MRI machine. The film blurs ‘actual’ footage and foam mock-ups of an MRI scan into a meditation on neuroscience and the art-object. Like the corpus callosum separating my cerebral hemispheres, I longed to be scalpelled in two, each half of me finally free to rove the rest of the show unhindered. In the basement, hidden by shadow, I followed my ears to another series of video works, this time by Jill Vanepps. Horrific flesh-puppet-orifices attempted to penetrate one another with elongated, furry tendrils. Two Davids (Cronenberg and Lynch) seemed to fight for recognition in these dark works meditating on the (dis)order of female puberty. A projector restricted with layers of tape and Vaseline punched me with its flickering half-light: “Witchlike” a woman’s voice said, “of low intelligence.” I listened, “Style…” alone, “comes out of conviction…” until other bodies came to linger with me in the dirge. This was an experience I wasn’t willing to share. Before I moved on to the more official looking Ben Pimlott building, I paused to consider the physics of Hirofumi Isoya’s sculptural works. Like computer generated frames, suspended in real space, Isoya’s works ‘After brick slips’ and ‘Test on a mimic facade of an experimental house’ monumentalise the equal-and-opposite-reaction. Made-up of a bed of smashed tiles with a wire mesh extended in a peak above it, each work isolates the physics of destruction in single, free-standing, art objects. Being a child of the freeze-frame, of time-lapse photography and ultra-high-speed video I had little trouble figuring the events that created these fragmented craters of tile and cement. Had I not the technical grammar I might well have seen in these works the splash of a hailstorm on the surface of a lake, or the arching curvature of a daphodil: each inverted wire trumpet spoke of wrecking-balls and flower petals just the same. Making sure the Goldsmiths brand still adorned its roof (they were CGI explosions weren’t they?) I entered the Ben Pimlott building. Winding its concrete staircase to the 3rd, 4th, 5th and 6th floors the second labyrinth of the evening seemed to offer its secrets more readily than the first. Spaces felt more open, corners more isolated, free-standing structures more free to stand. My beer was icy cold. Jie Hye Yeom’s works were the first to grab my attention. Video pieces projected on or nearby a series of awkward objects: a red ball with a 5-foot circumference; a grey plastic sheet quivering in the projector fan; a giant brain made out of builder’s insulation foam. From inside a long metal cylinder ‘The ffond’ coughed and spluttered from its projector, heating up the surrounding air that was then blasted into my face. A synthetic voice with a strong American accent narrates as the artist’s journey through the ffond, an imaginary engineering marvel connecting two distinct points on the Earth’s surface. The words “Where is here?” flash up, written in both Korean and English. A stooping old woman guides her through foreign wreckage, “Can you help me get to Korea?” In another work, ‘Solmier’, partially blinded by headgear made of baguettes, Jie Hye Yeom is guided through an African village by a giggling group of children. At the edge of the forest the artist stops, her mission accomplished. With glee the children gather around to eat her mask. On the floor above a cartoon tapestry welcomes me into a two-tiered space shared by Soheila Sokhanvari and Hans Diernberger. Parodying the work of Jeff Koons a taxidermied pony rests, snug, in a sculptural figure of a beanbag, or perhaps a balloon. As I nervously turned on my heels to leave a well dressed woman urges her children, in hushed tones, to leave the thing’s backside alone. In the centre of Diernberger’s space a rectangular recess sweeps the floor. Within it, prefigured on a video loop, we can see the head of a trampolinist directly from above. Bouncing carefully (presumably so as not to knock the camera mounted above her) she taunts us with a warm-up, the final elastic bound never arriving. On the top floor of the Ben Pimlott building the tone of the show takes a swerve as I reach the Art Writing MFA Postgraduate Show. A text by Tone Gellein asks me to unfold it in 4-dimensions. Sealed in a pretty glass cabinet are a series of etchings, like some blueprint for machines from other, equally improbable worlds. ‘Catalogue for Detecting Mystery Riders’ the wall exclaims, a work by Emily Whitebread. In another darkened video room (perhaps the 20th of the day) I wait for the loop of Jennifer Jarmen’s work to repeat. A dual-screen conversation ensues between Jennifer and a voiceless friend; between a ventriloquist and his dummy. The unmistakable voice of scientist V.S. Ramachandran ponders the role of the mirror in phantom limb patient therapy. As one video interrupts the other I feel the severed halves of my cerebellum stitch back into place once again. As the crowd began to trickle from the studios the night came closing in. On Tuesday morning the deconstruction will begin. Temporary walls will be torn down. A hundred projectors will be taken back to their dusty cupboards to lie forgotten for another season. Fragile sculptures will be dismantled and lugged home, piece by piece, on the number 21 bus. Perhaps amongst everything I’ve seen, every studio I’ve poked my head into or artist-contact-card I’ve stuffed into my wallet, a few works will make it into private galleries, or be mentioned in articles and essays like this one. In the pub someone asks me which works I think they’ll be. I shrug nonchalantly, “That’s up to the market, not you or me.” As I finish speaking a laugh erupts behind me. From my pocket, and trailing along the pub floor, comes a long reel of string. “Silly me,” I say to no-one in particular, as I begin to follow it back out of the pub, back through the grey South London streets, back to the labyrinth of the Goldsmiths’ Postgraduate Degree Show.

The debate over artistic research, particularly its appeal to scientificity, often rests on defining one’s terms. Thus, an examination of some of the keywords deployed might be instructive, especially when their circulation is grounded on an imprecision inherent in language. The connotative meaning of a word, if I may be forgiven for stating the obvious, can diverge greatly from what are often contradictory origins, allowing ideology to reify itself on a lexical level. Let’s examine the word science itself. It derives both from the Latin, scientia, “to know”—but also from the Greek, scienzia, “to split, rend or cleave.” That art can be “experimental” or follow a rational set of procedures in the creation of a work clearly denotes “scientificity,” but the modern (restricted) sense of science as a body of regular or methodical observations or propositions concerning any subject or speculation would,