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This experimental work posits artmaking, queer family-building, and human/animal bonding as three fluid, creative processes. Diaristic fragments of video document scenes in nature, a child at play, a staged therapy session, and moments of domestic and sexual intimacy. Go Ask Joan pays homage not only to the potential of technology as a communication tool, but, in the artists’ words, “magic accessed through the elders.” Poet Joan Larkin (b. 1939) features as The Oracle, whose image is seen in a black-and-white film projected on a wall. “If you want to be kin, you must hold my child,” she says, locking eyes with the camera.Dani and Sheilah ReStack, Go Ask Joan 6:23
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The screen acts as our primary medium for instant gratification — a means of communication, comfort and escape into fantasy. In THE FEEDBACK, all of these needs appear to be met, yet the female protagonist (assumed to be Petschnig) is left wanting more. The viewer sees the back of her head as she sobs softly, watching strangely transfixing videos on her laptop. These scenes alternate with full-screen captures of email fragments from art-world colleagues, laced with misogynistic advice (“show appreciation,” “remove yourself temporarily from the world you are creating”). Whether factual or fictional, this correspondence is an exploration of the collapse between critical judgment and personal attacks, and art and life.Maria Petschnig, THE FEEDBACK 6:57
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High Life juxtaposes details of paintings by Gustave Courbet and photographs of anatomical models with voyeuristic footage of couples shot from the exterior of an apartment building.Michel Auder, HIGH LIFE 6:23
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The aquarium setting of Dreamcast out of Space acts as a metaphor for institutional enclosures, spurred by the artist’s research into the surveillance state. As the video begins, this aqueous environment houses an octopus, a humanoid head, and a few organisms with hybrid fish-human characteristics. Birch used a genetic algorithm to code the characters’ movements, with the goal of programming them for escape. This underwater ecosystem evolves in unsettling, chaotic ways — the head vomits a gooey green substance, a row of carp grow human faces, boil-like protrusions develop on various beings. Ultimately the sea creatures appear as bioluminescent silhouettes against a black expanse, refusing any clear narrative of liberation — institutions, after all, are also shapeshifters, operating beyond physical limits.Phillip Birch, Dreamcast Out Of Space 5:00
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Aerosol Parasol Jump meditates on our disconnection with the natural world and the possibility of repair. Lambert’s work proposes that humans may be viewed both as interlopers and awkward extensions in this ecosystem of mutual dependencies. With a dash of humor, Lambert combines footage shot in her studio with watermarked stock imagery and DIY garden-pollination tutorials. Technology becomes an accomplice in human attempts to assist in floral reproduction, filling the void left by birds and bees. Disembodied hands lovingly caress pistils and stamens with Q-tips, scroll through phones, toss colorful salads and pour honey. Yet mankind is also revealed as a destructive agent, spraying substances from unmarked cans and chopping down trees.Carolyn Lambert, Aerosol Parasol Jump 7:01
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In untitled (theater), Marth Roth creates a montage that dramatizes the staging, preservation and destruction of nature by human actors. The video begins with a dreamy, slow-motion shot from the interior of a diorama, then quickly accelerates; images of natural history museums, greenhouses, zoos and manicured parks move almost faster than we can identify them. Through our scientific endeavors to study, categorize and ultimately subjugate natural phenomena, we create violent temporal upheaval with rippling environmental consequences. Roth’s unsettling collage of documentary-style footage — ersatz landscapes, museum onlookers, a baboon in a delivery box, and carcinogenic decay — delivers a foreboding sense of time out of joint.Martin Roth, untitled (theater) 3:17
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A woman sits in Central Park on a sunny day, reading and masturbating. What first appears like a straightforward documentation of her lazy afternoon begins to resemble a video game: The image orientation switches from vertical to horizontal, the point of view oscillates between the park and the woman’s perspective. A voiceover intones the passing of “stage one” as the camera pans to the sky and the woman’s excited breathing grows louder; when she finishes pleasuring herself, the voice announces, “challenge completed.” But Onanism doesn’t romanticize the act of public masturbation — it concludes with the woman’s voice reading an ominous, repetitive mantra confusing the terms self-help and self-hate.Keren Cytter, Onanism 8:06
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Michigander Michigoose (THE JOURNEY)
Travis Diehl
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