This Distributed Social Cinema project arises out of my commitment throughout the years to developing new forms of storytelling with digital media. Beginning with experiments using live television and satellite networks, I began developing works that emerged from the complex multi-layered potentials of digital programming and network interactions. These earlier projects, which include the interactive cinema piece MAUVE DESERT: A CD-ROM Translation (based upon the experimental novel by French Canadian author Nicole Brossard) and the internet street theater series DESKTOP THEATER, grew out of my interest in the way that literary forms might be further developed within the digital media environment, as well as my interests in working with performers, and developing new publics for artwork.

The SPECFLIC project continues these investments in public encounters, live performance, literary inspiration and “new” media. EACH EVENT is formed from a template of the following elements: an iconic public building or space, a vision of that place in 2030, an ensemble of talented performers, pre-recorded and live aural and visual media, and experimental communications forms.[1] The pieces combine hi-and lo-tech elements and devices, making clear that neither the “future” nor the “past” are unique periods of time, but are constructed through both history and imagination. The project refracts the present through an image of the future, using the 2030 trope to create some critical distance on our present. Rather than offering this story to a hushed audience in a darkened room, the project casts the story onto its public: implicating each audience member within a shared future.

As of this writing, two versions of the project have been realized. SPECFLIC 1.0 was presented at The California Institute for Telecommunications and Information Technology (calit2) on the UCSD campus in October 2005. Its story focused on the near future of the public educational and research institution. Here I speculated a completely interiorized education in which students (here called researchers second and third class) were granted a completely free education (and pharmaceuticals) in exchange for their research labor and their participation as research subjects. I proposed a backstory in which the campus had moved fully “indoors” (due to a combination of weather violence, insurance pressures and in a bold move to create a community-wide living laboratory of sustainability. This primary narrative, was presented through a real-time media channel that delivered a combination of addresses from the chancellor (updating the community hourly on new research breakthroughs and support), condensed “lecturettes” and surveillance footage from all corners of the vast complex. Thus, the insider’s experience was communicated obliquely through one’s mediated encounters with a series of archetypal future characters (including the aforementioned chancellor, a researcher in the Iotragenic Disease Focus Lab, the nanojanitor (who cleans the clean rooms), and the new Inside Man from BioNeuroNanoComm (a industry rep from the company that had funded the move inside). This inside story was projected and streamed to an OUTSIDE audience; an audience cast as outsiders gathering in the building’s courtyard to live off of the Inside’s surplus of network, light, and food. Some among this group generate alternative models of living while others join together their obsolete technology castoffs to try and disrupt the Inside.[2]

SPECFLIC 2.0 took place in August 2006 at the Martin Luther King, Jr. branch of the San Jose Public Library and was presented as part of ISEA’06/San Jose Zero One Festival of Art & Technology. Its story was centered on the near future of books, the written word, and the public library. It is this version, I wish to further examine in this essay, particularly as it allows me to consider the possibilities inherent in the Speculative Social Cinema form.

The layers of SPECFLIC 2.0 extended in concentric circles beyond a large dual projection of a live “gateway” character, The InfoSpherian whose presence dominated the space most proximal to both entrances to the library building. As the audience moved away from her spectral voice-image and around the building, they encountered the elevated rear-projected “library story” with its related soundtrack. Live performers moved about, some in relation to a grid of images and text that formed a flashing visual border, some seeming to emerge from the audience itself. Piles of books formed convenient stools, an incognito SONY engineer solicited comments on a future book form,[3] and portions of text were served straight to patrons’ pockets.[4]

Additional media and performance layers were created through live “soundtrack” mixing and the use of spatialized audio. The sound artist collective, NEIGHBORHOOD PUBLIC RADIO, recorded interviews with digital luminaries and others assembled for the ISEA06 symposium. They asked a variety of people to speculate about the future of the book, the public library and the written form, and compiled the responses onto a CD. These interviews were mixed, live, by a local DJ, DJ Basura, forming a “soundtrack” for the outer edges of the event. As one moved closer to the building and the glowing image of the InfoSpherian, one became enveloped in her atmosphere and voice; as one moved further away, one’s attention shifted: to the Library Story emanating from the 3rd and 4th floors, the background music and interviews of DJ Basura, and more peripherally to the additional event performers and modules.

The FoolBook, as developed and performed by Melissa Lozano, was one of these “peripheral” characters. Wandering through the library grounds, the FoolBook was a cross between a homeless person, a raven and a Mayan curandera. Dressed as a distressed temp worker, she represents, through voice and gesture, those library patrons who view the library as a “place to go.” She still hovers over this future, distributing wordless books, and mumbling her incantation.

The BlackMarket Bookseller, played by Dominique Nisperos, crouches through the crowd, opening her layered trenchcoats to reveal her prize paperbacks. During the course of SPECFLIC 2.0 both of these characters were shunned by the audience. The BlackMarket bookseller was able to trade her books for money (she collected $9) and pizza, and was generally treated with pity.

The Sousveillance Grid is an experimental public display form created for use in SPECFLIC by IT developer Andrew Collins. The Grid allows an audience member equipped with a cellphone that takes photos to capture a picture at the live event and transport it to a server that displays these pictures in a dynamic, constantly updating 3×2 grid that is projected throughout the event parameters. Instructions flash occasionally as part of the display and audience members help each other post to the display. The Grid has a 160 character caption area which can be annotated by SPECFLIC crew members. Each version suggests a backstory to attach relevance to the use of the grid. In SPECFLIC 2.0, the SousVeillance Grid’s main goal was to serve as a dynamic “most wanted” poster, with the uniformed Attention Authorities, and audience members alike, sending up the likeness of those suspected of reading license violations. Elaborate code violations were assigned by the Chief Attention Authority Officer and attached to the image by her deputies.

I also repurposed an SMS Broadcast application named “Call 2 Communicate” by its developer Ganapathy Chockalingam to serve story fragments direct to people’s pockets. The application (as is the case with many of the applications SPECFLIC employs) was originally developed for use by US Homeland Security and First Responders in disaster zones. The simple system allows for an infinite number of cell phone “subscribers” to be simultaneously sent a text or voice message. For SPECFLIC 2.0, I invited local Science Fiction author Rudy Rucker to develop a txt-based story that could be delivered directly to each audience member via their cell phones. Rucker responded by writing a 25 message “koan” that echoed and punctuated the event, provoking the audience to further notice the unfolding particulars as they moved about the event.

In order to collect the cell phone numbers of the audience, I developed the idea of the “reading license” station. Encountered at the entrance to the courtyard, this station initiates the audience into the intellectual property themes and parameters invoked in the story. It also served to provide us with “digital IDs” (in the form of their cell phone numbers) to input temporarily into our system. Furthermore, it allowed for a performance of future bureaucracies, including a cryptic filter level assessment, even as it provided the audience member with a small “reading license” souvenir of the event.

These many layers (of performance, interaction and poetic narrative) are choreographed throughout the course of the evening’s event. Neither strictly controlled nor without a cohesive structure, the event attempts to discover the edges of what might be called a “storyscape.” As in the writing of Nicolas Bourriand, “Art creates an awareness about production methods and human relationships produced by the technologies of its day, and […] by shifting these, it makes them more visible, enabling us to see them right down to the consequences they have on day-to-day life.”[5] The future of SPECFLIC is not prophetic but speculative; an offering of a single narrative possibility that contains within it the power of the public to pierce its membrane, to resist and ultimately to create something else.

Foonotes

[1] These are “alpha” level social computing applications being developed by favulty and graduate researchers in Computer Science/Engineering at the University of California, San Diego (where I am a faculty research professor in computing and media arts).

[2] More details on SPECFLIC 1.0, including the characters and BaseStory can be found at www.specflic.net

[3] A pre-release prototype of the SONY e-book Reader was demonstrated at SPECFLIC 2.0 through placing project-related texts and visuals on its crisp small screen.

[4] Repurposing IT developer Ganapathy Chockalingam’s mass txt distribution application “Call 2 Communicate” originally developed as an emergency notification system.

[5] Bourriaud, Nicolas, RELATIONAL AESTHETICS, Les Presse Du Reel,France (English, January 1, 1998)

Photos by Chris O’Neal

Biography

Adriene Jenik is a telecommunications media artist who lives in Southern California. Her works, including EL NAFTAZTECA (with Guillermo Gomez-Pena), MAUVE DESERT: A CD-ROM Translation, DESKTOP THEATER (with Lisa Brenneis and the DT troupe) and SPECFLIC, harness the collision of “high” technology and human desire to propose new forms of literature, cinema, and performance. Jenik is an Associate Professor of Computer & Media Arts in the Visual Arts Dept. at the University of California, San Diego.

http://www.specflic.net
http://www.adrienejenik.net

In my practice as a cyberformance artist, time and movement are not the same as they are in the “real” world. Time stretches across the globe, becoming all times at once and no time at all; we search for a “new intuitive time zone” (NITZ) as we juggle days and nights. Movement is simultaneously reduced – concentrated into a digital dance at the keyboard and the subtle rearrangement of bits and bytes – and magnified – as my actions appear on screens around the world, causing ripples of response thousands of kilometres away.

How then to speak of suspended mobility in cyberspace? It’s both natural and nonsensical; always-already and impossible; ontological and paradoxical. In cyberspace, wild contradictions are often utterly logical. Perhaps this is because while our ethereal identities freely roam a timeless datasphere, our flesh and blood is always firmly rooted in a very different reality.

And so I offer these ten(tative) steps towards an understanding of suspended mobility in cyberspace.

I

When I think about suspended mobility, the image that won’t leave my mind is from my childhood. I’m six or seven years old; Dad comes home from work my sister and brother and I jostle around him, clamouring for a turn at “standing running”. It goes like this: Dad stands, legs apart, and holds one of us round the waist, legs dangling; the suspended child runs as fast as possible, limbs flailing wildly in the air, struggling in vain to escape and laughing like a lunatic. We love this absurd game of “standing running”. As well as the literal image of suspended mobility, I still carry with me my childish delight in the struggle to achieve the impossible – a most useful trait when tinkering with the tricky technology of the internet.

II

I’m suspended somewhere over the Pacific Ocean, or the Gobi Desert, or the Atlantic, restrained in my seat and compressed with a few hundred other humans also buckled in, (s)trapped together inside a steel prison, immobile yet hurtling through the atmosphere at the fastest speed we’ll ever experience, wiggling our toes and hoping we won’t get deep vein thrombosis. It’s in this privileged liminal space that I feel the most free. With few distractions my mind races like crazy across the terrain of What-if and Maybe, ranting a monologue in my journal. I gain and lose days, go backwards in time, eat strange food and disembark in an airport that looks suspiciously similar to the one I left hours ago. Do you ever spot continuity errors at the airport, when someone forgets to change a piece of the set or uses the wrong avatar, and you glimpse a little bit of India in Scotland? And have you ever noticed how the other passengers change en route from being, for example, all British when you boarded in London to being all Serbian by the time you land in Belgrade? What happens to us when we are suspended up there?

III

I’m standing in the centre of the stage with my laptop balanced on my head; it will take exactly ten steps to reach the table where I’m going to put it down. I slowly turn to begin the walk, and everyone in the theatre holds their breath for my ten careful steps. One foot follows the other through the extended moment of suspense, nothing else moves. In the stillness, the focus is so intense that I seem to float across the stage. The laptop rocks gently with each floaty step. If it falls, that will be the end of the show – this is not a prop! It doesn’t fall. I reach the table and sink down on one knee until the laptop is level with the table; the audience collectively exhales as I offload the laptop. A moment later I’m connected and a face appears on the screen from thousands of miles away. We are lovers separated, swimming towards each other, reaching across oceans, through cyberspace; geography warps, time folds in on itself – and we touch.

IV

Friday night, 9pm: I’m sitting at my laptop in New Zealand with a glass of wine, teaching a workshop at a women’s computer festival in Linz, Austria. Or: I’m sitting in bed in Brisbane at 7am drinking coffee and watching a live performance by artists in Europe. Or: I’m in a deserted art gallery in a virtual world, marvelling at how my avatar has completely deconstructed after sitting in a special chair. Or: we interrupt a rehearsal to project a live UpStage performance from Montreal onto the wall of the studio. I’m everywhere and nowhere, juggling time zones and continent-hopping on a daily basis. If I think about it too much it’s exhausting but most of the time it’s exhilarating.

V

Nobody here speaks English. I move around the festival encased in a bubble of other people’s stale cigarette smoke and fragmented Frenglerbiski eaves-droppings that I catch on a piece of paper and laugh about later. Time balloons in and out grotesquely instead of obediently marching forwards, then abandons us completely. I realise that it’s inevitable, neizbezno je, surrender is the only response and so I do. A year later I return to find workmen digging up the centre of town in exactly the same place as before. My friends explain that last year the sewage pipes were replaced, this year it’s the telephone cables. I wonder what it will be next year – the electricity, I suppose. Meanwhile broken bridges still sag into the river, solid reminders of an unreal episode that many people believed could never happen there. They were proved wrong.

VI

We’re in the middle of a rehearsal and I’ve got lag; my fellow players carry on without me, perhaps not even aware that I’m frozen. I’m typing frantically – frustratedly waving from my end of the connection, but in vain – it’s as if I’m contained within a glass cage and nobody can see or hear me calling out to them. It feels like an eternity but it’s probably only a few seconds before the lag suddenly breaks and everything I’ve been typing spews onto the screen in a flood of speech and text. Oh, someone says, I thought you’d gone quiet … and we continue. Lag happens, even on the fastest broadband connection. It’s unpredictable but inevitable, and key to the liveness of cyberformance. When there’s no lag, people have trouble believing it’s live. Moments of lag allow the audience into the reality of live performance. There’s a shared nervous anticipation, the risk of failure, the possibility of disaster; and a shared sense of relief and survival when the lag breaks and disaster is averted.

VII

In a “rogue” state in some half-forgotten corner of the globe, thousands of people put their regular lives on hold, pack their secrets into small parcels and set off in a slow silent march to an unknown destination, walking through the night and hiding during the day. Everything stops except the impulse to move on, to survive. Later I watch their progress on television, and read about it in newspapers that turn their desperation into headlines that sell. The people gaze out at me from an anonymous tent city where they wait for lawyers and politicians to make decisions that will determine the next steps they take; temporary residency? or deportation? Until then, they wait. It might be days, weeks, months, years. I try to imagine what that would be like, the waiting, but even my best efforts at empathy can’t shake the underlying conviction that I’ll never be in that situation myself. And I wonder if one day I’ll be proved wrong.

VIII

We’re so excited we’ve got a residency! For the first time ever, the four of us will be in the same room together, the first time that some of us will actually meet in “real” life. We’re so excited that when Karla and Leena finally can’t raise the money for their airfares, we refuse to accept that they’re not coming. We set up a blog and they post about their preparations and their journeys from the other side of the world. They get jet-lag and culture-shock and they stumble up against the obstacles of the local environment. A series of natural and unnatural disasters prevent them from joining Vicki and I at the residency, which is a two-week group residency with 25 artists from New Zealand and overseas. The other artists accept our explanations for Karla and Leena’s invisibility, and share in our insistence that they are here, our faith that they will show up. They always do. And of course they do appear at the last minute – texting from Immigration as they’re about to be deported, trading Finnish vodka for ten minutes online to appear in our final presentation. They were there, You can ask anyone.

IX

The surgeon wears white gumboots like an abatoir worker; apparently I joke with him as I’m wheeled out of the operating theatre, but my memories begin moments later when I’m suddenly wide awake, numb from the waist down and high as a kite – feeling great! Then the morphine wears off and I begin to appreciate the incursion that my body has endured. Later, after bed-rest, physio, walking with crutches then a stick, the gym, the swimming pool – much later I hold my femoral head in my hand and contemplate this externalised piece of my skeleton, this first little death. Later still, I get used to setting off airport metal detectors, and accept with some disappointment the smallness of the new scar. I have my mobility back!

X

I am perfectly still apart from my fingers, which dance dexterously across the keyboard, each keystroke contributing to the shape of a performance that’s being watched around the world. I have to be physically fit to do this – swimming, tai chi, yoga, warming up my fingers and wrists like a concert pianist – it all helps to avoid repetitive strain injuries, bad posture, cramps, stiff neck. Cyberformance is physically demanding. I jump from one application to another – performing in UpStage then chatting back-stage via Skype, referring to the script in a text editor, adjusting my web cam in Oculus and remembering to check my email for SOS calls from lost audience members. During rehearsals it’s even more intense as I’m also surfing the web for material, whipping up a new avatar in a graphics application, downloading images from my camera and getting text messages from someone who’s running late… All of this activity is concentrated in and around my laptop, lines of energy buzzing between my fingers, eyes and ears. My body is the still centre of a data whirlwind.

In the suspended mobility of cyberformance, now is all there is and here is cyberspace.

And yet it is not, it is not that at all.

Photos by Suzon Fuks

Biography

Helen Varley Jamieson is a writer, theatre practitioner and digital artist from New Zealand. She is currently undertaking a Master of Arts (research) investigating her practice of cyberformance at Queensland University of Technology. Since 2002 she has worked with the globally distributed cyberformance troupe Avatar Body Collision, devising and performing live performance using internet chat applications. The group began to develop their own purpose-built cyberformance software, UpStage, in 2003, and the second version was recently celebrated with 070707, a festival of performances in UpStage. Helen is a trustee of the Magdalena Aotearoa Trust and the web queen of the Magdalena Project, an international network of women in contemporary theatre.

www.creative-catalyst.com
www.avatarbodycollision.org
www.upstage.org.nz

Je rentre à Paris pour deux mois après six mois passés à Montréal où je m’installe pour quatre ans. Paradoxalement je me sens étrangère dans un Paris que je connais si bien. Si Paris est ma ville, si tout m’est automatique (les rues, les stations de métro, le sac collé au ventre et les faces mornes des gens) mon « moi » ne se trouve plus là. Je ne sais pas trop où il est d’ailleurs, entre Paris et Montréal, sûrement au milieu de l’océan. Cette distance, qui fait désormais partie de moi, me permet un regard plus détaché, plus critique aussi sur la vie parisienne aujourd’hui.

A Paris, il fait gris, mais ce n’est pas tant le climat qui rend l’atmosphère lourde, c’est un ensemble : les gens courent et ne marchent pas, tout doit se faire vite et tout passe par l’image, tous, partout, « font » de l’image. Une femme passe à vélo, simple et souriante, mais son sourire s’adresse à un caméraman de la télévision qui la suit en scooter. Les téléphones portables sont dans toutes les mains, chacun transporte son petit monde en soi et pour les autres. La vie privée se déverse, très fort et à toute vitesse dans le flot de pas et d’images qui circulent en masse.

Ces images reprennent bien les clichés touristiques de Paris. Un Paris haussmannien s’offrant en déclinaison de gris dans lequel se déchaînent un Paris bohême et un Paris populaire qui ajoutent couleurs et brin de folie à ce décor de maison de poupée. Paris s‘étire comme une série de carte postale. Paris s’imagine. Et la politique en est le premier reflet. M. Sarkozy s‘étale, s’affiche partout et sur toutes les lèvres, car le nouveau gouvernement est avant tout un grand spectacle : des marionnettes qui stigmatisent « l’ouverture », « la novation », jusqu‘à « la féminisation », alors que la politique française s’enferme plus que jamais dans une vision conservatrice, sécuritaire où le travail, la famille et la patrie sont les refrains quotidiens. Face à ça, j’ai peur de marcher dans une ville qui n’est plus qu’une image : celle du journal de 20 heures. J’ai peur aussi de retrouver ces gens, mes amis qui se sont battus et ont souffert dans leur chair l‘élection de M. Sarkozy. Alors que moi, éloignée, absente, je ne pouvais que regarder et frémir à distance sans vivre cette invasion. Et pourtant l’invasion est palpable partout : les émissions de radio un peu trop gauchistes ferment sur les ondes publiques ( La Bande à Bonnot sur France Inter). Les émissions de télévision qui dissèquent l’image ne sont pas renouvelées (Arrêt sur images sur France 5). L’image est partout mais c’est une image muette, vide de sens et, « officiellement », vide de propos officiels : une image action, une image refrain sans trop de parole et avec beaucoup, beaucoup, de faux reflets.

La mobilité rend errant. J’erre dans une foule compacte qui ne semble pas vouloir s’arrêter et, en même temps, je reprends vite des automatismes laissés. J’aurais aimé rester sur mon nuage de touriste dans ma ville, mais le plan de métro s’affiche déjà dans mon cerveau, mon pas court, je ressens un manque immense de ne pas avoir de téléphone portable pour communiquer sur tous et toutes, sur tout et rien et par-dessus tout je suis envahie du sentiment profond d‘être toujours en train de manquer quelque chose. Partout des cinémas, des théâtres, des expositions avec à chaque porte une foule de plus en plus dense qui s’oppresse et presse une soif de culture jamais étanchée. Un besoin culturel dicté par Télérama et les lois du marché, il faut voir cette expo, ce film, il faut profiter de Paris, capitale culturelle, mais de quelle culture parle-t-on ici ? C’est Mozart qui sonne sur les téléphones portables, et ce sont ces mêmes téléphones qui, transformés en appareils photo, capturent nos vies pour en faire œuvre, pour en faire œuvre ? vraiment ? Chacun mitraille sa voisine, son voisin, « un truc rigolo »… mais surtout chacun s’affiche, « paraît ». Chacun devient image, une image qui se crée, qui se meut, une image qui perd peu à peu son opacité, sa densité humaine pour devenir une ombre, mais une ombre médiatique (ou si ce n’est médiatisée, tout du moins médiatisable). Et dans ce jeu de reflets, les arts médiatiques imprègnent la ville, la vie et jusqu’au pas des gens. Le Centre Pompidou ne s’y trompe d’ailleurs pas, quand il expose « les airs de Paris », un projet qui veut montrer les différentes représentations de Paris au fil de l‘évolution des technologies artistiques, le portable (mot révélateur désignant l’ordinateur ou le téléphone dans le dialecte parisien) trouve une place de choix dans ce travail. Le catalogue de cette exposition insiste sur le fait que l’ordinateur et plus généralement l’image numérique ont radicalement changé notre perception de la ville, car ils ont transformé notre être citadin, notre « être à la ville ».

Dans ce monde d’image où chacun cherche à se faire voir, les « professionnels » de l’information et de l’art sont de plus en plus discrédités. Armé de téléphones portables, transformés en appareil photo ou caméra vidéo quand il faut, chacun se met en scène dans la ville. La ville devient matière première d‘événements (informatifs ou artistiques). La ville, c’est-à-dire le quotidien, le tous-les-jours, le chacun en soi et pour soi. Les gens construisent, toujours en courant d’ailleurs, des micro-bulles qui, si elles se déplacent, ne se confrontent que rarement aux autres. Cet environnement est poussé à son apogée dans le métro : chacun rêve et se rêve à l’aide d‘écouteurs et de portables dans un lieu clos où s’entassent des milliers d’autres rêveurs. Le portable multifonction (possédant lecteur de musique, de télévision, même de jeux vidéo et jusqu‘à internet) devient la porte d‘évasion dans un métro plein à craquer qui n’avance, de toute façon, jamais assez vite. Mais ces multitudes de fenêtres qui s’entassent, comme autant de voyageurs dans les wagons, ne sont pas, pour autant, des aires de communication. Le téléphone portable, élément de communication par excellence, devient outil premier d’isolement. Et quand une voix traverse le silence de ces milliers de bulles pour crier : « j’entends rien, je peux pas te parler, je suis dans le métro », chacun se sent trahi, envahi, transpercé de toute part par ces mots dénués de toute signification logique (si on ne peut pas parlé on ne décroche pas un point c’est tout !). Et des centaines de regards vitreux lancent à la voix (et non pas vraiment à la personne) un jet de reproche et de mépris qui semble dire : « mais qui es-tu pour oser traverser notre monde ? » Finalement, pour oser déverser tout haut une intimité que chacun cultive tout bas. Car ces milliers de bulles constituent des mondes individuels et fermés qui ne s’adressent qu‘à la personne qui les crée, ou qui croit les créer (les entreprises de communication sont en effet là pour faire naître le besoin, l’envie et jusqu’au goût de chacun). Les films, les informations, les musiques, les images sont à portée de bouches et d’oreilles alors que la personne en face, le visage presque collé au notre, s‘éloigne de plus en plus dans une mer de communication à sens unique.

Cette incompréhension première, cette incommunication radicale constitue le facteur élémentaire d’une politique répressive et populiste. L’homme politique d’aujourd’hui doit s’adresser à chacun, l’enfermant dans sa bulle et valorisant l’individualisme au détriment d’une pensée sociale. Et ce principe devient problème, problème de médiatisation, bien sûr, mais problème de politisation surtout. Chaque lutte s’enregistre et chaque lutte doit faire image pour avoir une valeur, une existence. Ce jeu d’image sans reflet stigmatise chaque action, qu’elle soit gouvernementale ou manifestante. Chacun mange, happe, capte l’autre avec pour seule résonance, avec pour seul motif les gros titres des médias. Le gouvernement pose avec beaucoup de bruit des lois qui dans les faits sont anti-constitutionnelles, les militants, de leur côté, savent qu’une voiture brûlée, c’est une minute assurée au journal de 20 heures. Pour la génération actuelle il ne s’agit plus de descendre dans la rue pour s’assurer une place au soleil, comme l’a longtemps symbolisé Mai 68, il faut organiser des actions pour espérer un regard médiatique. La lutte s’organise à court terme, celui du journal télévisé. Et ce sont ces petits mondes d’imaginaires individuels, collés à défaut d’espace et de temps, qui forment une société. Une société parisienne énigmatique et si peu représentative finalement de la France dans son ensemble.

J’erre dans cette ville d’images, dans ce monde de bulles comme si je suffoquais ou tentais de nager dans une bouteille de champagne qu’on a trop secouée et qui semble sur le point d’exploser. Est-ce que c’est ça Paris ? Est-ce que ça a toujours été ça ? Ou est-ce moi que ne m’habitue plus à ce rythme effréné où chaque moment m’apparaît comme un sprint final, comme la dernière ligne droite. Mais la ligne droite de quelle course et pour mener où ? J’ai dû manquer une étape, je ne vois pas pourquoi il faut courir, je n’arrive pas à m’attacher à une image, je ne me sens plus trop à ma place.

Oui, la mobilité rend errant.

Biographie

Emilie Houssa est née le 10/05/1983 et de nationalité française. Elle étudie en première année de doctorat à l’UQÀM sous la direction de Vincent Lavoie.

Mon sujet de recherche porte sur les nouvelles formes visuelles d’information au regard des technologies médiatiques contemporaines. Le champ d’analyse spécifique pour ce projet est le cinéma documentaire. Ces recherches s’appuient sur de nombreuses questions tels que la notion de contre-information ou le problème de document immédiat. L’enjeu est de définir les nouveaux « types » d’image d’information contemporaine et d’en déterminer l’impact sur nos sociétés.

“Interact or Die! is about the way in which random behavior in networks creates strong but flexible structures and forms, without there being a central designing coordinator or code that pushes the process into a definite direction or form. It explores how interaction both forms and selects the effective, functioning parts of networks and leaves the noneffective parts to die. “ (Joke Brouwer and Arjen Mulder, Interact or Die!)

DEAF (Dutch Electronic Arts Festival) happens every two years in Rotterdam (Netherlands) and is organised by V2_, Institute for the Unstable Media, which celebrated its 25th anniversary in 2007. The international and interdisciplinary biennale focuses on art, technology and society and brings together artists, researchers, activists and academics around an ambitious program of seminars, workshops, performances, concerts, a symposium, and a large exhibition. The festival, organised around the theme of Interact or Die! , ran from April 10th to 29th 2007 but I had the opportunity to catch some of the many events, which took place between the 11th and 16th of April.

DEAF07 featured a series of seminars such as Critical Ecosystems, Not Everything is Interaction, Connected Archives and Transdisciplinary Innovation. Taking place at V2_ and accompanied by a reader, the seminars brought together artists, researchers, and industry in order to tackle the concept of interaction. In general, the wide-ranging mix of backgrounds brought about some interesting moments characterised by conflicting views mostly relating to the role of industry. The last day of seminars (on transdisciplinary innovation), for instance, juxtaposed a presentation by a representative of Philips Research and others by various ‘non-industry’ researchers (e.g., V2_’s Patchingzone, Culture Lab Newcastle). Judging from the group discussion that followed, the assumption was that researchers aiming to tap into diverse registers of knowledge to further ‘transdisciplinary innovation’ are ‘progressive’ whereas industry doing the same is ‘dangerous’. However, the presentation for Patchingzone was no different from a basic business plan, complete with the powerpoint presentation which included ‘motivations’, ‘products’ and ‘market’. To be sure, the links between industry, the ‘cultural industry’, electronic arts, the academy, and the military are very topical. The Interact or Die! seminars apparently set up the stage for self-criticism, but it seemed to me they did not take fully advantage of it.

In the more overtly political programming of events, an innovative strategy of presentation took the format of the DEAF07 Snack & Surge Brunches. Taking place in the V2_Studio, audience members entered the premises where they were offered a tray of guerrilla edible goodies out of a colourful van before taking a seat amongst fake flowers and astro turf (food art courtesy of Anders Eten, gewoonbob.com). Attempting to “create a performative and gastronomic theatre of operations addressing political, technological and artistic questions relating to the poetics of power”, the brunches featured a diverse menu of presenters, including some via webcam (but not without some technical difficulties). Focussing on media activism and tactical media, the brunches included projects of uneven quality and surprisingly did not favour much discussion or interaction with audience members or even between panellists, despite the conviviality. Minus the buffet, the fake garden and the vans, the brunches continued to embrace the ordinary panel format. However, notable projects of interest included urban walks connecting NYC/Baghdad and Tel-Aviv/Gaza via You Are Not Here.org (Thomas Duc, Mushon Zer-Aviv, Kati London, Dan Phiffer, Leila El-Haddad), the ongoing participatory film Muslims or Heretics (Naeem Mohaiemen, shobak.org), and the “rebel territory” serving as an exchange between Extramadura (Spain) and Latvia under the project Emergent Geographies (periferiae.net and hackitectura.net).

Another innovative peculiarity of DEAF07 was the space dedicated to China in presentations and exhibitions alike. Of course, this reminds me that there is generally no need to mention “American media arts”, “German media arts”, or “Dutch media arts” as the cultural divide between the ‘West’ and the ‘East’ still prevails. Within the tension between striving for inclusiveness and reiterating exclusiveness, the programming of artworks and projects coming from China nevertheless successfully exposed the audience to a diversity of practices coming from China, also raising issues of precarity. For instance, the Global Bending Conferences introduced a number of projects with the potential for developing strategies of cultural exchange (including in Antarctica with I-TASC or the Interpolar Transnational Art Science Constellation). Yet, their restricting globalization to four panels did not favour critical discussion of “globalization” in the rest of the festival, for globalization remains relevant at all levels.

Indeed, many ‘interactive’ artworks and installations by Chinese artists were featured in DEAF07’s large exhibition situated at Las Palmas Center of Culture, Image and Sound, a new venue in Rotterdam still in construction at the time of the festival. However, the exhibition was the most disappointing aspect of the festival. Its presentation seemed to have been the product of speed curating, with the stronger works having already been shown elsewhere. Most importantly, the exhibition left an impression that interactivity equals gadgets and big or noisy, manly machines. Surprisingly, the issue was addressed in the Interact or Die! catalogue via an interview with Brian Massumi on interactive art, “[t]he problem is: in what way is this different from a game? Is this doing something that mainstream informational capitalism isn’t already doing, ever so profitably, by generating the gaming paradigm?”[1]

On the other hand, some of the most intriguing artworks for me were the ones that highlighted physical and chemical types of interactions, such as Ondulation (2004) by Thomas McIntosh and Roots (2005-6) by Roman Kirschner, respectively. Another strong work was Surrounded (2004) by Yang Zhenzhong, a very clever 360 degrees installation with effective impacts on subjectivity and affect. With the exception of a few works, the exhibition felt indeed quite ‘masculine’. Furthermore, if it is a truism that every work of art is at some level ‘interactive’ since perception is action, then what is the relevance of “interactive art” and how does it inform or is informed by the dichotomy of non/interaction? Again, one can read in the catalogue:

Interactivity liberates us from the hundred of years of solitude of twentieth-century art. Interactive art makes the realization flash up that there is actually no “I” [...] Since interaction means changing each other, and only that which interacts with us is alive for us, we are changing everything around us as much as we are being changed by it – nature and technology, loved ones and strangers, room and city, bed and world. Interactive art is the art of the age of globalization. [2]

This brings us back to a fundamental question: what does it mean to organise a festival around the theme of Interact or Die! ? With such as wide-ranging and ambitious program, it is surprising that Interact or Die! failed to seriously address half of its theme – that is, the dying part. Or the political economy of interaction, so to speak. What is implied by death due to the lack of interaction? Should not one address the “non-effective parts” left to die?

The problem can be seen as being two-fold. First, Interact or Die! expresses an imperative, an ultimatum – it implies a sense of urgency, an obligation to interact in order to avoid death; interaction is thus presumed to be essentially positive. Second, it posits that death is the opposite of interaction, or at least, that the two cannot overlap – one either interacts or dies. There is no space for an alternative where one chooses to not interact in order to not die. Interact or Die! presents the issue in such a way that the question “Why interact at all?” becomes non-existant. Why would it be since the assumption is that any non-interactive element is dead, gone, nothing.

If one returns to the catalogue, it would seem that Interact or Die! might have emerged out of biological and philosophical conceptions of interaction, with several references to the work of philosopher Gilbert Simondon on top of a few contemporary biologists. Simondon’s philosophical intervention emerged out of a particular political climate: the 1950s technophobia. Although Simondon’s insights remain marginal or even ignored today in various circles when they could bring a better understanding of a more complex relation between technology and life, we now live in a slightly different age, filled with the pressures and dynamics emerging out of Facebook, Myspace and so on. For instance, ‘self-organization’ as a concept is not only a scientific one but very much a political one. Quoting Massumi again, “I think it’s important to remind ourselves that there can be a kind of tyranny to interaction. Interactivity is not neutral with respect to power.” [3]

The Interact or Die! program booklet mentions the ‘sloppiness’ and ‘messiness’ of interaction as being positive. That is, the need for flexible and temporary structures able to continually reorganize and adapt, as opposed to “rigid blueprints, that mostly understand interaction within a cause and effect process, [which] offer no solutions to today’s big social and ecological problems, such as global warming, immigration, multiculturalism, cultural dynamics and the effects of globalization.” Interestingly enough, the program lists immigration and multiculturalism as “problems” (hopefully a problem of translation from Dutch to English?). Again, Interact or Die! as an idea is extremely relevant today, but from my fragmented experience of DEAF07, it seemed that it was not addressed seriously enough in a way that would have been challenging to current conceptualisations of interaction and interactivity. As DEAF07 speaker, Saul Albert, comments:

DEAF really characterised what I find uninteresting about ‘interactivity’ in media art. For the last 10 years net culture and ‘media art’ have subsisted between institutions and traditional art markets, strung along by this kind of festival. What became apparent to me while visiting the exhibition and many of the panels, which – probably due to the insane pricing policies – were peopled almost entirely by other DEAF presenters and participants, was that this kind of art, and festival, and the discourses on offer are only really interesting to a niche of people who are already involved enough to participate.

This isn’t necessarily a bad thing. I like participatory culture – it’s just that the routes into participation were often so limited, that the only ‘interaction’ required was really quite superficial.

My feeling was that the culture of DEAF – which I only glimpsed in very peripheral vision – was a stifled tumult of political, fiscal and institutional struggles. This didn’t leave much space or time for self-criticism or experimentation in terms of how far the ‘interactive’ element could be taken – structurally – into the festival itself.

Although DEAF07 raised the topical issues of interaction and interactivity, it lacked the venture of confronting what types of interaction are being referred to exactly. If interactive art is arguably the “art of the age of globalization”, and if self-organization and participation are being promoted as productive of diversity in structures, the idea of Interact or Die! becomes a highly political proposition and is infused with responsibility. For instance, DEAF07 even demonstrated simple “problems of access” to V2_’s 25th anniversary celebration evening, conforming to the elitist model of art gatherings. In the end, the irony is that, like in any large happening, the most interesting interaction happens outside of the event. As DEAF07 speaker, Naeem Mohaiemen, puts it:

[_The best interactions I had were all in real time, sitting in a sidewalk cafe with the Shift_Space crew — making fun of Rube Goldberg contraptions, mullets, and bomber jackets on Rotterdam streets. But there was a very well organized process set up for us to interact with others across borders and via webcam, audio linkup, skypechat, etc., what have you. Sometimes I get exhausted with all that machine process, that’s where spontaneous sidewalk combustion comes in handy. My father always says, “interaction”, that’s what we used to call “talking”._]

Footnotes

[1] Massumi, B (2007). “the thinking-Feeling of What Happens” In Joke Brouwer & Arjen Mulder (eds.) Interact or Die! Rotterdam: V2_Publishing/NAi Publishers, pp. 76-7.
[2] Mulder, A (2007). “the Exercise of Interactive Art” In Joke Brouwer & Arjen Mulder (eds.) Interact or Die! Rotterdam: V2_Publishing/NAi Publishers, p. 69.
[3] Op cit., p. 77.

Biography

Sophie Le-Phat Ho is a young researcher and cultural organiser. She was interim Programming Coordinator for Studio XX in 2005-06 and was the Editor-in-Chief for .dpi in 2006. She has also worked as Project Officer for terminus1525.ca at the Canada Council for the Arts. She is one of the organisers of Upgrade Montréal on politics, culture and technology, as part of Upgrade International. The co-founder of Artivistic (artivistic.org), she works at the intersection of art, science and activism. She is currently completing an MA in Anthropology of Health and the Body in the 21C at Goldsmiths College (University of London).

Comme dans le cas de l’écriture, la citation visuelle consiste en un acte de « prélèvement » [1], ici d’une image ou d’un concept visuel, et en la mutation ou la greffe de ce même élément à un contenu autre. Ce procédé, couramment utilisé dans le postmodernisme est revisité par les artistes du Web.

Nicolas Clauss, artiste français qui a troqué les pinceaux pour la programmation en 2000, puise abondamment dans l’univers visuel d’artistes phares de l’histoire de l’art. Dans Sorcières (2000) et Dead Fish (2002), des œuvres du Parmesan et de Botticelli servent de toiles de fond à des tableaux animés et interactifs. Laissées telles quelles ou presque, elles deviennent éléments essentiels des univers fantastiques et souvent inquiétants créés par Clauss, prêtes à être tour à tour dévoilées et ensevelies sous un banc de miochis ou un amas de feuilles mortes, dans un perpétuel jeu entre dissimulation et dévoilement. Dans Bosch (2001), un personnage qui semble directement découpé d’un tableau du célèbre peintre flamand, est multiplié plusieurs fois, tel une guirlande de papier, créant une frise répétitive et mouvante. Un autre personnage surgit, entraînant une poursuite à travers les tableaux… Puis, une vague humaine composée de ces mêmes personnages découpés, multipliés et «greffés» à l’image interactive, dont la construction rappelle les décors de théâtre, ou l’arrière-plan fixe est habillé d’objets amovibles, qui sont ici dirigés par le curseur de l’internaute. Clauss revisite également Le cri de Munch à travers une œuvre qui allie performance filmée, musique et sons. L’image est modifiée, rendue floue, ralentie, la temporalité est subvertie. En cliquant, l’internaute décide du débit de l’œuvre ; il active la montée de l’angoisse du personnage, qui semble amplifiée par les bruits stridents qui participent de l’ambiance de l’œuvre.

Nicolas Clauss, Dead Fish, 2002 (capture d’écran)
Source : www.flyingpuppet.com

Clauss utilise également la citation à des fins didactiques : De l’art si je veux (2005), est un vaste projet d’art Web qui visait principalement à familiariser des jeunes adolescents d’un quartier populaire de la France à l’art contemporain. À partir des œuvres d’Arman, Bacon, Ben, Boltanski, Cattelan, Jake et Dinos Chapman, Duchamp, Munch et Spoerri, ces jeunes ont livré leurs impressions et leurs réflexions, enclenchant le processus de démystification qui trouva son aboutissement dans la création d’œuvres en collaboration avec Clauss. Ces œuvres sont donc l’amalgame de médiums multiples: sculptures, créations vidéos, enregistrements sonores, calligraphie, collage et photographies. La citation visuelle, omniprésente dans ce travail, ouvre la voie à un imaginaire propre à chaque artiste tout en rendant compte du processus réflexif et créatif des néophytes.

Nicolas Clauss, Chapman, 2002, une des œuvres du projet De l’art si je veux, ( capture d’écran )

Source : www.delartsijeveux.com

Dans Jacksonpollock.org (2003), Miltos Manetas ne s’approprie non pas une image ou une composition, comme c’est le cas avec Clauss, mais plutôt la manière d’un artiste. À l’aide d’un générateur d’images, l’internaute peut créer une « peinture » automatique « à la Pollock ». Le curseur est transformé en un filet de couleur continu, qui se fixe à l’écran, rappelant les drippings caractéristiques du travail de l’artiste. Bien qu’en cliquant il soit possible de changer la couleur du pigment utilisé, le tracé reprend vraiment la technique où le filet de peinture en continu dicte le réseau linéaire de l’œuvre, où l’aspect liquide du médium empêche d’interrompre le mouvement.

Miltos Manetas, Jacksonpollock.org, 2003, ( capture d’écran )

Source : www.jacksonpollock.org

History of Art for Airports (2000), de Vuc Cosic, aborde la citation ou l’appropriation d’une toute autre manière ; des œuvres ou des figures ayant marqué l’histoire de l’art telles le Nu descendant un escalier de Duchamp, la Vénus de Milo, la figure de Saint-Sébastien ou la boîte de soupe Campbell de Warhol, sont réduites à l’iconographie des panneaux de signalisation. Les formes et les compositions, simplifiées à l’extrême, jusqu’à devenir symbole ou signe, étonnent et amusent de par leur habile schématisation.

Vuc Cosic, History of Art for Airports, 2000, le Nu descendant un escalier de Marcel Duchamp selon Cosic, ( capture d’écran )
Source : www.ljudmila.org

Dans d’autres cas, l’appropriation peut subvertir le sens premier de l’œuvre citée, en faire une critique ou une relecture au sens augmenté. Scène in Time (1998) de Reynald Drouhin, est uniquement composé de trois pages Web ; en cliquant dans l’image, l’internaute « altère » l’image. À La dernière Cène de Da Vinci sera supperposé un court extrait de film porno, probablement puisé sur le Web, passé en boucle. Fait intéressant, avec le changement d’images, le titre de la page passe de « Cène in time » à « Scène intime » à « Obscène intime » : Glissement de langage, glissement de sens. Acte blasphématoire, désacralisation de l’art ou affirmation de la porno comme religion du web ?

Reynal Drouin, Scène in Time, 1998, ( capture d’écran )
Source : www.incident.net

Qu’il s’agisse d’une construction poétique, d’une relecture cocasse, ou d’un désir de subversion, les artistes Web proposent de revisiter l’histoire de l’art à travers la citation. La greffe de ce « corps étranger » à un corpus nouveau permet des réinterprétations multiples de l’œuvre. Parfois hommage à ces canons tants cités, tant analysés et tant vus, cette forme d’appropriation et par le fait même d’association à des figures marquantes de l’histoire de l’art pourrait également participer du processus de légitimisation ou plutôt d’inscription de l’art Web au sein de cette même discipline.

Notes

[1] Antoine Compagnon, «La citation telle qu’en elle-même», in La seconde main ou le travail de la citation, Seuil, 1979, p.13-45.

Médiagraphie

Compagnon, Antoine, «La citation telle qu’en elle-même», in La seconde main ou le travail de la citation, Seuil, 1979, p. 13-45.

Lefèbvre, Claire, Analyse du phénomène citationnel dans l’oeuvre «Portrait (Futago)» de l’artiste japonais Yasumasa Morimura, mémoire de maîtrise, 2006, Université du Québec à Montréal, 119 p.

Schneider, Danièle, «La citation dans l’art», extrait de La pub détourne l’art (1999, Éditions du Tricorne), En ligne, consulté le 10 août 2007 :
http://www.crdp.ac-creteil.fr/artecole/de-visu/citagiat/citagiat-schneid...

Biographie

Marianne Cloutier est diplômée de la maîtrise en études des arts de l’Université du Québec à Montréal. Elle s’intéresse principalement aux liens entre art et science, notamment dans l’art biotechnologique. Elle est chercheure pour le NT2 : Nouvelles technologies, nouvelles textualités (UQÀM), un laboratoire de recherche visant à promouvoir l’étude, la création ainsi que l’archivage de la littérature et de l’art hypermédiatique.

L’artiste visuel Rose-Marie E. Goulet et sa complice l’artiste sonore Chantal Dumas viennent tout juste de terminer Point de fuite , une installation multisensorielle, mise en place à même les murs d’un wagon du métro de Montréal. Le wagon en service depuis le 24 septembre circule sur la ligne orange, de la station Montmorency à la station Côte-Vertu pour une période de 6 mois.

Ce projet-pilote marque le 40ème anniversaire de mise en service du métro de Montréal. C’est aussi la première pièce d’un programme novateur développé par la Société de Transport de Montréal (STM) et publicisé sous le nom de L’art prend le métro.

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Photo: Michel Dubreuil

Point de fuite est le premier projet du genre à être réalisé dans un métro en Amérique du Nord. Il va sans dire que la conception d’une oeuvre pour un espace public aussi atypique qu’est celui d’un wagon de métro constitue aussi une première pour les deux artistes. Un travail préparatoire exigeant de collecte d’informations à travers les différents départements tels l’ingénierie, la sécurité, etc. a été effectué par Rose-Marie. Cette étape était nécessaire afin de prendre connaissance des multiples contraintes du lieu. Cela a aussi permis de laisser apparaître les possibilités offertes par ce contexte si particulier. Il était également important de développer une bonne complicité avec les différents et très nombreux intervenants de la rénovation et de l’entretien des wagons de métro.

La proposition de départ a pris forme autour de la notion de temps et d’espace. C’est une façon de permettre aux voyageurs captifs le temps de leur trajet, de partager un autre voyage. Un voyage à la fois ancré dans le réel et l’onirisme, empreint d’aléatoire et de souvenirs. Nous avons donc créé un espace-temps qui va à l’encontre des caractéristiques d’un wagon soit un espace fermé et fonctionnel.

Autant le sonore que le visuel concourent à générer de nouvelles sensations. Le son se compose de vignettes dont la durée varie entre 15 secondes et 1 minute. Elles sont teintées des couleurs sonores de la ville. On y retrouve autant des ambiances, des éléments musicaux que des paroles en plusieurs langues, présentées sous forme de très courtes fictions. C’est une vision morcelée de notre environnement sonore mais pourtant l’ensemble est très cohérent. Ce qui est aussi très intéressant est d’avoir trouvé comment introduire un second degré à ces petites compositions légères et anodines et de les marquer de connotations culturelles, sociales et historiques. L’utilisation des sons du coq, du bigben ou encore des différentes langues fait référence à l’histoire passée et présente du Québec. Celui de la cloche ou du chant du muezzin fait allusion à un aspect social, voire religieux.

La fragmentation est également développée dans le traitement visuel. Elle s’appuie sur deux temps: un motif de recouvrement général (murs et plafond) et un traitement photographique partiel (sur les vitres). Le motif mur-plafond va d’une extrémité à l’autre du wagon en se transformant : d’une image aux textures réalistes, il devient une abstraction complète, comme si le mouvement avait transformé le motif intérieur. Comme si dans le mouvement-temps, un étirement s’était produit.

Les photos donnent à voir des visions de la ville interrompues par des détails de personnages présentés sans contexte. Les textes publicitaires et informatifs ainsi que les divers symboles gravés dans la ville ont été retirés des photos laissant apparaître une toute nouvelle image de celle-ci.

Rose-Marie souligne qu’elle aurait pu développer une perspective plus linéaire mais elle s’est davantage intéressée à l’aspect onirique de ce point de fuite. Le rêve est rarement une vision nette et claire, linéaire et continue. Les temps se superposent, les images vont et viennent, un peu à manière de ce voyage en point de fuite.

Dans cette proposition, on retrouve une petite histoire de l’art, qui passe de la figuration à l’abstraction dans un espace-temps. Il y a une tentative de transposer cette perspective, en la superposant à celle de la dynamique d’un train, d’un wagon de métro, celle d’un point qui se déplace dans l’espace, une vision qui fuit.

Bien que l’œuvre soit fixée, tant au niveau visuel que sonore, sa perception va fluctuer car elle est assujettie à un aspect aléatoire engendré par plusieurs facteurs soit la lumière et le bruit de la station, le temps d’arrêt, le nombre de passagers, l’heure de la journée, la durée du déplacement, etc. Tout cela va moduler l’expérience du voyageur. Il va sans dire qu’elle sera différente pour chacune des personnes empruntant ce wagon. Nous avons tenté d’imaginer ce que serait cette expérience en concevant le projet. Mais voilà, on ne la connaît pas puisque nous n’avons jamais fait l’expérience d’un projet semblable.

Rose-Marie E. Goulet ne cache pas sa volonté de soutenir le projet afin de permettre que d’autres oeuvres de type installation visuelle-sonore puissent être réalisées dans les années à venir. Sachant qu’en 2012, de nouveaux wagons de métro équipés en numérique remplaceront les wagons actuels, on peut déjà penser à d’autres œuvres sonores, interactives, vidéo, enfin utilisant davantage les nouvelles technologies.

Avec un peu de persévérance, vous attraperez le wagon bleu. Laissez jouer le hasard en votre faveur ou bien contactez la STM pour connaître les horaires de passage (514-786-4636 + 7)

« Point de fuite » est une installation de Rose-Marie E. Goulet, artiste en art visuel et conceptrice avec la collaboration de Chantal Dumas, artiste sonore et la Société des Transports de Montréal (STM).

Photo: Rose-Marie E. Goulet