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Showing posts with label social media. Show all posts
Showing posts with label social media. Show all posts
Friday, March 6, 2015
Friday, March 6, 2015
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The text in the picture above, found tucked away on a bookshelf in the corner of LikeMe Labs neatly summarises my feelings. This show is a peculiar experience, acting largely as a springboard for the audience's personal thoughts and neuroses. Even defining those present as an 'audience' feels limiting, Alisa Leimane smudging the boundaries between the art/observer, personal/public and reality/fiction.
So what is it? Well, this normally austere gallery has become a lot more homely. Carpet covers the floor and there's domestic touches like a stocked fruitbowl, coat hooks, a clothes rail and a sofa. A half-used tube of lip gloss casually lies next to the information sheets. Further on there's a large white cube, the outside of which is peppered with framed screengrabs. Shots of Tinder matches jostle for space with chatlogs and hand-written notes. The interior of the cube contains an office, within which the artist appears to have temporarily set up shop.
Alisa explained that what we're seeing are the results of a several distinct online personalities she's constructed. This collection of parapersonalities exist across social media and dating websites, the world at large revealing their own desires as they interact with them. So, for example, one glamorous personality might have an upmarket house, a nice dog and spend her free time in swish Indonesian hotels. Meanwhile a more grounded version of Alisa has to contend with mould growing on the walls of her London flat. Through carefully selected Instagram photos, using wigs, outfits and locations to tell a subtle narrative, these Alisas live out wildly different online lives. This is explained as a social experiment: to see which personality/haircut/class gets the most 'likes' - to blossom into a true social media butterfly.
Not knowing what's real plays on the nerves. Even when sat across from Alisa I wasn't sure if I was chatting to 'her' or some lightly fictionalised character she was playing for my benefit (the presence of books 'on acting' don't help. This mild paranoia grew when I glanced to my left to see a printed copy of my recent Facebook status updates. A Truman Show shiver of worry came over me, as I walked around the gallery I began to second-guess each person there. Surely that 1950s looking blonde with the selfie stick must be part of the exhibition? Am I talking to strangers or disguised friends? After all there is a large selection of wigs and costumes at the back... Am I being played for a mug? Should I play along with the fiction?
This whirlwind of worrying thoughts, only slightly smoothed over by a couple of glasses of wine, gets to the heart of LikeMe Labs. Consciously or unconsciously we all create these online persona; presenting an idealised, edited and censored simulacra of reality for public consumption. That we only show the positive stuff on Facebook is pretty far down the dishonesty scale, but the porkies really ramp up once we get into the realm of online dating.
If our Facebook persona are heightened versions of ourselves, our online data profiles present the person we'd desperately love to be: cultured, beautiful, interesting and personable. Working as our own. dedicated, PR team we cast this perfect 'us' into the online-dating pond like a worm on a hook, hoping against hope that not only will someone bite, but that person will forgive our various lies and accept us for who we 'really' are.
LikeMe Labs shaves back the self-deception and exposes the bones of this process, the walls festooned with confused men never quite sure whether they're talking to a real person or not. Gradually you pick up on the narratives - in particular the relationship between Robert and Alisa. This comes to a confusing head when Robert turns up and (apparently unexpectedly) launches into an improvised beatboxing session for Alisa's benefit. Later there's a pretty funny gynaecological monologue (not by Robert), but I couldn't quite work out where that fit into the night. Again, the lines between what we play out on the comfort of our phones and laptops is wrenched into the real world.
LikeMe Labs turned out to be an unexpectedly dislocating and slightly scary experience. The night is full of meaty questions, the true implications of which only dawn on you during sleepless late nights. Has the age of social media transformed us all into enormous narcissists? What is a person's 'true' personality? If everyone we meet is 'in character' then who the hell are we even talking to?
This all adds up to a work that's less installation and more psychological study, the internal monologue of each individual that attends as important as whatever's nailed to the walls. I do wonder how effective it'd be without a bunch of people milling around to exchange ideas with, but any exhibition that leaves me with a knotted head full of conflicting ideas is definitely doing something right.
LikeMe Labs is at Arebyte Gallery until 20th March 2015.
So what is it? Well, this normally austere gallery has become a lot more homely. Carpet covers the floor and there's domestic touches like a stocked fruitbowl, coat hooks, a clothes rail and a sofa. A half-used tube of lip gloss casually lies next to the information sheets. Further on there's a large white cube, the outside of which is peppered with framed screengrabs. Shots of Tinder matches jostle for space with chatlogs and hand-written notes. The interior of the cube contains an office, within which the artist appears to have temporarily set up shop.
Alisa explained that what we're seeing are the results of a several distinct online personalities she's constructed. This collection of parapersonalities exist across social media and dating websites, the world at large revealing their own desires as they interact with them. So, for example, one glamorous personality might have an upmarket house, a nice dog and spend her free time in swish Indonesian hotels. Meanwhile a more grounded version of Alisa has to contend with mould growing on the walls of her London flat. Through carefully selected Instagram photos, using wigs, outfits and locations to tell a subtle narrative, these Alisas live out wildly different online lives. This is explained as a social experiment: to see which personality/haircut/class gets the most 'likes' - to blossom into a true social media butterfly.
Not knowing what's real plays on the nerves. Even when sat across from Alisa I wasn't sure if I was chatting to 'her' or some lightly fictionalised character she was playing for my benefit (the presence of books 'on acting' don't help. This mild paranoia grew when I glanced to my left to see a printed copy of my recent Facebook status updates. A Truman Show shiver of worry came over me, as I walked around the gallery I began to second-guess each person there. Surely that 1950s looking blonde with the selfie stick must be part of the exhibition? Am I talking to strangers or disguised friends? After all there is a large selection of wigs and costumes at the back... Am I being played for a mug? Should I play along with the fiction?
This whirlwind of worrying thoughts, only slightly smoothed over by a couple of glasses of wine, gets to the heart of LikeMe Labs. Consciously or unconsciously we all create these online persona; presenting an idealised, edited and censored simulacra of reality for public consumption. That we only show the positive stuff on Facebook is pretty far down the dishonesty scale, but the porkies really ramp up once we get into the realm of online dating.
If our Facebook persona are heightened versions of ourselves, our online data profiles present the person we'd desperately love to be: cultured, beautiful, interesting and personable. Working as our own. dedicated, PR team we cast this perfect 'us' into the online-dating pond like a worm on a hook, hoping against hope that not only will someone bite, but that person will forgive our various lies and accept us for who we 'really' are.
LikeMe Labs shaves back the self-deception and exposes the bones of this process, the walls festooned with confused men never quite sure whether they're talking to a real person or not. Gradually you pick up on the narratives - in particular the relationship between Robert and Alisa. This comes to a confusing head when Robert turns up and (apparently unexpectedly) launches into an improvised beatboxing session for Alisa's benefit. Later there's a pretty funny gynaecological monologue (not by Robert), but I couldn't quite work out where that fit into the night. Again, the lines between what we play out on the comfort of our phones and laptops is wrenched into the real world.
LikeMe Labs turned out to be an unexpectedly dislocating and slightly scary experience. The night is full of meaty questions, the true implications of which only dawn on you during sleepless late nights. Has the age of social media transformed us all into enormous narcissists? What is a person's 'true' personality? If everyone we meet is 'in character' then who the hell are we even talking to?
This all adds up to a work that's less installation and more psychological study, the internal monologue of each individual that attends as important as whatever's nailed to the walls. I do wonder how effective it'd be without a bunch of people milling around to exchange ideas with, but any exhibition that leaves me with a knotted head full of conflicting ideas is definitely doing something right.
LikeMe Labs is at Arebyte Gallery until 20th March 2015.
Monday, August 4, 2014
Monday, August 4, 2014
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I bet your eyes just glazed over. Mine certainly did. How much of this deathly dull legalese do we skip through over the course of a week? Nobody reads them, nobody cares and I'm not even sure they're legally enforceable. But as we sign over our rights with a disinterested click of a mouse what are we agreeing to and what might the possible consequences be? Profile Picture by Mark Farid explores this hazy world of digital consent, showing us the consequences of signing over our personal information.
As you enter the gallery you come face to face with the Facebook login screen. A sign next to it commands: "Login to Facebook. Click Allow. Wait for the camera to take your picture automatically. Click confirm once you like the photograph and the image is uploaded to your Facebook. Continue to the exhibition upstairs." With twin lights illuminating your face it looks vaguely shrinelike and so, wanting to get the full experience for this article, I dutifully entered my login details.
There was a sensible part of me that was murmuring "what are you doing you idiot this computer could be virused up to the nines" but I've been to Arebyte loads of times and I suppose I trust them this much. Anyway, I very definitely made sure I was logged out before I left. No harm done, right?
On heading upstairs you're first confronted by your face projected onto the gallery stairs, then by a quick summary of your personal information, together with the last photo you'd uploaded. Listed is your name, age and other assorted personal information - your likes, dislikes and the last three links you've posted. It's slightly disconcerting, but hey, if people know I like watching movies and listening to bands who cares?
Then you turn the corner. Suspended from the ceiling of the gallery are three printers, spooling out long tangled snakes of paper. Glancing at them in curiosity I wondered what they were printing out. Then I spotted my name and some rather familiar text... My private messages! A nervous grin plastered itself across my face as I desperately tried to remember if I'd said anything incriminating or insulting in the last few weeks. I felt a combination of embarrassment, annoyance and fear as I saw every bit of rubbish I'd nattered on about recently spill through the public's grubby hands.
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| Someone else's profile information (anonymised) |
I was slightly annoyed about this, but then I suppose I brought it upon myself. Apparently other people were less sanguine - one couple getting into a fierce argument as it was discovered one of them was chatting with a strange man and further more complaining of invasions of privacy. Farid is right on the edge of an ethical line here, revealing the kinds of information that could conceivably wreck friendships and destroy relationships is dangerous territory.
This danger is precisely why this is so good. It takes guts to piss people off like this in service of your argument. I love art that explains itself forcefully, straightforwardly and immediately, an installation with something to say and a punkish playful attitude in saying it. Anyway, the perfect counter-argument to anyone that's really got a bee in their bonnet about this is that they agreed that this would happen.
Also helping is the simple fact that Farid's point about how frivolously we scatter our personal data is a good one. The obscene wealth of Facebook and Google (to name the two most prominent companies) proves that one of the most sought after commodities in the 21st century aren't minerals or food - it's information. Like gardeners putting up fly paper in a greenhouse they create a compelling, enjoyable network to inhabit, which we then become mired in -unable to escape.
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| My secret chat info. Thrilling I know. |
In a cruel twist, the more we put into these systems the more we get back from them, and the more the companies learn about us. There's a good argument that the being that knows you best in the world isn't your wife, husband, mother, father or friends - it's Google. Their algorithms hoover up the secrets you'd rather stay secret - embarrassing problems, fears and phobias and your most perverse sexual kicks.
As this data grows a profile on a distant server farm gather more and more information, bulging at the seams with everything it can find out about you - the aim to decide how best to sell you stuff you don't need. So what are prostituting our minds for? Free social networking? Free email? Free maps? And you know what? I'm actually relatively okay with this.
I like using Facebook and I like using Google. Each company has its fair share of ethical black holes, but if they want to mine my brain to try and sell me shit (which is probably blocked by AdBlock anyway) then I'm largely fine with it. What's important is that we recognise what's going on, and Farid's Profile Picture spells out how much we data we put out without the slightest consideration.
It's a smartly tech-adept, brave installation. The visual of the paper spilling from above like manna from heaven, tangling into chromasomal knots on the floor is both striking and aesthetically pleasing, and the enjoyment of sifting through the text gives you voyeuristic tingle. Most importantly it's art that makes you feel something - a sensation that's often lacking in this coolly conceptual climate.
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