Years ago I made a decision to like all art. I had gotten fed up with artists and their art and their talk and their mission statements. I was tired of the costs. Tired of the preciousness. I was tired of concepts. These days I’m much more chill about it. But, back in the day…. Phew…. I was aggressive in my liking. It was my rebellion. It was my artistic resistance to like an artist’s art. Sometimes I’d even love an artist’s art. Either way, the artist was now subject to my daunting like of all things art and all things done in its name.
An amazing thing happened when I started liking art: art stopped being art. No longer was a painting any more substantial than the door knob next to it. In all honesty, I stopped being able to tell which was the piece to look at and which was the thing to use. Art had finally returned to a place much more primitive, much more immediate. And, consequently, the things that would normally exist outside of art returned to a place much more inspired. A place more vibratory. A place less familiar and yet very much known.
A place that sounded a lot more like Stephen Cornford‘s installation of music-less tape recorders, “Binatone Galaxy”:
From Co. DESIGN:
“The variety of machines Cornford’s work employs, some 28 models, including units from Sharp, Sanyo, and one dubbed the Binatone Galaxy, makes for an interesting tableau on a purely visual level. But Cornford isn’t concerned with how the machines look so much as how they sound. Using custom-made cassette players outfitted with a lo-fi microphone, the installation fills the room with the sounds of the machines themselves–the whirring of the motors and the rhythms of the tape heads–activated by the viewers’ presence through the use of motion-detecting sensors. With a few people pacing around the gallery, you get tape players sounding off from all sides–an immersive symphony of a near-extinct technology.”
Sometimes, living through the apocalypse can sound so darn waterbubbly.