Mike Judge dances his way onto the blockchain

Mike Judge dances his way onto the blockchain

Works by Judge

Mike Judge dances his way onto the blockchain

2 years ago

It started with frog baseball; two weirdo teenagers playing games out in a desert field, their parents nowhere to be seen, their eyes and mouths glitching out like early 2000’s internet memes. The year was 1992, and newbie animator, professional blues musician, and former engineer Mike Judge had just licensed one of his first cartoons to Liquid Television for $4,000.

Judge loved drawing cartoons, even as a kid, but it was after he went to an animation festival that he was inspired to draw for real. With a 16mm movie camera, some paper, a pencil, and cels, he went to work in his free time. In 1991, he began sending tapes—yes, physical VHS tapes—out to studios to see if anyone would take a bite. Judge’s style was rigid, producing animations that felt hand-drawn and homemade, and his characters were simple on the surface and easy to laugh at. Even the storyline for “Frog Baseball” was nothing complex. And yet, the people at MTV loved it, and knew their viewers would love it as well.

“Frog Baseball” by Mike Judge, 1992

“I wasn’t trying to blow someone away with visuals,” Judge said. “I was going more for character and comedy.” Judge not only wrote and animated the short, but he also did the voices and composed original music for it.

“I’ve always done imitations, and originally wanted to get into sketch comedy, and I almost did that because right as MTV was talking early on about Beavis and Butthead I got an offer from this show, the Edge, and they wanted me to do animated transitions between sketches, and I thought, this was my dream come true.”

—Mike Judge

That two-minute-long film would eventually turn into one of the most iconic cult classics of the ‘90s, a little show called Beavis and Butthead that still charms audiences today. Sometimes they’d be at school, or skipping school, or watching tv on their nasty couch, commenting how “that sucks” or “that’s cool” in the world around them.

Mike Judge’s work captures moments in time in a way that is approachable, unique, and belly-achingly funny. If it wasn’t helping to spearhead cartoons for adults (did I mention he also created and was a voice actor in King of the Hill?), it was writing and directing cult classics like the 1998 film Office Space, which captured the chaos of cubicle work culture during the internet revolution. Or maybe it was the 2006 hit Idiocracy, which ventured into the apocalyptic future of an America where evolution no longer favors the intelligent, and fast food, guns, pop culture and monster trucks are king. Or, it was satirising the crazy world of Silicon Valley, based on the world Judge saw as an engineer in his early career.

Each of these works has accrued impressive followings and grown better with age. Which is part of why so many people are excited for Judge’s genesis NFT, “Dancing Dan.”

Judge’s genesis

There were cycles of walking, noted Judge, that gave him the idea that doing one of different people dancing would be, as Butthead would say, really cool. The animation—hand-drawn, of course—is of a stumpy man moving his hips to a funky little tune. It is accompanied by original music, a trio of guitar, upright bass and drums, composed and performed by Judge himself.

“When I was a kid, my grandpa would watch Lawrence Welk, which I really hated, and to me it was this old-timey way of dancing, and I really wanted to capture that,” Judge said. “There was also this song that inspired me. I’m a big fan of swing-era music and so I gave him that dorky swing.”

“Dancing Dan” is unique in that it makes the viewer feel nostalgic, but they’re not exactly sure why or what for. It taps into a style of animation that is not aimed at perfection, but rather the unique elements and imperfections that make something or someone a one-of-a-kind, making it a perfect fit for the blockchain.

Judge’s work coincided with a major cultural shift that was brought on by the digital revolution. But even with programs like ProCreate, that make it easier than ever to animate, Judge prefers a pencil and paper and a camera.

“People were worried when CG [computer graphics] came along, that it would ruin traditional animation,” Judge told SuperRare, “and it sort of did, but I’m guessing that when photography came along that people thought painters would be out of jobs. But that’s when great impressionist stuff happened. I think people, even just now, haven’t even scraped the surface of what can happen, just exploring CG. I think this could lead to a new explosion of art and innovation.”

Because when depicting reality is taken care of, it allows artists to look at the world through a different lens, to experiment, to explore.

“Huh?” by Mike Judge, 1991

Judge has been interested in NFTs for years now, and has even spoken at conferences like the Decentralized Web Summit in 2018. “I think NFTs are the next big step towards new artists finding success and connecting with their audiences directly. There aren’t quite as many gatekeepers, and there seems to be a big demand for it. I think it’s going to enable people to share their work in such an effective way.”

The NFT as a medium has also made it possible for artists to create works that, up until recently, did not have a place to be expressed, let alone sold for money. Judge remembered fondly how Chris Prynoski, a fellow animator who worked on the Beavis and Butthead movie, hosted something he called “five second day.” “Animators would submit something that was just five seconds long, and it really inspired people,” said Judge. Which was a relief for creators in an industry that often required each piece, each animation, to have a storyline and character development in order to be considered “finished.”

“Some people say animation is tedious or boring, doing tons of drawings, but for me it is the opposite. To me, illustrating is boring, rather than making something move. And often I’ll have a little idea, a cycle of something.” And now that little cycle can be presented, not as a scrap, but as a fully-formed product.

“Office Space” by Mike Judge, 1991

Judge is full of little ideas, and his work shows how big those little ideas can be. The movie Office Space started out as a little cartoon. Beavis and Butthead started out as a two-minute clip. “Dancing Dan,” and the other dancing characters he has in mind, started out, like so many of Judge’s ideas, as a joke. “Often when I get the urge to draw,” he said, “it’s because I see someone annoying and I am tempted to make fun of them.”

Which is perhaps part of why he has grown so popular and so beloved over the years. Mike Judge is not out to impress anyone, and yet, his satire has left a deep impression on the minds of millions. He’s just a dude with pencil and paper setting out to have a laugh, and inviting us to laugh along with him.

32

Virginia Valenzuela

Vinny is a writer from New York City whose work has been published in Wired, The Independent, High Times, Right Click Save, and the Best American Poetry Blog, and in 2022 she received the Future Art Writers Award from MOZAIK Philanthropy. She is SuperRare's Managing Editor.

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Sheidlina was born on the internet and has been reincarnated as a surrealist NFT

Sheidlina was born on the internet and has been reincarnated as a surrealist NFT

forget the meaning of things

Sheidlina was born on the internet and has been reincarnated as a surrealist NFT

2 years ago

Since her first post on Instagram in 2012, the interdisciplinary and multi-media artist Ellen Sheidlin (or Sheidlina, as she is known by her millions of followers) has invited us to bear witness to a world governed by a fearless imagination and insatiable curiosity. The Russian artist uses her body as the subject of her mesmerizing photographic and video works and has since begun exploring the rigors of oil painting. While the algorithms of the social media platforms upon which she entered the art world have undergone innumerable changes, her commitment to her craft has remained constant. 

The artist has affectionately adopted Salvador Dali and René Magritte as her parents, thereby connecting her physical body to the body of evidence that her “parents” created decades earlier. Sheidlina’s inaugural NFT titled “Magritte’s Breaths” pays homage to her deep-rooted connection to the tradition and philosophical tenets of Surrealism. Just as the Surrealists effortlessly lived within a sublime world of their own making while tracing reality with hints of magic, Sheidlina has been able to transform her own physicality to assume the role of the persona in her work. In “Magritte’s Breaths,” she becomes one with the ethereal clouds that feel reminiscent of Magritte’s “The False Mirror,” dying her a shade of white with hints of blue, and applying white eyeliner which accentuates the subversion of her gaze. Her shoulders are cloaked with delicate feathers and a white dove peers out from her mouth examining the ethereal surroundings. The dove is ready to take flight and spread its wings the moment the artist is ready to exhale. 

Ellen Sheidlin spent some time with SuperRare on the occasion of her debut NFT “Magritte’s Breaths.” Here’s what she had to say.

A. Moret: The foundation of your work is based on the suspension of belief, more specifically, the merging of a dreamy reality with virtuality. How do you maintain a sense of identity whilst creating in this nebulous space? 

Ellen Sheidlin: Sheidlina is the name of my virtual gallery, the name of my character that was born on the Internet, and it is the name with which I sign all of my work. This means that I could be either Sheidlina or Ellen Sheidlin.  

AM: Social media has played an integral role in your development as an artist as it has given you the opportunity to experiment and develop photographic, video, and painterly techniques for a captive audience. When did your journey in the digital arts begin? 

ES: I was 15 years old and I just got my first computer. My mom gave me a drawing tablet. The first link that I opened for drawing and making art was Photoshop. Winter holidays are a pretty boring time so I got on VK and posted my sketches in an album that I called “Start track.” My drawing style was very much fantasy-inspired.

AM: What kind of content were you developing on Vkontakte (also referred to as VK)? 

ES: I experimented with my make-up and I exposed my body. My style was very provocative. I dressed up in many layers, like an onion, and dyed my hair in different colors. This was the time of the Sheidlina embryo on VK.  

AM: In this “embryonic” state, what kind of reaction did your posts elicit? 

ES: People used to dress up like me for Halloween. They used to try to live my life. People used to come up to me at Mcdonald’s and ask me to sign a check. People at airports even asked me to sign their passports. The times when I was very popular on VK shaped my love for fearless imagery and art photography; with open ideas and a naked soul, [my work] came to life on Instagram. 

AM: An artist’s environment inexorably shapes their practice. What aspects of Russian culture do you value most? 

ES: Fairy tales taught me to see beyond the outer layer of wrapping paper, and the Russian Academy of Arts taught me the rule of the golden ratio. However, on the spiritual side of people, their emotions are different. Art always brings that warm and fuzzy feeling. That is the main thing for Russian art and culture and that is what I carry with me. 

AM: Your first Instagram post dated September 12, 2012, is a candid selfie that utilizes natural light and shows evidence of minimal editing. This post is our introduction to you and the universe that you have since created on social media over the last decade. How has your approach since that first post changed, if it all? 

ES: My first picture is just as natural for me as my last picture. They have minimal editing, I only use light and the right angle, the rest of the props I create with my own hands. So, with me, nothing really has changed. But Instagram changed. A lot. This one and only platform that I used to love is gone. I grew a lot since 2014 by creating unique content. Now posting quality content is not enough. You have to become a superstar right away, no one will grant you the time to grow. I had that time. The algorithms didn’t help me, but they also didn’t get in my way of searching for inspiration by hiding people and their content. For me, Instagram is a story of Rapuntsel that took her fate in her hands and used her own hair to descend from the tower and started to take pictures with giraffes, alien masks and the whole kingdom started following her. 

AM: Change feels like an inevitable facet of any technological platform, and whilst you have observed its change since your first post, what are your thoughts about its future and your role as a creator? 

ES: I adore my creative way from 2012 to 2021. We started our path in art photography with my husband in 2011 by saying “let’s make our pictures more interesting, you do love to fantasize.” We love to carefully shape every detail of the picture together and we don’t shy away from each other. This is what makes our knees weak when we make our ideas come alive… But honestly, I don’t see a future for new users on this platform, or for myself for that matter. 

AM: At the time of this interview, your Instagram account sheidlina has 4.5 million followers. The feed is meticulously curated with conceptual photography and videography that features you as the subject. In many ways, you have taken the traditional selfie that was popularized on Instagram and elevated it into a series of self-portraits that reference memes in popular culture and pay homage to iconic styles in Art History.

ES: I feel as if I am an actress trying on different roles and different lives. For my painting, I am always looking for a model, I never paint myself. But for photography, I am always using my body, because this is what I always have with me… I am not ashamed to paint it, it unifies all genders.

AM: While digital art offers unlimited avenues through which to explore, the platforms that host that work are always changing. Do you have a sense that the digital landscape is ephemeral? 

ES: After I’m gone, Sheidlina will disappear together with me. I already mentally wrote a will to my grandchildren to show up online once every 5 months at 23:23 to keep my account alive. So, if someone asks them for their source of inspiration, they could show it together with the likes and comments from the past. New, up-and-coming artists will serve it, and archaeologists will rob my graveyard. They will take what they found and put it in museums. 

AM: What inspires your approach with the oeuvre that you call “magical realism?” 

ES: To forget the meaning of things, change summer for the winter, decompose your body, and put it back together backwards. Magical realism is when you believe that it’s all a dream. Each idea is a challenge, but it stimulates me and gives me energy. 

AM: The style of your photographic and video work presents surreal scenes and as the subject, you are interacting with a unique, colorful and textured environment. Do you feel that you assume a new persona in each work? Do you feel freedom in exploring your identity?

ES: New picture – a new identity. I am renewed with every second. I don’t really choose a look to suit me but I really like the metaphor of memories. I can open my Instagram and tell you everything about my life based on it.

AM: What challenges do you encounter as being the creator and subject of your pieces?

ES: I take some time to think about my work when I create something. I ask myself: can I create this out of things that I can buy in Home Depot? Can I use tape for it? Or can I find people to make this for me and bring it to me in a week? I do really work fast and I believe that the simplest things are also the brightest.

AM: Over the past few years, you began exploring painting. Do you have a preferred medium, i.e. oil, acrylic, mixed media? Do you feel that your paintings share similar themes to your photo and video works? 

ES: Magical reality is photography and performance arts, it is really easy to confuse them with dreams. Be careful in your judgment, because it is truly a magical reality. And it found its home on the Internet. And my dreams, the ones that come alive, I have to create them with oil paintings. I only use oil, for now. 

AM: Following in the tradition of Surrealism, your style embraces an interdisciplinary approach in both technique and philosophy. You have described your work as “a dreamy reality with virtuality, dream paintings, reality-photography, virtuality-video.” 

ES: Every question is connected with an invisible thread. I already answered them fully as this virus of surrealism infected my brain. The rest will come to life with fantasy. But this is what I can add to it: 


Come along now 
Come along with me 
Come along now 
Come along and you’ll see 
What it’s like to be free

Titiyo – “Come Along”
 

AM: What doors do you feel NFTs can open in your practice? 

ES: First I found out about NFTs in February of 2021 and my first emotion was “Finally, digital art will be accepted as physical art;” “I was born on the Internet and NFT is integrated into my DNA;” or, “Division into three: dream, magical realism and elements of reality now all make sense together because the virtual world cannot exist in reality.” But I want to start with my photography work, because this is my beginning, and from there I can go anywhere.

AM: It feels rather apropos that your debut NFT pays homage to the Surrealists that informed your practice over the past decade. 

ES: I called Salvador Dali (my style and performance) and Rene Magritte (painting and sky) my creative parents. I prepared a photograph that is my digital avatar, the symbol of my surreal-virtualism, where the idea is free and it doesn’t live in my body, it isn’t imprisoned in it. 

1

A. Moret

A. Moret is an international arts contributor and curator.   Her curiosity about the intersection of art and technology inspired the founding of Installation Magazine nearly a decade ago.  As the Artistic Director and Editor-in-Chief she oversees all editorial, conducts interviews with artists around the world and develops enriching partnerships that make art a source of conversation and not intimidation. She is based in Los  Angeles, CA.

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Familiar places in an unfamiliar light: terrestrial chiaroscuro in Reuben Wu’s “Lux Noctis”

Familiar places in an unfamiliar light: terrestrial chiaroscuro in Reuben Wu’s “Lux Noctis”

Originally published in Lux Noctis (2018)

Familiar places in an unfamiliar light: terrestrial chiaroscuro in Reuben Wu’s “Lux Noctis”

3 years ago

In a remarkable video released in December 2011 by researchers at MIT, a single photon is shown passing through the interior of a plastic bottle. The photon moves leisurely, taking its time, traveling from one end of the bottle to the other, never betraying its actual speed of 186,000 miles per second. Captured by a device known as a “streak camera” — one that records scenes at a rate of one trillion exposures every second — the photon appears as nothing more than a single, hovering sphere of light. In a different context, it might pass for an over-lit aircraft, even a shooting star or comet, a luminous orb revealing every granular detail of its surroundings while casting its background into inky obscurity. 

The Italian art historical term chiaroscuro refers to the use of deep shadow and precisely directed artificial light in portraying a scene. Originating in the Renaissance and most often associated with oil painting, chiaroscuro is a technique that can bring a great, compressed sense of drama to even the most mundane setting. In chiaroscuro, human figures emerge from impenetrable darkness, their expressions theatrical, all shadow-stretched eye sockets and hardened jawlines. Individual objects appear exaggerated, as if arranged on a stage set, intensified by the depicted glow of a single source of light. Chiaroscuro presents a high-contrast world, one in which the visual effects of MIT’s ghostly photon would not be out of place. 

In the early months of 2016, photographer Reuben Wu began documenting remote geological formations in the American Southwest using an unusual lighting technique: a high-powered LED mounted to a drone. This setup allowed Wu to send lighting out into the landscape, illuminating single rock slopes and ridges with unerring precision. The drone, rather than serving as an extension of the photographer’s eye, became instead a part of the landscape being photographed. Dimly illuminated rock forms loom, robots circling them in space like the whirring of a planetary hard drive.

Rich in shadows, the resulting series of photographs, known by the title “Lux Noctis,” suggests an entirely new kind of geological portraiture. Isolated topographic features become spot-lit and removed from their surroundings. The effect can be almost clinical, as if Wu has ventured into these landscapes as part of an unnamed scientific survey, an expedition sent to measure and catalog anomalous planetary landforms. In the process, Wu seems to have revealed a parallel world, one that overlaps with, but is not quite identical to our own. Indeed for Wu, the “Lux Noctis” series works in the service of a larger, more poetic question: “How can I change my own perspective of our planet, and make it new and unexplored?” The result is terrestrial chiaroscuro, a severe and deeply etched exploration of sites where the Earth is at its most unearthly.

One of many astonishing visual effects of the series is that Wu’s outdoor scenes could pass for the interiors of deep caves, so heavy is the darkness he captures. The ink-black sky seen in most of these photos has the effect of ridding each image of scale, making it almost impossible to know what some of them depict. Towering forms could pass for tropical reefs, deep-sea vents, or the fragile mineral pipettes of stalactites. Technicolor cliffs the size of skyscrapers or vast flanks of desert mesas might be nothing more than small rocks illuminated by flashlight. What appears to be the moon might really be the hovering glow of the artist’s drone — or vice versa.

In his biography of Caravaggio (1571-1610), the painter most commonly associated with chiaroscuro’s representational technique, historian Andrew Graham-Dixon draws attention to the artist’s silken blacks and carefully controlled cones of illumination. “Looking at his pictures is like looking at the world by flashes of lightning,” Graham-Dixon writes of Caravaggio’s work. Here, with “Lux Noctis,” Wu shows what it’s like to look at the world by flashes of machines, robots whose flight paths resemble haloes, giving the landscapes a holy feel — mineral giants, angels frozen in stone — as if beatified by light. 

For historian A. Roger Ekirch, the metaphors we use for describing night can be inaccurate, even misleading. In his book At Day’s Close: Night in Times Past, Ekirch suggests that the concept of nightfall, for example, implies that night comes from above and descends upon us, whereas, he writes, night is something more infernal. Night comes from below. “Rather than falling, night, to the watchful eye, rises,” Ekirch explains. “Emerging first in the valleys, shadows slowly ascend sloping hillsides,” like a dark tide stirring amongst forest roots. Night pulls itself over the daytime world like a cape; it is an obscurity that blankets and overwhelms. Night is a terrestrial thing. 

The images in “Lux Noctis” appear to support Ekirch’s observation. A creeping darkness at the edges of things threatens to reabsorb the monumental figures in Wu’s work. These peaks, ridges, and pillars are there for us to see — but only briefly. Machines, sent forth to help record these obscure landscapes, futilely push back against the benthic gloom that continues its rise against the light. After all, inevitably Wu’s drone will return to him, its LED extinguished; Wu himself will pack up his gear and hike to the next topographic feature; and these immense fragments of an alternative Earth will disappear back into the rising night from which they came, as if some colossal shutter has snapped closed. 

1

Geoff Manaugh

Geoff Manaugh a Los Angeles-based freelance writer, covering topics related to cities, design, crime, infrastructure, technology, and more for The New York Times MagazineThe AtlanticThe New YorkerThe GuardianNew ScientistCabinet MagazineThe Daily BeastWiredWired UK, and many other publications. He is the co-author, with journalist Nicola Twilley, of Until Proven Safe: The History and Future of Quarantine (2021, MCD Books), and A Burglar’s Guide to the City (2016, FSG Originals), on the relationship between crime and architecture.

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From commercial to crypto: on the evolution of Sam Spratt

From commercial to crypto: on the evolution of Sam Spratt

From commercial to crypto: on the evolution of Sam Spratt

3 years ago

“This is my first NFT,” says NYC-based artist Sam Spratt. “It’s a by-product of basically 10 months of trying to understand [the market], and basically being an observer.”

The NFT space is Spratt’s next evolutionary stage in his artistic journey, one that includes a back catalogue of album covers for Janelle Monae, Donald Glover, Kid Cudi, and pretty much all of Logic’s discography. Spratt has also worked on Red Dead Redemption Two and has done comics and movie posters for Marvel.

And yet, despite this massive repertoire of commercial work, Spratt feels that working in the NFT space allows him more room to stretch. 

“So much of my storytelling was really telling other people’s stories,” he says. “I am fairly confident that almost no one knows who I am as a human being.”

Photo by Harmon Leon

Photo by Harmon Leon

Spratt will be dropping his inaugural piece, “Luci,” on SuperRare this October, based on the theme of awakening following a catalytic event in Spratt’s life.

“What it is more about is the narrative of progress,” says Spratt. “Learning the vocabulary of change versus actually changing are two very different things. And one requires a hell of a lot more work.”

Luci marks Spratt’s attempt at both articulating that feeling of change, and beginning the process of transformation, two things that are very much a part of the human experience.

[I don’t feel that it] is a very lonely [feeling] at all. And it’s not just a current vibration, it’s a very old and ancient one.

— Sam Spratt

Though an oil painting purest, Spratt has always had an affinity for digital art. “I have a traditional background, love the texture, the feel, all of the uniqueness that makes an oil painting. What drew me [into the digital] was this idea that these mediums are presently distinct,” he says. But, as the technology continues to advance, and more people learn to manipulate paints and pigments: “You could feel that these things are just going to bleed into each other.”

When he initially encountered NFTs, Spratt was skeptical.

“It’s not like I instantly saw it and was like, ‘This is the future,’” he says. “But the more you pull the thread and actually talk to people who know what they’re doing…they try to pass on some wisdom.”

Being, as he puts it, an “inherently calculated person,” Spratt did extensive research into the medium before he could even begin to create work that felt like it belonged in the space. Spratt began to learn the entire NFT stratosphere by talking to everyone from artists working in the medium to crypto experts and those building the infrastructure.

Actually getting into it was mostly a desire to wait until I had work that I felt was authentically ‘me’. And to do it in a way where I felt like I understood what [the NFT ecosystem is] and what it could become. I didn’t want to just rush in and shape something just because it seemed exciting.

— Sam Spratt

Following those months of research into the realm of NFTs, Spratt now approaches his work much differently.

“Even before I discovered NFTs, I was attempting to build my own world and story,” he says. “I was trying to articulate this feeling I have had; this desire to change and grow as a person.”

The Luci NFT series came from many ideas that Spratt has had before it, ideas that were fixated on the pain of life: “Just that feeling of: it’s sucking to wake up…to feel like you had been walking a bit in the dream state.” Adding: “In my opinion, that place is less interesting than the path out.”

“What was powerful about beginning to dig into the NFT space,” Spratt explains, “ is that I got to see that all of those feelings that had led to a sense of atomization of loneliness that I was siloed off; that I was feeling something no one could possibly understand.”

And through the artistic process, Spratt began to see that everyone has had those feelings, that funny sensation that something about our current world just isn’t quite right.

Everyone has their own kind of trauma, success, or failure.

— Sam Spratt

Photo by Harmon Leon

Photo by Harmon Leon

Spratt wants to show his appreciation to anyone who bids on the Luci project – or who took part in the process of its creation – by giving them a hand-painted portrait of the skull used in the series.

“Basically, anyone involved in that process, including some of my other friends and collectors, I just want to be connected to them in some way,” he says. “And you will have a piece of me to go with that.”

1

Harmon Leon

Harmon Leon is the the author of eight books—the latest is: 'Tribespotting: Undercover (Cult)ure Stories.' Harmon's stories have appeared in VICE, Esquire, The Nation, National Geographic, Salon, Ozy, Huffington Post, NPR’s 'This American Life' and Wired. He's produced video content for Vanity Fair, The Atlantic, Timeline, Out, FX, Daily Mail, Yahoo Sports, National Lampoon and VH1. Harmon has appeared on This American Life, The Howard Stern Show, Last Call With Carson Daly, Penn & Teller’s Bullshit, MSNBC, Spike TV, VH1, FX, as well as the BBC—and he's performed comedy around the world, including the Edinburgh, Melbourne, Dublin, Vancouver and Montreal Comedy Festivals. Follow Harmon on Twitter @harmonleon.

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Exploring the aesthetics of form and code, Brendan Dawes’ SuperRare debut will make you look up

Exploring the aesthetics of form and code, Brendan Dawes’ SuperRare debut will make you look up

Arcade Machine Dreams

Exploring the aesthetics of form and code, Brendan Dawes’ SuperRare debut will make you look up

3 years ago

Acclaimed UK-based artist and designer Brendan Dawes utilizes cutting-edge generative processes involving data, pixel-generating techniques, machine learning, and algorithms to create unique NFTs that bend the boundaries between time, space, and our very human senses. A Lumen Prize Alumni, his works have been exhibited worldwide, including at the Big Bang Data show. He participated in three shows in the Museum of Modern Art in New York, and his groundbreaking work “Cinema Redux,” which creates a single visual distillation of an entire film, like a cinematic fingerprint, was acquired into the MoMa’s main collection in 2008. 

Oblivious #1 (Your Nearest Exit May Be Behind You), Dawes genesis piece on SuperRare

Dawes describes Cinema Reduxas a turning point in his career. Though he has never attended art school, it is undeniable that he is an artist in the truest sense of the word. His practice involves constant experimentation and improvisation, pushing the boundaries of visual language to draw out aspects of the human experience that pulse beneath our everyday lives. Throughout his career, Dawes has kept true to his own pace, and with this NFT drop, the world is now starting to catch up. More recently, his series “The Art of Cybersecurity” was featured in Art Futura 2020 and “The Pandora Variations,” a collaboration with composer Logan Nelson and choreographer, actor, and filmmaker, Charlotte Edmonds, was auctioned at Sotheby’s this past June.

Arcade Machine Dreams

Dawes’ SuperRare genesis piece reveals a new series of works titled “Oblivion #1 (Your Nearest Exit May Be Behind You).” The series is inspired by a chapter in a 1961 children’s novel The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster where the main character discovers a city where the buildings start to disappear because the people don’t look up anymore. Dawes raises questions about our busying perception in the digital age. The distracting nature of consumer culture, with its endless notifications, can often leave us blind to the beauty that surrounds us when we allow ourselves to forget the simple gesture of looking up. This might sound strange from an NFT artist, but he assures me he loves screens; it’s a matter of striking a balance.

Commissioned by McMillan for Trend Micro, “The Art of Cybersecurity” is a series of images, together with a 4K animation born from cybersecurity threat data.

During quarantine we all experienced a slowing down, a reduction of our day-to-day life. We were forced to encounter the sudden vulnerability of the human body and found ourselves feeling gratitude for many things which we often overlooked. In this series, Dawes reminds us that our gaze has the power to alter our reality of time and space, how the things we oversee when we are distracted can literally disappear. 

With code and data it’s easy to get lost in the technical possibilities and lose sight of what the work is about.

— Brendan Dawes

A fun fact about Dawes is that he had a short-lived record contract during the rave scene in Manchester back in the 1990s. Though not a lucrative business, his track made it to the New York club chart. Not being a trained musician, he was, however, able to program the computer to entrance people on the dance floor. To this day his works draw from his deep love for film and music, as well as nature with its mysterious and complex forms. Dawes’ NFTs raise questions about beauty, memory, and the human experience. His works carve out fantastic spaces where visuals react to music in real time, and where data can dance with the emotive expression of a trained performer. Like dropping in on a dream or a scene from a film, Dawes’ works operate like a raft in the midst of powerful digital currents. 

“Moments” by Brendan Dawes: visualizing moments in history captured on film, television or video

Though deeply embedded in digital processing, something about the systems Dawes creates always connect back to the human experience. He explains, “With code and data it’s easy to get lost in the technical possibilities and lose sight of what the work is about,” but with Dawes’ works, no matter how much the physical human form is processed, with visuals standing in, like metaphors, the sensation of human experience always emerges through the inherent coolness of the machine processes. Though data and code are not the obvious tools for creative expression, Dawes is a master of the coding language, using rhythm, texture, and imagery, much like a poet would. He explains that working as a designer is about providing answers, while being an artist allows him to open up avenues of questioning for the viewer and to give form and texture to those human experiences that are often inexpressible, existing between the boundaries of the logical structures of the ones and zeros. He explains, “Art is a lens through which we can ask questions about the world” and his works do just that, they open an unlikely meditative digital space for the viewer to meet oneself and explore new ways of experiencing the world. 

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Mika Bar On Nesher

Mika is a writer and filmmaker based in NYC. They are a Curator at SuperRare @superraremika  

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