<i>Coded After Lovelace</i> (2014) exhibition photos + GIFs<i>The End of Love</i> @ New Theater reviewedEmails unfinished w Holly Childs + Max T.T. EdmondEmily Jones @ Lima Zulu reviewed<i>Phantom Limbs</i> (2014) @ Pilar Corrias exhibition photosRanda Mirza @ Archive Kabinett reviewedMatt Welch @ Vitrine Project Space reviewed<i>Thank You</i> @ Jupiter Woods reviewed<i>In the Wake</i> (2014) @ Truth & Consequences exhibition photosA preview of <i>Project Space Festival Berlin</i>Constant Dullaart @ Carroll/Fletcher review + photos<i>The Posthuman Era Became a Girl</i> reviewedBunny Rogers @ Société reviewedAn interview with Monira Al Qadiri<i>Never cargo terminal…</i> @ Smart Objects exhibition photosErica Scourti, <i>Snow Crash</i> + dissolving into dataAn interview with Rachel LordThe problem of Paddles ON!John Seal @ Kraupa-Tuskany Zeidler reviewedAn interview with Harm van den Dorpel

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  • Presumably named after artist and mathematician Ada Lovelace -or 19th century computer programmer and maker of the first algorithm – the Coded After Lovelace exhibition tracks the evolution of ‘digital art’ before it became a buzzword. Curators Faith Holland and Nora O’ Murchú open the press release with a quote from a book, itself titled after said slang – Digital Art (2003) – where Christian Paul announces:
    “Artists have always been among the first to reflect on the culture and technology of their time, and decades before the digital revolution had been officially proclaimed, they were experimenting with the digital medium”

    Herewith are those experimenters from…

  • Attendance at Berlin’s New Theater events always seems to exceed capacity. A one night only performance of The End of Love, written and directed by venue founders Calla Henkel and Max Pitegoff, takes this trend to extremes. Some of those attending tonight fill the seating area like a liquid. The rest are squeezed out and pushed into the bar or spill out onto the rainy street. Once the curtains open, oblivious chit-chat from outside contributes to the foley sound and these often filmic interjections occur as if they’d been scripted. A North American whine sounds louder than anything on stage saying, “I’m leaving tomorrow.”…

  • On first accessing Holly Childs and Max Trevor Thomas-Edmond’s Ellen Degeneres Beezin Topshop {preliminary materials} exhibition on the Life Gallery website, it appeared on my old MacBook as a series of ‘Server Authentication’ boxes floating across each other. Each of the Google docs comprising the exhibition had failed to load. It was serene yet commanding, each display message representing text existent but remote. When I finally did get things up and running, the structure of the looping docs demanded a higher level of concentration than I’ve become accustomed to for much of my online consumption. This call for alertness, attempting to pin down the…

  • A cursory examination of Emily Jones’ practice suggests an engagement with current accelerationist rhetoric: that aestheticised taxonomy of collapse where nature systems fall and decline, technology mutates organically, dolphins swim kawaai through toxic sludge and tribal peoples wander around wearing Nike in the endless flattened desert of the real. But Jones is a different kind of taxonomist. The point seems not to illustrate the sameness or equivalence of things, but to invent systems – algorithms, even, though the terms of the equation are obscured – by which she (and we) might understand the world.
    Emily Jones, The Hudson River (2014) @ Lima Zulu exhibition photo….

  • Named after the neurological phenomenon of a body part, even organ, that’s missing or amputated but still felt in its absence, the Phantom Limbs group exhibition expressed a dearth in its abundance. Running at London’ s Pilar Corrias between June 27 and August 1, eight artists exploring “notions of consciousness” within a digitally mediated existence were presented across its two floors.
    Ken Okiishi‘s ‘E.lliotT.: Children of the New Age’ (2004) presented a surreal look into a mediated suburban dead end via amateur aesthetics and the disembodied mumblings of its performers, featured in its own white box display just across from Charlotte Prodger‘s ‘Compression Fern Face…

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