Part of me feels like this stunt is clever because the nature of the performance improves the value of the work. So it's self-destructive in the technical sense of the term but it was designed in such a way to essentially transform the piece. While shocking in the moment, as the pictures of the scene show, the work has three separate qualities: the original significance of the piece, the new meaning it attains after partial shredding, and its role in the historical documentation of the scene that played out. A bunch of moneyed folk at an auction recoiling in horror - either because of the money they initially thought was wasted, or more charitably because they genuinely cared about the work. What would your own assumption there tell you?
However, in my mind I also imagined something entirely different. What would it say for a similar work of art to self destruct at a very glacial pace, and the only way to prevent degradation was to pay attention to it? What would it say about the nature of art and wealth if the owner did not notice the piece had destroyed itself until it was too late, presumably because they bought it and left it in storage or on a wall they never looked at? This is what plenty of art will already do over the course of centuries, without maintenance or restoration, so I'm thinking about something more accelerated and deliberate.
And on an extra level, I have started to wonder how such a piece could be represented through programming. The website that rots, pixel by pixel, when it isn't viewed; or the application that subtly corrupts itself over time.
> And on an extra level, I have started to wonder how such a piece could be represented through programming. The website that rots, pixel by pixel, when it isn't viewed; or the application that subtly corrupts itself over time.
I suppose that's also already true today. Unmaintained software rots; the OS moves on and the software no longer runs. DRMed software has its servers shut down. Online games get shut down. Etc. The most loved software typically has enough interested hackers to keep it alive; releasing bug fixes decades later, defeating DRM, emulating server software to keep old online games alive, etc. But if no one cared about a piece of software, it won't be long before it "rots" and becomes unrunnable in the future.
Somewhat related, your comment reminded me about a piece of online performance art. It was a website with an animation of a dying astronaut, a countdown, and a clickable button. If the button wasn't clicked within a certain amount of time, to reset the countdown, the astronaut would die. Forever. As long as someone, somewhere, on the internet clicked that button, the astronaut would keep on living.
Things were touch and go when the website first went online. Not a lot of visitors meant not a lot of people to click the button and keep him alive. But it went viral, and his life was nearly assured.
I believe in the end a server glitch or something ruined it; the countdown ran out and the astronaut died. And that was it. There was no reset after that. For a brief flicker in time that virtual life burned dimly enough to light up the internet. Now he's merely a buried artifact of internet history.
The transience of the act is what gave it value. If something never dies, if it can never be lost, what value does it hold?
At the end of the film Blade Runner, the "Tears in Rain" speech. I always felt like he was saying he finally found value in his life. Androids, living only for a brief few years, didn't find much value in their lives. But he realized he had seen and done things that nobody else in the world had. And when he dies, those things will be lost forever, like tears in the rain. It seems pointless. But that loss is what gives value to his life. He isn't just another android. He's something priceless.
This is a good point and I notice that we respond to it by building remakes, remasters, and we do keep things running that were never really designed to last so long. I don't think many of us perceive that as decay or rot, or self-destruction, it's just that some of us are so passionate about those games or those works that we put a lot of effort into keeping them alive through emulation or hacking or reverse engineering. It's maintenance work and we'd describe the software as legacy.
It would all be completely lost without those people though, so of course it is the act of digital works decomposing naturally. Those of us who enjoy those efforts probably won't ever perceive it that way: those old games and programs and websites we love are still as alive as ever.
After playing an hour+ of browser emulated Mario Kart 64, and then reading this, it seems that worthwhile art (or software) will be kept alive until it languishes in the cultures mind.
Perhaps this is the statement of the piece, albeit on a shorter timescale. When does a piece of code execute for the last time? When does a piece of art last get appreciated?
> What would it say for a similar work of art to self destruct at a very glacial pace, and the only way to prevent degradation was to pay attention to it?
That's our society. Or Earth. In either case no one cares.
Interesting how the most remarkable and deep comments come from such “what if” comments about the most hypothetical and abstract subjects. It reminds me of the internet when I first met it.
Oh and by the way, this very same comment space is itself a product, an effect, a derivative work of Banksy’s art.
You might be interested in the work of the artist Eva Hesse. She experimented with materials like latex and fiberglass to create sculptures that were almost organic, with skeletons and skin. These materials are decomposing quickly, and while I couldn't find a source for this online, I believe she was intentionally using industrial processes that led to more rapid chemical breakdown. So her creations are (not so) slowly dying, and some are already unable to be displayed publicly, only 60 years after they were made. Perhaps some are only still around because museum curators are "paying attention." But if they can't be put on display anyway, what's the point of the life-support? And is it against Hesse's artistic intentions?
I’m a big fan of Eva Hesse, but have never heard that she intentionally used the materials she did because of their limited shelf life, cutting short her works’ lifespan like her own.
It’s an interesting idea, however the cynic in me couldn’t help but notice that the domain you link to is for an end of life counseling organization. I wonder if their line of work makes them give this aspect of her work more significance than she would’ve during her lifetime.
Not exactly what you're getting at but the artist Thijs Rijkers did a series of pieces similar to this, called Suicide Machines: https://vimeo.com/56871178
“The website that rots, pixel by pixel, when it isn't viewed; or the application that subtly corrupts itself over time.”
Just publish in a slightly obscure file format on physical media, and this is taken care of. Nobody will be able to access your art work in 20-40 years.
It'll make it eventually unusable, yeah, but that's not a public spectacle anymore. It feels more along the lines of shoving a painting into a cardboard box in a damp basement where nobody goes and letting it rot.
You could make a public spectacle of incompatible, limited hardware or a file format. It could even raise awareness of bit rot among consumers. I’ve been surprised by the fragility and ephemerality of possessions and creations in the digital age.
Do note that the purchaser was not present at the time. They were bidding over the phone through an employee of the auction house. So no one recoiled over the money they themselves had wasted.
However, in my mind I also imagined something entirely different. What would it say for a similar work of art to self destruct at a very glacial pace, and the only way to prevent degradation was to pay attention to it? What would it say about the nature of art and wealth if the owner did not notice the piece had destroyed itself until it was too late, presumably because they bought it and left it in storage or on a wall they never looked at? This is what plenty of art will already do over the course of centuries, without maintenance or restoration, so I'm thinking about something more accelerated and deliberate.
And on an extra level, I have started to wonder how such a piece could be represented through programming. The website that rots, pixel by pixel, when it isn't viewed; or the application that subtly corrupts itself over time.