“High Impact”

Alexander Stewart and Peter Miller, On the Logic of Dubious Historical Accounts, 1969–1972, 2007.

The theme of physical impact pulls together the three distinct projects at this artist-run space in Logan Square dedicated to interactive work that melds art and technology. Taylor Hokanson’s large keyboard—constructed out of spongy, pink silicon keys; a plywood box; a sledgehammer; and a flat-screen monitor—speaks to the “ease” of digital communication as audience members struggle to whack the keyboard hard enough to tap out a letter on the screen. The sweating, stammering, giggling human body normally absent in cyberspace is present with a vengeance here.

Rob Ray’s Anti Nigga Machine uses the virtual to address all-too-real violence and prejudice as it allows audience members to hurl beer cans at projected images of “thugged out” youth. When the modified pitching machine is triggered (with a Colt 45 starter pistol), the target is replaced by a live video feed of the user, who ends up “shooting” him- or herself instead of a rebellious-looking, but harmless teen.

These two projects contrast sharply with Alexander Stewart and Peter Miller’s silent, haunting 16mm film, On the Logic of Dubious Historical Accounts, 1969–1972. The digitally projected film’s abraded quality, blue tint, dusty detritus and subject matter—cameras slowly falling in space—are meant to evoke footage of the 1969 Apollo moon landing. According to the artists, astronauts brought 12 high-quality Hasselblad cameras to photograph the moon and Earth. To economize on weight for the return to Earth, the cameras were left on the moon, where they remain today. The film re-creates the disposal of the cameras, which the artists portray gently falling in the low gravity of the moon and impacting the lunar surface.

For some viewers, the ease with which the artists were able to re-create the look of a low-gravity environment might bolster claims that the moon landing was faked. For others, the image of a boxy camera falling and twisting in space and the delicate, scratchy patina of the 16mm film are resonant enough.—James Glisson