How the sausage is made
I've had some version of this conversation with at least five or six people recently (shout out to 113, ClownVamp, OONA, Sasha Stiles, Mimi, Regina and many others), and I thought that maybe this was a sign from the universe that I should document my thoughts.
In a past life, I almost went to art school to study metal smithing to be a jeweler; in another life, I thought I'd become a conservator. I figured I wouldn't be a good artist, so I got an art history degree. When I love something, I also itch to know everything about it: the why, the how, and the what. I want to know how the sausage is made. In any other language, we're taught both how to read and how to write. The reading influences the writing, and the writing informs the reading. But with technology and code, simpler interfaces, shorter tutorials, and fewer steps boxed us into only knowing how to be a user.
Digital art is one of the most technically challenging and conceptually complex art mediums. Artists experiment, use, and misuse technology, pushing machines and software to their limits and often a few steps beyond. Artists taught themselves how to be writers in code; how would I appreciate what they write if I only knew how to read? It's been slow going, but I'm teaching myself P5JS and Solidity, interacting with AI models, and following model development because I want to know how the sausage is made. I want to appreciate artists' works by trying to understand them fully.
But sometimes, we get so caught up in the desire and the urge to write that we forget why we want to.
Félix González-Torres created a series of "candy works" between 1990 and 1993. The work in the Art Institute of Chicago is titled "Untitled" (Portrait of Ross in L.A.) It is made of 175 pounds of shiny, commercially manufactured candy, the equivalent of the body weight of a healthy adult male. Visitors can take from the pile of sweets, change the configuration, and watch the pile dwindle before it's replenished.
Ross refers to Ross Laycock, González-Torres’ partner, who passed from complications of AIDS in 1991. These candy works are meant to show the deterioration of a human body against an incurable disease. The replenishment became the artist's way of immortalizing his partner and their love with something sweet, colorful, and associated with joy, to be shared with all for eternity.
I'd guess that González-Torres did not know how these candies were made, what type of food coloring was used, or that the mint flavor was a combination of peppermint and wintergreen. Whether the candies were made by Hershey's or Nestle is inconsequential for visitors to appreciate the work. These details are technically important to display his work, but the work is González-Torres' love for his partner.
To know how the sausage is made, I read about Ross. I didn't go to the grocery store for corn syrup and Red 5.
To know how the sausage is made, I want to see and know the recipe. Who cares if the fine sea salt is fortified with iodine.
And that, perhaps, is what I'm trying to say.
I'm still learning how to code. I'm still learning more about the technical intricacies the blockchain and modern machines are capable of, but the artists' vision should dictate the technology used, not the other way around.
There are a lot of sausage references in here, but if that's what you're gonna focus on, there's something about how you can lead a horse to water.
