Life within the simulacrum

Life Within the Simulacrum: HTTPS://whatisthepurposeofgalleries.co.uk

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Life Within the Simulacrum is a featured column focusing on technology & social media, travel & literature.

BY DALLAS ATHENT

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(I Want To Make Something Huge by Camille Yvert, 2018)

The use of text and technology in art, though two varied subjects, share a similar issue–both of these themes are accessible in a way that almost any artist can produce fairly decent work using them. Anyone can make a painting that says something, and because it says something, it impacts you on the surface. Same with technology–it’s current, and since we live our lives with technology in the modern world and we are used to such objects, art utilizing this subject can be easily familiar to us on a personal level.

But it’s not often work in either of these mediums hits home in a way that you deeply internalize it, which was exactly what was so shocking about a recent show I saw in London, rightfully titled HTTPS:// curated by IKO at Sluice gallery. Upon entry, a large purple wall reads “Disappointingly Territorial” in dripping petroleum jelly–a work by Matilda Moors. Like a new-wave horror story, it blatantly depicted my own reflection as a young woman, navigating a need to create work out of crisis–a plea to be self-aware, honest and demonstrate talent for consumption all at once. These are common themes that transcend time for artists of all disciplines. However, they’re especially relevant during a technological revolution when the quest for love can so easily exist in the simulacra where we connect with others through web-based interfaces. Is this what the artist intended with this piece? I’m not sure, but it was a welcoming entryway to the other works in the show which equally addressed this particular sort of existential angst.

(View of HTTPS:// including work by Matilda Moors, Sam Blackwood & others)

Additionally in HTTPS://  Sam Blackwood created a piece titled Green Bottles, which consisted of bottles of wine with personal branding and flowers stuck in placed in clusters around the gallery. I visited the show weeks after it originally opened and the flowers had wilted. The progress in time was a morbid representation of what happens to the artists’ spirit as we succumb to self-promotion through the web. But maybe that’s just me projecting my personal issues. If you think this is the point of the exhibit in its entirety, however, keep reading. There’s a bit of a plot twist.

(Green Bottles by Sam Blackwood, 2018)

HTTPS:// had many other attributes that were carefully crafted, creating depth to what seemed so simple at a glance. There was a hard-drive that you could upload to your computer full of art by Chris Alton, a custom-made bench with plug-ins to charge your phone and IKO even provided free WiFi so attendees could freely find the artists online without draining their data usage. As I said, I initially gathered pieces of the exhibit were about both the pressure, longing and anxiety of having to self-promote as an artist, but after sharing this sentiment with Oly Durcan of IKO, he in turn, asked me a question. “What’s the purpose of an artwork in an exhibition that someone’s traveled to? We’re not telling people what the answer is. It’s an entry point.” I told him I felt like we were in the simulacrum (which literally 100% of people who have ever met me are probably sick of hearing by now, but hey, you’re here reading this review in my column just on that subject, so maybe you haven’t spent enough time with me yet–just wait!). More explicitly, I explained that when social media came out, it seemed a new way for artists to promote themselves while avoiding commercial influence, whereas now it’s the opposite. People now seem to make music, or paint or write in order to gain a larger following online. The validation through attention on the web has almost overcome the validation of someone buying your work. In the end, isn’t the point of making art to express your ego, or achieve love? Does social media not replace this purpose? I didn’t ask these last couple of questions in fear of seeming vain, but I thought it.

(Custom bench made by IKO for “HTTPS://, including “Live and Direct” By Dani Smith, 2018)

But Oly said something comforting. He said, “I think it’s a little like that, but it’s kind of–” and then did a motion with his hands like the scales were going back and forth. He was right. I was just being pessimistic 🙁 Upon further thought I realized the exhibition isn’t a critique of social media use in an artist’s life, instead, it’s about where does the experience of an artist start and finish.

I left the gallery wondering the same thing. I myself, have just moved to London and this was the very first review I’ve done of a show here. Where in the simulacrum do my relationships with those whose work I review begin and end? Life is art and art is life. We know this. In an attempt to make sense of it all, I went home that evening and made an Instagram post about my experience at the show, hoping it was somehow getting so meta and I could connect with my readers and the artists whose work I just admired. That was what HTTPS:// hoped to achieve, and dammit, I was going to try it out. I tagged Matilda in a selfie I took earlier that day in front of her work, as her’s was the one that stuck out to me when I first attended the opening–and then I got a notification hours later, that she followed me back.

IT’S KIND OF HARD TO EXPLAIN (IKO) is an artist and curatorial collective based in London that has been operating since 2017. HTTPS:// was on view from September 14th, 2018-October 6th, 2018 at Sluice Gallery in London

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Dallas Athent is a writer and artist. She is the author of THEIA MANIA, a book of poems with art by Maria Pavlovska. Her work, both literary and artistic has been published or profiled in BUST Magazine, Buzzfeed Community, VIDA Reports From The Field, At Large Magazine, PACKET Bi-Weekly, YES Poetry!, Luna Luna Magazine, Bedford + Bowery, Gothamist, Brooklyn Based, and more. She’s a board member of Nomadic Press. She lives in The Bronx with her adopted pets.

Life Within the Simulacrum: If the Internet Dies, Am I Still a Writer?

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Life Within the Simulacrum is a featured column focusing on technology & social media, travel & literature.

BY DALLAS ATHENT

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Recently I was assembling my portfolio. One of the magazines I regularly write for re-routed their archive and I panicked — I couldn’t find one of the best articles I’ve ever written in my life on their website anymore. So what did I do?

I Googled it.

“Philippe Avignant At Large Magazine Dallas Athent”

That should do it. And it did. There was the link, floating around in space. Even though I couldn’t find a way to it anywhere on their website, it still existed. I was still a person. But then I had to ask if anyone would ever find this article again. It’s quite possible only a few people before it’s gone forever. And ironically, if anyone does search “Philippe Avignant At Large Magazine Dallas Athent” to get directly to it they’ll likely now come to this article instead.

Growing up, I read magazines. If I was lucky I saved up enough money as a teenager to head into New York City and go to St. Marks where I’d find random zines and lit mags. I still have copies of those magazines today. Sometimes this still happens. I travel from city to city and always come across publications I never heard of and am happy to pick up.

But this kind of discovery now happens more frequently in the internet. We’re publishing more than ever. It’s so easy. Throw up a Tumblr, buy a .com and make it happen. Take submissions through Submittable. Share Google docs. It costs next to nothing. It can be done by your phone on the go and on the computer. It can be shared on social media for free. People share a link. Maybe some people click it and discover a new website. They then save said website, or follow it. Maybe they read more. Maybe they don’t.

But once all of these websites can no longer be maintained, and we find 404 errors, it’s like we never really wrote anything at all. What happens when the Editor of some online mag moves to Europe moves and lets the publishing trickle out? What if somebody just forgets to renew a GoDaddy URL? What happens in 100 years when historians are studying the art of today? Will all of our archives fade into oblivion?

The answer is — of course they will. Even things that are printed fade over time. Pages deteriorate with age. Things are thrown out. Nothing is permanent. We are flecks of dust in time and all we have is this moment. This is what the internet reminds me of. The internet is forever until it’s not. We are published writers until we aren’t. Links or it didn’t happen. But when something is in print, at least you can hold it in your hand. You can pinch yourself and then commit to checking out the rest of the book or magazine to read more, instead of xing out of a tab you may never revisit.

The act of sharing articles, essays and poetry has become more important than the literature itself. We share, therefore we are. If you’re not being published, you’re not doing anything.

So I have to ask, if the internet goes down, who am I? I honestly don’t know anymore. Even this essay is starting not to make sense. But that may not even matter because it could just become a random link that I have to Google one day to prove I wrote for PANK. The point is things are on the internet, and the internet isn’t real so I can’t measure what that means when life is lived in the flesh.

But at least I can share this link and prove I’m a writer, right?

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Dallas Athent is a writer and artist. She is the author of THEIA MANIA, a book of poems with art by Maria Pavlovska. Her work, both literary and artistic has been published or profiled in BUST Magazine, Buzzfeed Community, VIDA Reports From The Field, At Large Magazine, PACKET Bi-Weekly, YES Poetry!, Luna Luna Magazine, Bedford + Bowery, Gothamist, Brooklyn Based, and more. She’s a board member of Nomadic Press. She lives in The Bronx with her adopted pets.

 

Life Within the Simulacrum: My Name Is Not My Name

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Life Within the Simulacrum is a featured column focusing on technology & social media, travel & literature.

BY DALLAS ATHENT

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Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to truly be an artist. I walk a tightrope between two worlds. One as a creative soul who constantly lives on the brink of an existential journey, and then one where I’m just here to make money and survive.

See, I was never a person who just threw caution to the wind, said “fuck it” and despite all the risks, threw themselves into being a full-time creative dreamer. As a Type 1 Diabetic I literally can’t survive without health insurance. It just wouldn’t be possible without putting me into a crippling debt. Thus, I’ve always tried to maintain a full-time corporate career while straddling the world of art in my spare time. The thing is, in today’s internet world maintaining a full-time job often times maintaining a clean, Google-able record. Especially in client facing roles.

So I made a pen name.

And now my name is not my name.

For the reasons listed above, the practice of using a pen name is becoming more and more popular. I’m not the only one. Having a pen name means one also has multiple email addresses, people from one’s past commenting on status updates with said person’s real name, while said person’s name is displayed on all social media as their fake name. People who have known me outside of writing attend events and pause before addressing me, remembering I’m someone else. Thus, I’m a woman in two world – one where I’m me and then another one where I’m also me.

So how does life really change for someone who’s living between two names? It’s a bit bizarre at first but not the worst thing in the world. It doesn’t really split your identity. If I lived in two complete personalities which were devout of each other that would be easier. The tricky part is, you learn to live as one person, which a personality where certain attributes are more “highlighted” at times. At work I’m more aggressive. In writing I’m more open. In both scenarios, I’m confident, forthright and funny (if I do say so myself).

So does it really matter then, to have a pen name? For the most part, no. I’m a person and that’s that. But to others who have to live a semi-false existence due to personal paranoia when it comes to one’s career and “the man” I’d recommend the following when choosing your pen name:

Either chose something so fake it’s obvious it’s fake (like ‘Star Unicorn Fantasy’), OR use your original first name with just a new last name. If you choose a name that’s too normal it just feels like a lie. Which it is. So make it obvious it’s a lie, or just use your damn first name.

Ensure said name is highly searchable / Googleable and that nobody else has it. If you’re going to go through the trouble of changing your name for writing make sure you benefit to the fullest!]

Commit to it. Make sure everything you do, your emails, your bylines, every single article is in that name going forward. Make no compromises, or your identity as a writer will start to split into several Horcruxes like Lord Voldemort.

At the same time, be ready to admit that name is not your name (kinda like I’m doing by writing this damn article). It will come up, eventually. Whether you’re referring someone you know from writing to your job, or you get close with a fellow writer to the degree that they meet your brother or sister, your pay for a round with your credit card, it’ll happen. Own it. It’s okay. We’re all living within the simulacrum with a false sense of self anyway.

And Godspeed. I can tell you my name is not my name. And yours doesn’t have to be either.

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Dallas Athent is a writer and artist. She is the author of THEIA MANIA, a book of poems with art by Maria Pavlovska. Her work, both literary and artistic has been published or profiled in BUST Magazine, Buzzfeed Community, VIDA Reports From The Field, At Large Magazine, PACKET Bi-Weekly, YES Poetry!, Luna Luna Magazine, Bedford + Bowery, Gothamist, Brooklyn Based, and more. She’s a board member of Nomadic Press. She lives in The Bronx with her adopted pets.