Day Nine - Hypermedia from Paris!

As some of you know, i'm in Paris!

This of course means that i won't be posting every day, but when i have time and am inspired (as is the case today) i'll do my best to post something of interest. Once we get to Greece and our only planned adventures are lying on beaches all day, i'm sure to be antsy enough to be posting a bit more often. That is, if we can get internet. Anyhoo.



We visited Paris's modern art museum today, the amazing Centre Pompidu (really really check this one out!). One of the rooms i came across really made me stop and think. Here's what happened.



A small single room, low lit and filled with black frames caught my eye, so i wandered over. Reading from the plaque that the artist was Christian Boltanski (bio and work), a name that i hadn't heard before, i read that he was a multimedia artist, here working with polaroid photos, paper, and some other materials, working on "his obesssion" in his work - attempting the impossible task of reconstructing one's life as an artistic endeavor. In the room were about fifteen large frames, each containing photos, letter, messages, maps, and various other artifacts of the artist's life. Of course my heart started beating a little faster, and i thought about all the ways in which this artist and myself were similar. Here we both were, both driven towards attempting the impossible of reconstruction - study guides of massive ammounts of information - Artifacts. Bingo. You may or may not know this, but one of my big draws to hypermedia is my imediate artistic focus on the aesthetics, stories, purpouses, and structures of artifacts, and sometimes antiques. Anyways, i read the description, and get excited to look, get excited beyond belief that i've found some like mind. I walk in, look at about two of the frame-fulls of information, get bored, and walk on to another room.



Now, i don't feel any less connected with this artist. I don't dislike the work by any means - i thought it was beautiful. But the thing that speaks to me the most about it is the idea of it. Knowing that he took time to compose it, knowing that it means something, knowing that it could be sleuthed through piece by piece to be made sense of.



Which begs the question:



Is hypermedia (both as i'm envisioning it related to my work, and as an "invention" for the use of the general public) important as a final product, or is the real value in the process that the artist goes through inventing it? Could it really be that helpful for someone who happens upon it as i did Boltanski's exhibit, or is it simply a pathos/ritual for the artist to engage themselves in in order to further their work or appease some personal demon/paranoia?



I clearly don't have the anwsers to these questions.

As you may/may not know, i've been fighting for this hypermedia thing ever since the idea started to formalize, and it still seems vastly important outside of myself, if it catches on and becomes economically possible. So. I don't think i'm letting go of the idea any time soon. But. I have said all along that the most valuable part of the process thus far that i've engaged in making the first prototype were the ways in which it pushed and informed me as a singular artist and human being. So what now?



I'll close for today with a realization i'm coming to while typing (and then possible add more tomorrow):



This question is the same one that i'm trying to tackle right now for the making of dances themselves. Is it important that the audience be engaged by the final product? Or is it the process of making that dance that is the important thing - simply a catharsis of some pathos?



My guess is that those who say that it's the process that's important for the hypermedia (and advise giving up the audience aspect) are the ones who feel most strongly that the audience must be paid attention to in performance. Vice versa as well? I'm not sure. Would LOVE to get some responses back on this one so we can discuss!



Maybe doing both with every piece is my attempt to ballence the two extremes. At the least, it's causing me to ask myself these questions, and you, my audience in this case, to interact with them.



Au Revoir!