Visual Arts: The machine that thinks and feels has been an object of speculative fascination for centuries, not least because the notion puts a question mark against our exalted view of ourselves as being unique, a special case in the universe.
Reviewed: Sentient Cog, 5th @Guinness Storehouse until Sept 15th (01- 4084800) Wolfgang Laib, The Paradise (8), Douglas Hyde Gallery until Sept 18th (01-6081116)
But, while there are periodic flurries of excitement about the future of artificial intelligence and human redundancy, the ramifications have so far been teased out in fiction rather than fact. Regardless of mind-boggling advances in both AI and knowledge of our own mental functioning, Philip K. Dick's tragic androids are still very much creatures of the imagination.
That said, most people have close relationships with machines. They do not think or feel, but they often seem to have personalities, and they certainly inspire emotion in humans, from affection to rage. In Sentient Cog at 5th@Guinness Storehouse, director Paul Murnaghan sets out to explore "the relationship between electronic, mechanical and human emotion" through the work of five contemporary artists.
There is always an element of paranoia and apprehension in our dealings with technology, and Bjorn Schulke sets out to address it with his Drone #2. A drone is usually a pilotless surveillance aircraft. Schulke's is more a satellite-like construction, a big, spidery form suspended from the ceiling. It incorporates "solar cells, heat sensors, propellers, videochips and a TFT monitor," and it is a beautiful object.
Beautiful, but a bit spooky, because its heat sensors respond to the human presence and it begins to behave in a way that suggests it's observing us. Although it looks fragile and elegant, it unmistakably dominate the space. Yet the aesthetic qualities of Drone #2 probably win out over the political. There is a distinct feeling that Schulke loves the technology, loves the forms, the sensitivities, the possibilities.
Saoirse Higgins blends science and superstition in her ingenious R>EMOTE. She has made an elaborate combination of hardware and software that functions like a computerised tarot-card reader. Based on the imprint of your palm, it produces an emotional report card, delivered in the form of a print-out, that might just offer some real insight into your character. Given that people are fascinated by those who claim to be able to offer such insights, this could be a popular machine. During the exhibition, Higgins also has a human tarot reader on hand.
There's a touch of technological Beckett to Jeremy Deadman's Electric Head. It is simple in conception. An electric razor with a frayed power cord lies on the ground. As the current intermittently flows the motor buzzes and dies.
What is perhaps surprising is the extent to which we impute expressiveness to the sound produced through a random pattern of contact and separation. But then we routinely speak of batteries being dead, or something with electric current running through it as being alive.
Janusz Grunspek directly addresses the crossover between technology and emotion with his series of appliances, including an invaluable little gizmo for rating friendship - simply have your pal touch the machine's two electrodes and it will offer you an immediate measure of the level of empathy between you. Grunspek's gadgets are acutely judged, but the strength of his work also lies in its high production values.
The imaginary products are offered to us in a showroom setting.
Simon Lewandowski's drawing machine appeals to the cute and zany side of technological intelligence. A convoluted assemblage of functional looking components, with a nod to Jean Tinguely's purposeless, self-defeating kinetic sculptures, it produces, displays and then conveniently shreds drawings. Their residue, in the form of paper strips, accumulate on the gallery floor.
All in all, a model of futility, but a good-humoured one. Humour is an element in most of the work in what is a very good show.
AFTER all the technology, and after negotiating the razzmatazz of the Guinness Storehouse, you could do worse than to make your way to Gallery 2 of the Douglas Hyde, where German Wolfgang Laib is the latest artist to make something for a series of installations on the theme The Paradise. Laib has worked with natural materials - most persistently and identifiably with pollen. His practice consists of the slow, extraordinarily painstaking collection of the pollen of selected plant species, and its use in installations.
For The Paradise, Laib exhibits a jar perched on a shelf in a corner of the gallery.
It is about two-thirds filled with the pale lemony pollen of hazelnut. I saw a couple of visitors walk into Gallery 2, glance at the jar, exchange wide-eyed looks and walk out.
It's a glib but understandable reaction, particularly if you're used to the idea of culture as spectacle and diversion.
Given half a chance, Laib's work is engaging and rewarding. But it demands imaginative engagement.
His ordinary glass jar transforms the space of the gallery by its presence.
Like a tiny region of condensed time, its extraordinary concentration and purity refers us to the process of collection and the state of mind of the artist throughout that process. This quiet though beautiful little piece is enough stimulate us into a considered, reflective consideration of our place in the world.
