Urban art: reflecting on the reART:theURBAN conference (Zurich – October 2012)

MacGhillie by Knowbotiq – conference attendant taking part in the performance

How can we define urban art? Art that is performed in urban spaces? Art that questions, challenges and addresses urban issues? Or art that originates in the city and is distinctively urban? It is perhaps all of the above, but more importantly, urban art is about encounter. Performative and embodied encounter. It is about participation. It is also about uncertainty, awareness, reflection. It can trigger political action, social interaction, or play. Or it can just sit in the background, waiting for someone to wear it (see video above), trip on it (see video below), pick it up or sit on it.

Its outcome is contingent on the unpredictable agency of the city and the subjectivity of participants, who might interpret it in significantly different ways than envisioned by the artists or the institutions that have commissioned it. By moving outside of the controlled environment of art galleries and museums, it is subject to performative ‘failures’, although, as Judith Butler puts it, performance must fail, as the failures of performance can bring new affordances.

The reART:theURBAN conference showcased and discussed the many facets of urban art, including its discrepancies, missed potentials, contradictions and failures. During the open plenary, Charles Landry pondered why there is so much red public art around the world. Is it because it needs to make a point by ‘shouting out’ its purpose by standing out against the chaotic backdrop of the city? Can urban art not make its point discretely? After Landry’s talk, Erik Swyngedou highlighted the contradictions in the employment of urban art as a promotional tool for cities that market themselves as creative/sustainable/eco cities.

Swyngedou’s warning call can be seen here:

He replies to the question: “How can we bring divergent approaches to the table?” by arguing that it forces us to mistakenly think that we can actually all come together and agree in the city. Instead, we must understand the city’s most important quality as being exactly the ability to cater for an assemblage of individuals with divergent opinions, desires and ways of living. IN this case it is worth pondering the following question: how does the city support the development of the commons through urban art without succumbing to the rhetoric of the ‘cultural city’?

Rimini Protokoll’s 100% Zurich, performed during the conference, attempts to sketch out such commons in a two hour performance: 100 citizens on stage representing a statistical selection of the population of Zurich take part in a staged performance that shines a torch on the city through a lens that highlights its people and their ways of living rather than the infrastructure fabric. These ‘experts of the everyday’ tell their individual and collective stories, opinions and wishes through a semi-rehearsed performance, while multiple questions are posed to the 100 members, who scramble around the circular stage (that doubles as a sort of giant whiteboard filmed from above) to indicate statistically their answers. At one point, the narrative states: “We are a body with 100 heads”. This statement summarises the role of the city as a stage for a commons through dissensus, according to Swyngedou’s argument.

Slavoj Zizek’s keynote lecture – When Art is Dangerous – also questioned the totalitarian aim of the cultural city rhetoric. During his entertaining and engaging talk, Zizek elaborated on the ‘poetic military complex’. He argues that “authentic poetry, authentic art is used in crimes of poetic military ideology”. He referred to the justification of crimes against humanity through the use of poetic rhetoric – from Hitler via Karadzic to contemporary African dictators. The poetic military complex. These crimes, according to Zizek, are perpetrated through the use of language as a totalitarian weapon. Instead, he argues, “language should be tortured to tell the truth” so that poetry can be redeemed. He mentioned as an example Eisenstein and his ‘torturing of language through montage’.

I think Zizek’s point must be taken seriously especially when the focus on technology as effect/technique/theme in urban art foregrounds spectacle and an action/interaction effect molded on cybernetic predictability that affects participation, the important role of embodiment and reflection. It is a refreshing challenge to the myth of unimpeded information flows that help us find our way in the ‘concrete jungle’, (think Robocop, Minority Report, Google glasses…), or, as Katherine Hayles puts it, the belief that, in our posthuman condition, the body is redundant. Zizek’s point sheds a light on the need to be less prescriptive on the outcomes of urban art and forgo the rhetoric of cultural city in favour of a multiplicity of participatory modes and of foregrounding embodiment.

A better understanding of the multiple ways in which participants engage with urban art helps to overcome the urge to categorise it and pre-define its outcome as political, leisure, social. While many projects might have a specific agenda to start of with, the outcome is always unpredictable. I agree with Hilke Berger’s argument in her presentation about participation during here talk at the conference: “citizens attach their own value to things”.

A work of urban art can be interpreted in many different way by participants. During his inspiring and innovative presentation, artist Manos Tsangaris argued that “the urban is inside of us”, and that “if art says: I have to do this for x-reason, it fails”. According to him, we must focus on the punctum, the ‘leaping point’. Or in other words, we must pay close attention to sudden moments of displacement, of social potential, of renewal of what the term ‘urban’ stands for.

One of the highlights of the conference for me was taking part in a workshop on Urban Games ran by Jakob La Cour and Sebastian Quack. Through an iteration process, we adapted and played two ‘urban games’: Surveillance Roulette and Tetris Smuggling. Surveillance Roulette consisted of a typical roulette game where, instead of gambling on numbers, participants bet on the future actions of selected passers-by entering the designated space. In Tetris Smuggling, two competing teams had to recruit passers-by smuggle physical representations of the pieces of the famous electronic game into a designated security space and attach the pieces to a magnetic surface while avoiding two security guards patrolling the space.

Both games are remarkably simple, cheap to reproduce (no digital devices involved) and cleverly draw in passers-by into the game playing by reinterpreting traditional games (roulette and Tetris) and situating them in an unfamiliar space (transport hubs, bars) in a simple but challenging way. They raised questions about participation. Some participants felt uncomfortable engaging strangers to ‘smuggle’ pieces of Tetris past the ‘security personnel’ (a participant with a bright green safety vest). Passers-by were drawn into both games with unexpected results. During the enactment of the Surveillance Roulette game, many passers-by realised they were being observed and were puzzled by the excitement on the table inside the conferences bar where participants were assembled around the improvised roulette table. Sebastian and Jakob argues that urban games can “make you more aware of other participants” and to “observe and learn more about space”.

One of the important outcomes of these games is to allow adults to engage with urban space in a playful way, outside of everyday life routines. But they also fulfill other important roles, and therefore categorising them simply as playful interactions does not do them full justice. Through rule discussion, play and post-game analysis, the potential of embodied participation and reflection triggers disagreements that must be worked out through a democratic process. Therefore a temporary commons emerges through participatory dissensus.

La Cour and Quack’s workshop summarises what I liked most about the reART:the URBAN conference: it reassures me of the importance of participation in the creative re-appropriation of everyday urban spaces where the outcome is open, rather than an attempt to narrow the focus of urban art towards pre-defined categories (social, political, cultural, play) or prescriptive outcomes.

This, I think is an approach that can help us avoid the use of art, in Zizek’s words towards “providing an aesthetic screen to make us blind and indifferent”.

Performative Objects Series 1 – ’80’s style’ plastic skateboard

This my first blog post in my Performative Object Series. Although performativity in public space is always triggered by a combination of several actors/actants (both human and non-human), I thought it would be an interesting exercise to depart from a singular object and think of how it is inserted into public space, triggering disjunctions, generating new awareness, re-purposing space and suggesting new social connections.

Object Description: very compact mass-produced (plastic mould) skateboard (fits into any standard gym lockers) with soft, wide, rubbery wheels and a plastic deck. Can do tight turns and is a fun way of getting from A to B as long as the sidewalk is in a reasonable condition. Can support a rider of up to 80 kg. Very sturdy and usually comes in screaming neon colours. Looks like a kids toy, but can propel bigger, unashamed adults to bone-breaking speeds if used indiscriminately. If used in moderation, provides great fun and might even keep you relatively fit.

Cost: about 100 euro in shops, cheaper online.

Wow factor: 7 out of 10, higher if ridden by an adult of above average and long feet, as it looks like said adult might have stolen it from their kid/nephew. Even higher if you opt for screaming neon colours.

So, the first object in this series is an ’80’s style’ plastic skateboard. For those unfamiliar with the whole skateboard scene, these are mass produced skateboards that were quite common during the 80’s. If you were a kid in those days, you would have come across one of these amongst Rubrik cubes, Atari consoles, chopper bikes, etc. (OK, I’ll leave the nostalgia aside now). A form of zombie object/toy (to borrow from the concept of zombie media), it has been resurrected and is slowly making itself known across pavements in cities worldwide.

I saw one of them on a YouTube video about a year ago, and, as a semi-retired (and unskillful) skateboarder, I wanted to buy one for a while. A year later, I saw a kid whizzing around one of them in the streets of New York during a holiday break. I finally got hold of one in a Downtown skate shop. The owner of the shop shouted out to me as I left the shop: “If you are getting it for your kid, make sure you have a go yourself!”. I refrained out of embarrassment to reply: “No, it is actually for myself!”

I’ve been using it for a few months now. It comes in very handy to go to the local supermarket, and sometimes to my office or into town. It usually halves the time it would take me to get anywhere, and it is not too bulky or heavy, so I can carry it in one hand or store it in my gym locker or under my office desk. I get some odd looks when I’m out, partly because there aren’t yet many of them going around, partly because people would rather expect to see a teenager riding one.

How does it re-purpose public space? First of all, it raises my awareness of the quality and maintenance of Dublin’s sidewalks. There are some great surfaces around town, and my favourite is one that has a very discrete texture, making a very low pitch whizzing sound and seems to be even faster than perfectly smooth surfaces (or maybe it’s just my imagination). I notice any cracks in the sidewalk and keep an eye out for small stones that might stop the skateboard in its tracks. Nearer the city centre, it becomes unpleasant to ride due to the crowds, so I just carry it. I also look out for slight degrees of steepness, so I can practice going downhill without going too fast and doing snappy carving turns that remind me of surfing. During the few moments when you are not looking down for obstacles, your eyes act like a camera on a tripod filming the fast moving vehicles, building and people whizzing past you.

But what is most interesting is the fact that skateboards don’t have a designated place in the pecking order of transportation systems. The streets are too fast (unless you are a kamikaze rider), and even the bike lanes are too fast (unless they are empty). And on the sidewalks, you are the one going too fast. However, this is exactly what makes it more interesting and fun: you have to choose the right path at the right time. In my own experience, I end up mixing all of the above, with a preference for smooth and empty sidewalks and bike lanes. So far, perhaps because skateboarding is not as prominent in Dublin as, say, New York, there are no strict bye-laws governing where you can ride. And why would there need to be any fixed rules, as long as skateboard riders respect the space of pedestrians and other modes of transport?

Summing up, the ’80’s style’ plastic skateboard is a fun, toy/transport device that creates its own performative space through the city and fits in neatly with the push to cut down on motorised transport. It is certainly not for everyone, and there are basic skills that need to be learned to ‘operate’ one (easy when you’ve done it as a kid, but you’re never too old!). But gliding through the city on one of them is an enjoyable and relatively easygoing  way of getting around while having fun.




The Green Watch Programme in Dublin: Citizen-driven Sustainability Initiatives in the City

Yesterday I attended a workshop in the Science Gallery in Dublin about the Green Watch Programme, a joint initiative from the Dublin City Council, Trinity College and Intel. The main idea of the programme is to tackle waste in the city through a participatory mobile phone app with a focus on four key areas: water waste, air pollution, green initiatives and litter. As a Dublin City Council representative pointed out, the mobile phone penetration in Dublin is approximately 48%, so it makes sense to create an app that engages citizens to adopt waste prevention behaviours (he did point out that the remaining 52% can be reached through other ways).

The idea taps into the concept of smart, sustainable cities and crowdsourcing. While the project researchers have through about deploying wired and wireless sensors to capture data, they have pointed out that these need electricity, maintenance, and can be costly, while using citizen’s smartphones to sense the environment makes…sense.

During the workshop, in which we were expected to contribute ideas after being introduced to the project, questions were raised about how to engage citizens and what would they benefit from contributing information. The workshop organisers were keen on brainstorming issues of waste across the city. There were many suggestions put forward, such as: unblocking drains, identifying location of recycling black spots, identifying community garden projects (and coordinating volunteers for these), and several others. It remains to be seen how citizens might actively engage in such initiatives and what would be there reasons for doing so. Personal interest? The urge to socialise? Guilt?

One after-thought I had was that the targets of combating waste and engaging citizens can be linked in certain ways. I though specifically of time-wasting (an immaterial form of waste) on online social networks. While many forms of material waste are quite obvious, online time-wasting is a grey area (there are certainly many positive things to be said of online social networking). How can you measure online time-wasting ? Does it eventually translate into physical waste eventually (electricity needs, access to remote data from database centres)?

Instead of harvesting little farms on Facebook’s Farmville app, for example, users could spend time harvesting (real) mini-farms across the city. Perhaps the trick is to make the app as ‘fun’ and engaging as Farmville (et al.). Less time online, more exercise, the opportunity to harvest your produce (rather than spend money on virtual goods to harvest a virtual farm in exchange for virtual scores), and the opportunity to meet your elusive neighbours. Or maybe the solution is somewhere in-between , such linking the ability to score online points and build online ‘wealth’ to your physical efforts in the ‘real’ mini-farm.

If we consider the mind-boggling success of Ian Bogost’s Cow Clicker , perhaps the middle ground approach is the only way to go forward. Gamification with a purpose?

Experiencing Ciudades Paralelas – Cork Midsummer Festival, June 2012 (part 3 of 3)

Ciudades Paralelas: Shopping Centre: The First International of Shopping Malls

On my second day, I took part in the Shopping Centre event. We met at the Cork bus station at 3pm, where a double-decker bus was waiting to bring us to the venue, an undisclosed suburban shopping mall, the kind of fully commodified/pasteurised shopping experience that shuns the messiness of the city centre urban fabric and is comfortably accessible by car (not by public transport), surrounded by a vast parking space area. There were between forty and fifty people taking part. On entering the bus we were given a radio transmitter with headphones. They asked us for some ‘collateral’ as a deposit, I gave them my student card.

I was hoping that we would be taking part somewhere in the city centre, perhaps even the famous English Market where the Queen recently paid a visit. However, as the bus kept moving away from the city centre I knew straight away that we were going to the ubiquitous suburban shopping malls that are an ubiquitous presence in all major cities and towns across Ireland. I’m not particularly fond of them. They all have the same shops, usually chains of stores selling mobile phone contracts, white trainers, perfume, videogames, cheapish clothes, fast food, cinema with the mandatory box-size packet of popcorn… Clichés aside, this is exactly the kind of space where the narrative of the Shopping Centre event (created by Ligna) thrives with its transgressive theme that suggests to us that we were about to join the ‘First International of Shopping Malls’.

Shortly before exiting the bus we were prompted by the organisers: not to mention the location avoid spoiling the experience of further participants (the shopping mall was completely unaware of the impending performance); if we were confronted by the security, we should just pretend that we are listening to music on our transmitters; if – in the worst case scenario – we were asked to leave the shopping mall, we should obey. However, according to them there shouldn’t be any reason for that, as the performance was designed to avoid breaking any ‘rules of common behaviour’ in shopping malls (is there such thing?).

On exiting the bus, staff adjusted our radio transmitters to the right frequency for the narrative transmission, and then we were told to freely roam the shopping mall and wait for instructions. There was a sense of anticipation, and it was quite uncanny when the white noise of the radio transmitter was interrupted by the start of the narrative. It started by describing the building as a living character composed of several other characters. The roof, glass facades, walls, and in particular, the products on sale all ‘spoke’ to you during the narrative.

The narrative initially takes you on a psychological journey exploration of these non-human characters and the objectives of the First International of Shopping Malls . It suggests an approach that involves “altering the space in a subliminal way”, comparing the mall to a prison and the commodities on sale to hieroglyphs of society, waiting to be deciphered. It argues that the mall is a place where commodities are venerated and where “visitors are meant to loose sight of any objectives”. It asked the following question: “When does a collective movement become a demonstration?”

As part of our membership of the First International of Shopping Malls, it suggested that we carry out a number of ‘tests’. The tests consisted of slightly transgressive acts: giving secret directional signals to fellow participants; yawning as a secret signal indicating you were an active member of the First International; hiding from passers-by and observing the surroundings; walking backwards; walking at different paces for different effects (“Walk fast until the facades become a blur”); walking while holding a coin in your extended palm and standing still against one of the shops facades; discretely exchanging pieces of paper with other participants – where you had written an alternative function for the space of the shopping mall; clapping, joining and rejoining other participants in random walks; and at the very end, bouncing up and down to the sound of music.

I found myself a bit embarrassed to carry out some of the demands. I also noticed the same on other participants. But at the same time, I wasn’t going to simply give up on it, so I went with the flow. It was amusing to see the reaction of unsuspecting security and passers-by as they started noticing strange occurrences of isolated members of the public walking around with earphones plugged in. I particularly enjoyed the clapping, and the joining and rejoining other participants. They were clearly noticeable against the random trajectories of shoppers. These left both security and passers-by baffled.

When participants started clapping from different locations along the main corridor of shops, the security swiftly moved towards the centre of the corridor, unable to pinpoint the action. Passers-by copied some our actions: when the narrative asked us to look up, they looked up, wondering what we were seeing that they couldn’t see. At the very end, when the narrative asked us to started bouncing/dancing in random fashion, passers-by looked intrigued. I saw the security approach one of the participants, but they didn’t intervene. After we all bounced up and down to the sound of happy music for a minute or so, looking slightly loopy, the narrative ended by asking everyone to return to the bus. As we all moved towards the main door, a security guard followed, looked towards the bus, radioed a colleague, then went into the manager’s office that was just next to the main entrance. They were left without a proper explanation. The bus left, and the shopping mall went back to its normal routine.

I spoke to one of the Ligna artists afterwards and he said that the mall was quite big and that it might have been better to conduct the event on just one floor. I agreed, and mentioned that when the narrative asked us to lean against the balustrade, I was on the ground floor and there wasn’t any balustrade to lean onto. He also mentioned that the radio transmission wasn’t particularly good, making it difficult at times to listen to the instructions. I noticed that there was a lot of interference as I approached the cinema, and also near the radio station cabin on the opposite end of the mall.

I enjoyed the experience, but felt slightly uncomfortable at times. I overheard someone saying on the bus back that they would love to take part in the event in a foreign country, where they would feel more comfortable doing it. Perhaps they were worried that they would be spotted by a friend? Having said that, I witnessed one of the participants bouncing and dancing at the end, in a sort of uncontrolled fashion; an individual form of expression triggered by the narrative. In comparison, I felt that I was doing too little to justify my membership of the First International of Shopping Malls, but nevertheless it was thoroughly enjoyable to be part of a slightly surreal moment in a place where, despite the lack of rules of ‘engagement’, people seem to perform very similar, established routines (browse, buy, eat, repeat).

Experiencing Ciudades Paralelas – Cork Midsummer Festival, June 2012 (part 2 of 3)

Ciudades Paralelas: Station: Sometimes I Think I Can See You
In Station, three writers with portable laptops and mobile phones are connected remotely to three different displays situated in the entrance lobby of Cork’s train station. As they observe people walking along the lobby, the writers type messages onto the screens making comments about passers-by trying to get their attention. If they were successful, the writers sometimes would try to get them to engage in ad-hoc performative acts. In the most successful one I observed, a child with her mother spent about five minutes looking at the screen, clapping and dancing after being asked by the screen. This was the only event that wasn’t ticketed, so I came in through the side door of the train station’s main lobby and sat on one of the benches, in front of one of the writers typing away on her laptop as she watched the actions unfold. One of the writers was actually typing his messages from a smart phone, and it took me a while to spot him, although he was only five metres away from me.

As I sat and watched the writers from close range, I was conscious that it would only take a few seconds for them to pick up on something I did (such as raise my arms while stretching) and I would be drawn into the performance. The success of the writer’s interpellations depended on the awareness of passers-by. When trains came in, the crowds mostly ignored the displays, as they displays were discreet enough and people seemed to be in a rush. However, when people walked into the train station, waiting for a train in the lobby or for someone to arrive, they tended to pay more attention to the screens, especially the one situated in the middle of the hall.

Passers-by reacted with surprise when they noticed that the screen was addressing them, the sort of reaction you would get in the ubiquitous candid camera TV programmes. They would discreetly look around, trying to figure out what was going on. Some people laughed, others just carried on with their lives. No one seemed particularly offended or angry. And no one approached any of the writers. Perhaps we are so used to people holding laptops in public spaces so it is difficult to make the connection between the writers and the screens. It would have been interesting to see how the writers would react if approached.

Ciudades Paralelas: House: Prime Time
In the house performance, a section of the street had been blocked for the event to take part. I was given a pair of headphones and a radio transmitter on arrival. Standing in the middle of the street, my attention was directed to two blocks of flats situated opposite each other. Through the headphones, I could hear the stories of several neighbours while watching them carry out their daily routines through the wide windows of the flats.

The facade of the buildings was akin to a multi-screen interface where each window was an individual screen, switched on and off as the focus moved on from one neighbour’s story to the other. Sometimes the actors/neighbours would get out binoculars and look towards other participants. This signalled to viewers/participants that they should direct their gaze across the road towards another participant, who would then start narrating their story. Although the voices seemed pre-recorded (as participants remain immobile while you could hear their voice), some of the ambient sounds, such as the Bob Marley soundtrack, the guitar playing and the sound of one of the neighbour’s turtle swimming in a tank sounded live.

The opposing blocks of flats served as social containers where the most contrasting living experiences happened side by side: an Indian couple with two daughters that were sowing clothes, a lone engineering student with his turtle tank and guitar, a gay couple who were into music producing and partying, a German girl that liked to play darts, a Hungarian florist… Some of the neighbours seemed to know each other, but most of them had nothing in common. The event lasted half an hour. It felt like a mix between a movie and a theatre play: the windows as screens with a wide depth of field, and the possibility of directing your gaze away from the focus of the narrative. At the very end it seemed that the audience/stage relationship had been inverted: it ended with participants looking at us through their binoculars, inverting the stage/audience relationship. The whole experience felt slightly voyeuristic, with the inversion of the gaze at the end providing a slightly uncanny experience: are they really pointing those binoculars at me out of curiosity, or it this part of the narrative? Shortly afterwards, all the windows went dark a the neighbours switched of their ‘screens’. It was time for the next performance, as the next group started to arrive and collect their headphones.

Experiencing Ciudades Paralelas – Cork Midsummer Festival, June 2012 (part 1 of 3)

Experiencing Ciudades Paralelas – overview
The following is a series of three post blogs describing my observations of Ciudades Paralelas, a project curated by Lola Arias and Stefan Kaegi (from Rimini Protokoll) that was performed during the Cork Midsummer Festival in June 2012. Previously, it has been performed across several cities worldwide, including Berlin, Buenos Aires, Warsaw, Zurich, Utrecht and Singapore. Lola and Stefan invited eight artists to create interventions that reinterpret the topology of eight ordinary/functional spaces – factory, court, shopping centre, house, library, hotel, train station and the rooftop of a building – transforming them into performative spaces and changing our perception of these spaces. In Rimini Protokoll’s website, the artists state that Ciudades Paralelas’ aim is to “make theatre out of public spaces used every day, and seduce the viewers into staying long enough for their perception to change” (http://www.rimini-protokoll.de/website/en/project_4677.html). Ciudades Paralelas unleashes powerful narratives onto these taken-for-granted spaces of our everyday lives, raising our awareness of these spaces and their users/inhabitants while in some occasions suggesting alternative realities and possibilities through performative acts.

During my short visit to the Cork Midsummer Festival, I took part in four of the eight events of Ciudades Paralelas – Hotel, Station, House and Shopping Mall. The events invited the audience to engage in manifold ways: talking to hotel staff, engaging with a public information display, observing and listening to residents and taking part in a public performance. In the Hotel event, by Lola Arias, the public took part by taking an individual tour of five rooms in the hotel that were transformed for the performance. In the Station event, by Mariano Pensotti, passers-by unaware of the event were incidentally drawn into the performance, as three screens displayed in the train station hall attempt to establish a dialogue with them. In the House event, by Dominic Huber and Blendwerk the audience were situated in the middle of the street and the facades of two opposite buildings become the stage. And in the Shopping Mall event, by Ligna, participants actively engaged in a slightly transgressive manifesto-driven act inside the mall.

Ciudades Paralelas: Hotel: Chamber Maids

I arrived in the Maldron hotel and was given five key cards for five different rooms. I was told to enter them in a specific order and to exit them as soon as I heard the phone ringing. A festival volunteer guided me to the first room and said that I would thoroughly enjoy it. I was then left on my own.

I apprehensively entered the first room, and was directed to some notes left on the desk and some photos inside a pillowcase. They told the story of one of the chamber maids that worked in the hotel. I spent some time looking for other clues. The phone rang. I made my way to the second room. On entering, I was surprised to see a massive pile of sheets and towels on top of the bed that nearly reached the ceiling. It was rock solid. I sat on the bed, leaning against the pile. On the TV set in front of me, the static image of another chamber maid suddenly started talking to me, knocking on the TV screen to get my attention. while it was a recording, it was quite engaging. She was quite confident, and eager to tell me about the hard work she undertakes on a daily basis, making me slightly guilty of all those hotel rooms where I stayed before (“I clean 20 rooms per day, that’s 600 rooms per month”). Her image freezes, the phone rings, and I am off to the third room.

The third room seemed to have been customised by a chamber maid from Ghana, including photos of her daily routine from her home to the hotel, and several references to her home country: colourful bed sheets, sculptures from Africa, a Ghana flag hanging over the window. In one of the photos, she is portrayed praying. The legend says that she attends the Adventist church. There was an MP3 player hanging over the door. I picked it up, and as I walked around the bedroom looking at the photos and reading the legends, I was also listening to the chamber maid’s voice describing her daily routines. She was studying hospitality at a university in Cork and working part-time. So far, the three different stories, despite pointing to different origins and countries, all depicted stories of humble origins, hard work, and determination to persevere.

The fourth room was the most amazing! On opening the door I couldn’t believe my own eyes when I encountered a real forest! This was quite a surreal and unexpected experience. Pine trees, an overpowering smell from the earth covering the carpet, loudspeakers playing forest sounds, carps swimming in the bath tub, and a soundtrack with a voice-over of a male chamber maid from Poland. Also, a meter-high sculpture of Jesus on the window sill and a bible over the sink. The Polish cleaner’s voice spoke of his strong opinions: he thinks the recent death of the Polish president in a plane accident was a conspiracy, and he said he had proof of that. He also said he wrote edited content for a Polish radio programme that attempted to provide an alternative political discourse. He also spoke of his religious beliefs.

After the intense experience of the forest, on entering the fifth bedroom, I was invited to lie down on a bed and watch a detailed video projected onto the ceiling. The images was reflected from a small projector located under the bed through the use of a mirror. It portrayed and Irish cleaner that worked sometimes as supervisor. She said she hated the hoovering, but didn’t mind cleaning the toilet. Her skill making the beds and pillows showed her experience working as a cleaner, she worked really fast and with perfection. She said that every time she entered a room she feared the worst, such as rooms that were destroyed by hen parties. But the worst was when she encountered a dead lady in one of the rooms, after being asked to check out because a lady had the do not disturb sign up for days. Apparently the lady had overdosed on drugs. Worst of all, the cleaner had to keep working on that day.

The five stories together provided an amazing journey through the lives of these ‘invisible workers’, with a crescendo of emotions and experiences that brought you right into their lives. But that wasn’t the end.

After hearing the customary phone call to exit the room, I was surprised to open the door and encounter the chamber maid from Ghana! This was a slightly distorted experience: meeting a stranger after her daily life was described in reasonable detail in room three. It felt like meeting a character from a book in person. She introduced herself and took me on a quick tour of the hotel, showing the room where her boss worked, where they kept the cleaning equipment and sheets and towels and asking if I had any questions. I nearly felt I should offer the same question, wondering if she would be curious about her guests. But instead I was just happy to listen to her. Strangely, it felt like she was performing yet another daily chore, but she seemed to be interested enough as I asked her about her studies.

All of the stories were very engaging, and the blurring of the functional space of the hotel room, the narratives of the hotel workers and the physical objects inserted into the room triggered in me awareness, curiosity and surprise. Rather than simply trying to make you feel guilty listening to the hardship of the hotel workers (“hen parties are the worse, the stains from fake tan are hard to clean”), the narrative brought you quite close to their personal worlds, interpreted through the room furniture and decoration, and the addition of audio and video in different ways. I said goodbye to the chamber maid, and as I walked through the hotel lobby, I felt like I was crossing a line back into the mundane, the banal and the unconscious everyday life of being a hotel guest. If only every hotel provided such experiences…

Dublin Mini Maker Faire – DIY and Performative Publics


Last Saturday I took part in the first ever Dublin Mini Maker Faire, an event hosted by the Science Gallery and Trinity College for crafters, tinkerers and hobbyists and displaying all sorts of DIY stuff. People from all ages and backgrounds were in attendance, and the organisers estimated that 6500 people visited the event, more than twice their predicted outcome. The event had an emphasis on engaging the public to participate, either through demonstrations or by getting people to produce things, from cardboard robots to electronic badges to music.


I took part with a prototype of an Arduino project I’ve been working on, a Moveable DIY LED lamp, a.k.a. “Dynolamp’. It consisted of a very simple interaction, where motion and tilt combined changed the colour of a LED light on top of an animal-like structure with flexible legs, designed to be hung around different objects and surfaces. I added some TIC TAC boxes to add to the sensorial experience (sound and smell). Despite the simplicity of the project I was surprised by people’s interest, scrutinising my rough sketches and asking me all sorts of questions (what controls the light change, what are the TIC TAC boxes for, where is the power source…).

I put a sign up encouraging people to pick it up and move it around, and was delighted to see many kids having a go at it, bending Dynolamp’s legs, tilting and shaking it and suggesting things (make it walk!). From 10am to 6pm I was flat out explaining Dynolamp to people from 3 to 80 years old. I took a break and got a volunteer to replace me for an hour. When I came back, the table was surrounded by people listening to an explanation given by volunteer Maurice.

In the opposite corner of the room I was in, the NUI Maynooth crew was even busier, and their popular gesture-controlled giant Tetris game was a hit. It created an ad-hoc performative space where people surrounded the player and cheered them on as they played. It was great to see how a re-appropriation of a game considered banal and trivial was generating so much interest, including from kids that are so used to much more sophisticated games. I didn’t see a single person completing one round of the game, as the gesture controlled system was quite difficult. The NUI crew said they had to do some work on the code to make it smoother, but I think that by making it harder to control it actually created a more interesting challenge for people. They also had a DIY old-school arcade cabinet with several games from the 80s and 90s, and kids seem to enjoy playing Pac-Man, Space Invaders and other ‘oldies’.

The Faire extended into the Trinity College Physics lawn, where, among other things, there was a giant drum that could be played by up to twenty people at the same time. It was a nice collaborative device, and I particularly liked the idea of having a dozen people in a circle performing on the same instrument. One guy seemed to be performing the role of percussion leader, and he got people to synchronise (to a certain degree) their drum playing.

In several tents, kids were creating and playing with things. Among these: a giant scalectrix activated by the electricity generated by a participant using a gym walking machine; DIY remote controlled submersibles, and a class on soldering techniques.