The “para-” prefix indicates a beyond, and look against, search ask alongside, more about or abnormal state. SFMOMA’s ParaDesign exhibition collects objects that often seem wrong, lack obvious usability, or contain other degrees of uncertainty—carrying with it the assertion that these objects exist for themselves as narrative devices or as critiques of design objectives. Though many could be functional domestic objects, they are shorn and twisted, made to serve a different purpose than what one would expect. This is also one of the rare exhibitions at SFMOMA to feature the work of architects, including R(s)ien, Diller Scofidio + Renfro, SAANA, and Lebbeus Woods.

What is a design object and what is its reason for being? Where do these intersections of art, architecture, and design converge? ParaDesign attempts with limited success to answer these questions. By placing these objects in a museum collection, they clearly are contextualized to subsume any use-value into art-historical or market value. What does a work like An Te Liu’s Cloud (2008), a circuitous air-conditioning unit looping through labyrinthine pipes in gleaming plastic like a set-piece out of 2001: A Space Odyssey defying all logic and HVAC principles say about design? How does the intervention of color to change one design object into another in the case of James Welling’s Glass House photos 0469 and 0966 (both 2010) where colored photographic filters reinterpret Phillip Johnson’s Modernist classic. ParaDesign awkwardly interrogates these subjects but ultimately the answers it provides are elusive.

The exhibition features many experimental architectural case-studies like R(s)ien’s heshotmedown (2007), an anemone-like model with accompanying miniature video screens of 3D flythrough and Nancy Sinatra’s version of Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down) playing from a small speaker. Diller+Scofido’s works feature prominently in the exhibition with His/Hers (1993), a series of passive-aggressive bath towels on their racks telling the story of a relationship and their Vice/Virtue (1997) series of blown glassware. Vice/Virtue (1997) contains: a martini glass with a syringe as the stem, a coffee cup with a blown glass pill dispenser, and a tumbler with an ashtray and cigarette holder underneath that vents into the glass itself.

These objects convey a humorous commentary on domesticity and addiction. Then there are objects like Alex Schweder La’s Bi-Bardon (2001), a urinal with obvious reference to Marcel Duchamp’s Fountain but cast to appear as if it was in the process of doubling itself in a cellular mitosis. Peter Wenger’s Buildings Made of Sky (2007)—a grid of familiar corridors between skyscrapers in Manhattan is turned upside down creating new skyscrapers in the reversed figure, the gap between the buildings.

Usually it is assumed that an exhibition would be arranged in such a way that the objects’ placements reinforce associations or structures a particular narrative or chronology, but the association between these objects and their arrangement leaves a disappointing feeling of uncertainty. The exhibition spans three rooms: the first, a tightly packed cluster of objects; the second, a row of plexi-glass cases running through center; and the third, a small rectangular hallway containing Tobias Wong’s pieces. Flat work is hung haphazardly throughout the exhibition at varying heights and configurations.

Does uncertainty work as an organizing principle? A case can be made for the joy that one experiences with unexpected encounters with works of art or finding new and challenging pieces in a gallery. Here, however, uncertainty is the only unifying principle of the design and organization of the exhibition itself. There is no visible signage available, one must first locate a laminated chart with certain areas highlighted denoting the artworks and then stammer around the gallery, groping for titles. The arrangement of objects in the space also seems irrational or flippant with large areas left empty and other pieces hung so high that they are difficult to look at. Here the question of uncertainty is not so much directed at the objects themselves but by the relative lack of care of the exhibit itself. This was particularly unfortunate in the case of Lebbeus Woods’s architectural drawings-a selection from his Centricity series. The drawings were hung so far up that wall that it was impossible to view them. Tobias Wong’s smug takes on fashion brands were stowed in half of an ancillary hallway and other large photographs were hung at awkward heights. In some attempt to be contemporary or edgy, the arrangement of objects made it more about the design of the room, than the actual works of art. SFMOMA’s ParaDesign collection contains ostensibly interesting design objects but its presentation will leave many patrons frustrated rather than inspired.

Paradesign is located on the 2nd Floor of SFMOMA until July 24th.

The “para-” prefix indicates a beyond, more about against, order alongside, or abnormal state. SFMOMA’s ParaDesign exhibition collects objects that often seem wrong, lack obvious usability, or contain other degrees of uncertainty—carrying with it the assertion that these objects exist for themselves as narrative devices or as critiques of design objectives. Though many could be functional domestic objects, they are shorn and twisted, made to serve a different purpose than what one would expect. This is also one of the rare exhibitions at SFMOMA to feature the work of architects, including R(s)ien, Diller Scofidio + Renfro, SAANA, and Lebbeus Woods.

What is a design object and what is its reason for being? Where do these intersections of art, architecture, and design converge? ParaDesign attempts with limited success to answer these questions. By placing these objects in a museum collection, they clearly are contextualized to subsume any use-value into art-historical or market value. What does a work like An Te Liu’s Cloud (2008), a circuitous air-conditioning unit looping through labyrinthine pipes in gleaming plastic like a set-piece out of 2001: A Space Odyssey defying all logic and HVAC principles say about design? How does the intervention of color to change one design object into another in the case of James Welling’s Glass House photos 0469 and 0966 (both 2010) where colored photographic filters reinterpret Phillip Johnson’s Modernist classic. ParaDesign awkwardly interrogates these subjects but ultimately the answers it provides are elusive.

The exhibition features many experimental architectural case-studies like R(s)ien’s heshotmedown (2007), an anemone-like model with accompanying miniature video screens of 3D flythrough and Nancy Sinatra’s version of Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down) playing from a small speaker. Diller+Scofido’s works feature prominently in the exhibition with His/Hers (1993), a series of passive-aggressive bath towels on their racks telling the story of a relationship and their Vice/Virtue (1997) series of blown glassware. Vice/Virtue (1997) contains: a martini glass with a syringe as the stem, a coffee cup with a blown glass pill dispenser, and a tumbler with an ashtray and cigarette holder underneath that vents into the glass itself.

These objects convey a humorous commentary on domesticity and addiction. Then there are objects like Alex Schweder La’s Bi-Bardon (2001), a urinal with obvious reference to Marcel Duchamp’s Fountain but cast to appear as if it was in the process of doubling itself in a cellular mitosis. Peter Wenger’s Buildings Made of Sky (2007)—a grid of familiar corridors between skyscrapers in Manhattan is turned upside down creating new skyscrapers in the reversed figure, the gap between the buildings.

Usually it is assumed that an exhibition would be arranged in such a way that the objects’ placements reinforce associations or structures a particular narrative or chronology, but the association between these objects and their arrangement leaves a disappointing feeling of uncertainty. The exhibition spans three rooms: the first, a tightly packed cluster of objects; the second, a row of plexi-glass cases running through center; and the third, a small rectangular hallway containing Tobias Wong’s pieces. Flat work is hung haphazardly throughout the exhibition at varying heights and configurations.

Does uncertainty work as an organizing principle? A case can be made for the joy that one experiences with unexpected encounters with works of art or finding new and challenging pieces in a gallery. Here, however, uncertainty is the only unifying principle of the design and organization of the exhibition itself. There is no visible signage available, one must first locate a laminated chart with certain areas highlighted denoting the artworks and then stammer around the gallery, groping for titles. The arrangement of objects in the space also seems irrational or flippant with large areas left empty and other pieces hung so high that they are difficult to look at. Here the question of uncertainty is not so much directed at the objects themselves but by the relative lack of care of the exhibit itself. This was particularly unfortunate in the case of Lebbeus Woods’s architectural drawings-a selection from his Centricity series. The drawings were hung so far up that wall that it was impossible to view them. Tobias Wong’s smug takes on fashion brands were stowed in half of an ancillary hallway and other large photographs were hung at awkward heights. In some attempt to be contemporary or edgy, the arrangement of objects made it more about the design of the room, than the actual works of art. SFMOMA’s ParaDesign collection contains ostensibly interesting design objects but its presentation will leave many patrons frustrated rather than inspired.

Paradesign is located on the 2nd Floor of SFMOMA until July 24th.

The “para-” prefix indicates a beyond, see against, alongside, or abnormal state. SFMOMA’s ParaDesign exhibition collects objects that often seem wrong, lack obvious usability, or contain other degrees of uncertainty—carrying with it the assertion that these objects exist for themselves as narrative devices or as critiques of design objectives. Though many could be functional domestic objects, they are shorn and twisted, made to serve a different purpose than what one would expect. This is also one of the rare exhibitions at SFMOMA to feature the work of architects, including R(s)ien, Diller Scofidio + Renfro, SAANA, and Lebbeus Woods.

What is a design object and what is its reason for being? Where do these intersections of art, architecture, and design converge? ParaDesign attempts with limited success to answer these questions. By placing these objects in a museum collection, they clearly are contextualized to subsume any use-value into art-historical or market value. What does a work like An Te Liu’s Cloud (2008), a circuitous air-conditioning unit looping through labyrinthine pipes in gleaming plastic like a set-piece out of 2001: A Space Odyssey defying all logic and HVAC principles say about design? How does the intervention of color to change one design object into another in the case of James Welling’s Glass House photos 0469 and 0966 (both 2010) where colored photographic filters reinterpret Phillip Johnson’s Modernist classic. ParaDesign awkwardly interrogates these subjects but ultimately the answers it provides are elusive.

The exhibition features many experimental architectural case-studies like R(s)ien’s heshotmedown (2007), an anemone-like model with accompanying miniature video screens of 3D flythrough and Nancy Sinatra’s version of Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down) playing from a small speaker. Diller+Scofido’s works feature prominently in the exhibition with His/Hers (1993), a series of passive-aggressive bath towels on their racks telling the story of a relationship and their Vice/Virtue (1997) series of blown glassware. Vice/Virtue (1997) contains: a martini glass with a syringe as the stem, a coffee cup with a blown glass pill dispenser, and a tumbler with an ashtray and cigarette holder underneath that vents into the glass itself.

These objects convey a humorous commentary on domesticity and addiction. Then there are objects like Alex Schweder La’s Bi-Bardon (2001), a urinal with obvious reference to Marcel Duchamp’s Fountain but cast to appear as if it was in the process of doubling itself in a cellular mitosis. Peter Wenger’s Buildings Made of Sky (2007)—a grid of familiar corridors between skyscrapers in Manhattan is turned upside down creating new skyscrapers in the reversed figure, the gap between the buildings.

Usually it is assumed that an exhibition would be arranged in such a way that the objects’ placements reinforce associations or structures a particular narrative or chronology, but the association between these objects and their arrangement leaves a disappointing feeling of uncertainty. The exhibition spans three rooms: the first, a tightly packed cluster of objects; the second, a row of plexi-glass cases running through center; and the third, a small rectangular hallway containing Tobias Wong’s pieces. Flat work is hung haphazardly throughout the exhibition at varying heights and configurations.

Does uncertainty work as an organizing principle? A case can be made for the joy that one experiences with unexpected encounters with works of art or finding new and challenging pieces in a gallery. Here, however, uncertainty is the only unifying principle of the design and organization of the exhibition itself. There is no visible signage available, one must first locate a laminated chart with certain areas highlighted denoting the artworks and then stammer around the gallery, groping for titles. The arrangement of objects in the space also seems irrational or flippant with large areas left empty and other pieces hung so high that they are difficult to look at. Here the question of uncertainty is not so much directed at the objects themselves but by the relative lack of care of the exhibit itself. This was particularly unfortunate in the case of Lebbeus Woods’s architectural drawings-a selection from his Centricity series. The drawings were hung so far up that wall that it was impossible to view them. Tobias Wong’s smug takes on fashion brands were stowed in half of an ancillary hallway and other large photographs were hung at awkward heights. In some attempt to be contemporary or edgy, the arrangement of objects made it more about the design of the room, than the actual works of art. SFMOMA’s ParaDesign collection contains ostensibly interesting design objects but its presentation will leave many patrons frustrated rather than inspired.

Paradesign is located on the 2nd Floor of SFMOMA until July 24th.

The “para-” prefix indicates a beyond, see against, alongside, or abnormal state. SFMOMA’s ParaDesign exhibition collects objects that often seem wrong, lack obvious usability, or contain other degrees of uncertainty—carrying with it the assertion that these objects exist for themselves as narrative devices or as critiques of design objectives. Though many could be functional domestic objects, they are shorn and twisted, made to serve a different purpose than what one would expect. This is also one of the rare exhibitions at SFMOMA to feature the work of architects, including R(s)ien, Diller Scofidio + Renfro, SAANA, and Lebbeus Woods.

What is a design object and what is its reason for being? Where do these intersections of art, architecture, and design converge? ParaDesign attempts with limited success to answer these questions. By placing these objects in a museum collection, they clearly are contextualized to subsume any use-value into art-historical or market value. What does a work like An Te Liu’s Cloud (2008), a circuitous air-conditioning unit looping through labyrinthine pipes in gleaming plastic like a set-piece out of 2001: A Space Odyssey defying all logic and HVAC principles say about design? How does the intervention of color to change one design object into another in the case of James Welling’s Glass House photos 0469 and 0966 (both 2010) where colored photographic filters reinterpret Phillip Johnson’s Modernist classic. ParaDesign awkwardly interrogates these subjects but ultimately the answers it provides are elusive.

The exhibition features many experimental architectural case-studies like R(s)ien’s heshotmedown (2007), an anemone-like model with accompanying miniature video screens of 3D flythrough and Nancy Sinatra’s version of Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down) playing from a small speaker. Diller+Scofido’s works feature prominently in the exhibition with His/Hers (1993), a series of passive-aggressive bath towels on their racks telling the story of a relationship and their Vice/Virtue (1997) series of blown glassware. Vice/Virtue (1997) contains: a martini glass with a syringe as the stem, a coffee cup with a blown glass pill dispenser, and a tumbler with an ashtray and cigarette holder underneath that vents into the glass itself.

These objects convey a humorous commentary on domesticity and addiction. Then there are objects like Alex Schweder La’s Bi-Bardon (2001), a urinal with obvious reference to Marcel Duchamp’s Fountain but cast to appear as if it was in the process of doubling itself in a cellular mitosis. Peter Wenger’s Buildings Made of Sky (2007)—a grid of familiar corridors between skyscrapers in Manhattan is turned upside down creating new skyscrapers in the reversed figure, the gap between the buildings.

Usually it is assumed that an exhibition would be arranged in such a way that the objects’ placements reinforce associations or structures a particular narrative or chronology, but the association between these objects and their arrangement leaves a disappointing feeling of uncertainty. The exhibition spans three rooms: the first, a tightly packed cluster of objects; the second, a row of plexi-glass cases running through center; and the third, a small rectangular hallway containing Tobias Wong’s pieces. Flat work is hung haphazardly throughout the exhibition at varying heights and configurations.

Does uncertainty work as an organizing principle? A case can be made for the joy that one experiences with unexpected encounters with works of art or finding new and challenging pieces in a gallery. Here, however, uncertainty is the only unifying principle of the design and organization of the exhibition itself. There is no visible signage available, one must first locate a laminated chart with certain areas highlighted denoting the artworks and then stammer around the gallery, groping for titles. The arrangement of objects in the space also seems irrational or flippant with large areas left empty and other pieces hung so high that they are difficult to look at. Here the question of uncertainty is not so much directed at the objects themselves but by the relative lack of care of the exhibit itself. This was particularly unfortunate in the case of Lebbeus Woods’s architectural drawings-a selection from his Centricity series. The drawings were hung so far up that wall that it was impossible to view them. Tobias Wong’s smug takes on fashion brands were stowed in half of an ancillary hallway and other large photographs were hung at awkward heights. In some attempt to be contemporary or edgy, the arrangement of objects made it more about the design of the room, than the actual works of art. SFMOMA’s ParaDesign collection contains ostensibly interesting design objects but its presentation will leave many patrons frustrated rather than inspired.

Paradesign is located on the 2nd Floor of SFMOMA until July 24th.

Doug Foster recently posted documentation of a large scale installation, The Heretics’ Gate at St. Michaels Cathedral in Camden, London in 2011. The installation was originally created for Lazarides’ Hell’s Half Acre Exhibition in 2010. Inspired by Dante’s Inferno, the video for the piece is comprised of fluid flames, mirrored in its original form and from a reflection pool beneath the large arching projection screen. The screen mirrors the actual shape of St. Michaels Cathedral and replicates the forms of the arches. According to Foster’s website, “The Heretics’ Gate represents Dante’s entry point into the Sixth Circle of Hell, where non-believers burn for eternity in furnace-like tombs.” From what we can tell the final effect is simultaneously eerie and soothing, doing its best to create a portal into another realm or world. The score is by UNKLE. see more by Doug Foster

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The “para-” prefix indicates a beyond, see against, alongside, or abnormal state. SFMOMA’s ParaDesign exhibition collects objects that often seem wrong, lack obvious usability, or contain other degrees of uncertainty—carrying with it the assertion that these objects exist for themselves as narrative devices or as critiques of design objectives. Though many could be functional domestic objects, they are shorn and twisted, made to serve a different purpose than what one would expect. This is also one of the rare exhibitions at SFMOMA to feature the work of architects, including R(s)ien, Diller Scofidio + Renfro, SAANA, and Lebbeus Woods.

What is a design object and what is its reason for being? Where do these intersections of art, architecture, and design converge? ParaDesign attempts with limited success to answer these questions. By placing these objects in a museum collection, they clearly are contextualized to subsume any use-value into art-historical or market value. What does a work like An Te Liu’s Cloud (2008), a circuitous air-conditioning unit looping through labyrinthine pipes in gleaming plastic like a set-piece out of 2001: A Space Odyssey defying all logic and HVAC principles say about design? How does the intervention of color to change one design object into another in the case of James Welling’s Glass House photos 0469 and 0966 (both 2010) where colored photographic filters reinterpret Phillip Johnson’s Modernist classic. ParaDesign awkwardly interrogates these subjects but ultimately the answers it provides are elusive.

The exhibition features many experimental architectural case-studies like R(s)ien’s heshotmedown (2007), an anemone-like model with accompanying miniature video screens of 3D flythrough and Nancy Sinatra’s version of Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down) playing from a small speaker. Diller+Scofido’s works feature prominently in the exhibition with His/Hers (1993), a series of passive-aggressive bath towels on their racks telling the story of a relationship and their Vice/Virtue (1997) series of blown glassware. Vice/Virtue (1997) contains: a martini glass with a syringe as the stem, a coffee cup with a blown glass pill dispenser, and a tumbler with an ashtray and cigarette holder underneath that vents into the glass itself.

These objects convey a humorous commentary on domesticity and addiction. Then there are objects like Alex Schweder La’s Bi-Bardon (2001), a urinal with obvious reference to Marcel Duchamp’s Fountain but cast to appear as if it was in the process of doubling itself in a cellular mitosis. Peter Wenger’s Buildings Made of Sky (2007)—a grid of familiar corridors between skyscrapers in Manhattan is turned upside down creating new skyscrapers in the reversed figure, the gap between the buildings.

Usually it is assumed that an exhibition would be arranged in such a way that the objects’ placements reinforce associations or structures a particular narrative or chronology, but the association between these objects and their arrangement leaves a disappointing feeling of uncertainty. The exhibition spans three rooms: the first, a tightly packed cluster of objects; the second, a row of plexi-glass cases running through center; and the third, a small rectangular hallway containing Tobias Wong’s pieces. Flat work is hung haphazardly throughout the exhibition at varying heights and configurations.

Does uncertainty work as an organizing principle? A case can be made for the joy that one experiences with unexpected encounters with works of art or finding new and challenging pieces in a gallery. Here, however, uncertainty is the only unifying principle of the design and organization of the exhibition itself. There is no visible signage available, one must first locate a laminated chart with certain areas highlighted denoting the artworks and then stammer around the gallery, groping for titles. The arrangement of objects in the space also seems irrational or flippant with large areas left empty and other pieces hung so high that they are difficult to look at. Here the question of uncertainty is not so much directed at the objects themselves but by the relative lack of care of the exhibit itself. This was particularly unfortunate in the case of Lebbeus Woods’s architectural drawings-a selection from his Centricity series. The drawings were hung so far up that wall that it was impossible to view them. Tobias Wong’s smug takes on fashion brands were stowed in half of an ancillary hallway and other large photographs were hung at awkward heights. In some attempt to be contemporary or edgy, the arrangement of objects made it more about the design of the room, than the actual works of art. SFMOMA’s ParaDesign collection contains ostensibly interesting design objects but its presentation will leave many patrons frustrated rather than inspired.

Paradesign is located on the 2nd Floor of SFMOMA until July 24th.

Doug Foster recently posted documentation of a large scale installation, The Heretics’ Gate at St. Michaels Cathedral in Camden, London in 2011. The installation was originally created for Lazarides’ Hell’s Half Acre Exhibition in 2010. Inspired by Dante’s Inferno, the video for the piece is comprised of fluid flames, mirrored in its original form and from a reflection pool beneath the large arching projection screen. The screen mirrors the actual shape of St. Michaels Cathedral and replicates the forms of the arches. According to Foster’s website, “The Heretics’ Gate represents Dante’s entry point into the Sixth Circle of Hell, where non-believers burn for eternity in furnace-like tombs.” From what we can tell the final effect is simultaneously eerie and soothing, doing its best to create a portal into another realm or world. The score is by UNKLE. see more by Doug Foster

---

Doug Foster recently posted documentation of a large scale installation, cialis The Heretics’ Gate at St. Michaels Cathedral in Camden, London in 2011. The installation was originally created for Lazarides’ Hell’s Half Acre Exhibition in 2010. Inspired by Dante’s Inferno, the video for the piece is comprised of fluid flames, mirrored in its original form and from a reflection pool beneath the large arching projection screen. The screen mirrors the actual shape of St. Michaels Cathedral and replicates the forms of the arches. According to Foster’s website, “The Heretics’ Gate represents Dante’s entry point into the Sixth Circle of Hell, where non-believers burn for eternity in furnace-like tombs.” From what we can tell the final effect is simultaneously eerie and soothing, doing its best to create a portal into another realm or world. The score is by UNKLE. see more by Doug Foster

---

Imagine a surreal realm that is in the process of creating itself as you watch it. Viewers encounter a chaotic void, a world hewn in partially rendered grey pixels; a somber computer voice repeats: Dark Cyan, Dark Grey, Dark Red. Religious statues appear and melt, a horse is wrapped in flowing cloth, and other elements pulse menacingly. There are architectural ruins or fragments of sculpture; rocks and patio furniture falling from the sky.

This short digital animation utilizes a series of computer-created 3-D models presented in half-rendered states. In statu nascendi is a short tale of mystery, combining 3-D rendered architectural elements and sculptural objects. The images are accompanied by a chilling soundtrack, created by Adam Witkowski who utilizes a sound program to convert the images directly into their aural equivalents. The resulting animation in its exposed and incomplete completeness is an eerie and slightly unnerving experience.

Work commissioned by The Baltic Cultural Centre as a part of exhibition “Art is generally suspicious”.

See more of Kijek/Adamski’s excellent animation work at kijekadamski.blogspot.com

Imagine a surreal realm that is in the process of creating itself as you watch it. Viewers encounter a chaotic void, a world hewn in partially rendered grey pixels; a somber computer voice repeats: Dark Cyan, Dark Grey, Dark Red. Religious statues appear and melt, a horse is wrapped in flowing cloth, and other elements pulse menacingly. There are architectural ruins or fragments of sculpture; rocks and patio furniture falling from the sky.

This short digital animation utilizes a series of computer-created 3-D models presented in half-rendered states. In statu nascendi is a short tale of mystery, combining 3-D rendered architectural elements and sculptural objects. The images are accompanied by a chilling soundtrack, created by Adam Witkowski who utilizes a sound program to convert the images directly into their aural equivalents. The resulting animation in its exposed and incomplete completeness is an eerie and slightly unnerving experience.

Work commissioned by The Baltic Cultural Centre as a part of exhibition “Art is generally suspicious”.

See more of Kijek/Adamski’s excellent animation work at kijekadamski.blogspot.com

Gerald Raunig’s A Thousand Machines was published in 2010 by Semiotext(e) as part of their ongoing “Intervention” series. Emerging from his extended study of Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari, information pills Raunig’s essay constructs a genealogy of machine concepts in art, theatre, war, and philosophy, concluding with what he calls the abstract machine. Rauning’s relationship to the subject matter evolved out of his continuing engagement with and participation in European art and activist milieus. His broad-based knowledge of the subject’s history appears throughout the course of the essay, but in the end he fails to cogently connect the points of his argument. Gerald Raunig takes these machinic concepts to historicize, parse, and situate the current state of labor and social movements.

Deleuze and Guatarri’s seminal texts Anti-Oedipus and A Thousand Plateaus are firmly entrenched in post-1968, post-structuralist discourses and are a product of that era in French culture. In the intervening decades, these works have found purchase with the most disparate of specialists; from academics to activists, architects to the Israeli military. The flowing writing style and inventive jargon continues to resonate, maybe even greater than when these works were initially written. Deleuze and Guatarri’s thoughts are often expressed in machine metaphors throughout both works.

In Anti-Oedipus they propose a productive notion of desire called desiring-machines as the driver of social activity. This stands in direct contrast to Sigmund Freud’s representational and metaphorical use of repression and its stagnant explanation for predictable social behavior. A Thousand Plateaus carries the metaphors further and further outward away from mere psychology to a more totalizing vision of social reality. They define the machine as a system of interruptions and breaks¹ in a never ending ocean of flows, lines of flight, and trajectories in the infinitely networked social fabric. The body without organs is another machine, an assemblage, a complex social machine made out of parts in complicated relationship with one another. Machines are the forms and objects that can impede, redirect, collect and distort these flows; it is the flowering of these concepts and terms that enables Gerald Raunig to advance his claims.

Raunig introduces A Thousand Machines by positing the idea that the machine functions both as material object and as process/technique/subjectivity. The first order of business is understanding the man-machine hybrid and how humans are shaped by their relation to machines. Starting with the simple example of a bicycle, he describes the man/bicycle connection in reference to film and literature examples like The Bicycle Thief. In the film the bicycle is both a means of production, as Antonio cannot do his job without it, and also part of himself, as his identity as worker is reliant of having the bicycle. Thus losing the bicycle means losing his job and therefore himself. Although Raunig doesn’t explicitly state it, a parallel could be made to the relationship of today’s knowledge workers to their laptops and mobile phones-especially if the devices are stolen. This introductory discussion of bicycles was merely a roundabout way of illustrating his main thesis.

Raunig’s central thesis emerges from an uneasy tension between classical Marxist and Deleuzian themes. Ultimately he asks, “What is the way towards liberation?” He synthesizes an analysis of what Marx saw as the machinic social systems of Capitalism, namely the behaviors and regimentation that allowed for industrialization and proletarianisation of workers. Then he attempts coupling this with D&G’s concept of the social machine as an assemblage of individuals becoming an autonomous force. Throughout A Thousand Machines, Raunig returns to these interstices of machine-as-assemblage versus machine-as-discourse. The difficulty he encounters is created by balancing the perspectives of a materialist and pessimistic Marx against the speculative and idealistic theories of D&G.

The bulk of the book provides a series of examples beginning with a history of technique and machines for use in the theatre. Starting with antiquity he describes machines in both their material object-hood and technique. There are technical innovations for theatre like riggings and pulleys used to fly actors in, or trap doors to make them disappear from stage but also a discussion of plot devices especially the Greek invention of a deus ex machina—a problem that can only be solved by an external force. The deus ex machina originally involved complications to a story caused by and/ or solved by the interventions of the gods, later these narrative devices (or plot holes) are solved through technological means or external interventions. Skipping forward nearly two millennia to the Russian Constructivist theatre of the late 1920’s, Raunig speaks briefly of the experimental methods tried by Meyerhold and Eisenstein including novel forms of audience feedback and participation, new technologies like actual work machines as the center of the story, and taking the theatre to the factory floor. These examples contextualize how techniques and technologies can frame a story and serve ideological purposes.

Outside the theatre appears the war machine. War machines continue to be one of the more lasting and familiar of D&G’s terms, defined loosely as, “pure form of exteriority…irreducible to state apparatus.”² Further they must be mobile, nomadic, and contingent, able to shift and move tactically as opposed to the immobility, regimentation, and ossification of the State. By this definition, a war machine is not the military of a nation-state, rather technical and tactical deployments of collective resistance. Again, starting with antiquity Raunig discusses a number of literary examples and places them within the framework of D&G’s earlier statements.

Unfortunately, Raunig diverges to a discussion of the European notion of precarity. Precarity as it came to be used over the past decade was first a descriptor of the post-Fordist condition of labor; the emerging state of uncertainty with no guarantees of meaningful or stable employment for future generations of workers. This politicized definition evolved out of the Euro Mayday movement and was taken up as the name of a movement of its own, a diffuse Pan-European labor/social movement. This section is seemingly derived from his personal involvement and though maybe interesting as a post-mortem for active participants it is likely irrelevant to many of his readers, the digression into the history of Euro Mayday activism seemed both tedious and unnecessary.

As D&G have formulated, war machines are essential to preserve smooth space (e.g. organic self-organization or community) against the striated (regimented, controlled, hierarchical) State. The broadening of objectives is what transitions a war machine to an abstract machine, from an insurrectionary force to a larger society. Raunig’s final conclusions associate the precariat as the resultant abstract machine. In a particularly vague way he discusses how immaterial labor and the precariat is a form of social machine that could be a disruptive force. Reminiscent to Marx’s predictions of the rise of the proletariat as a counter-force against the bourgeoisie, Raunig sees the precariat as a counter-force to existent social reality. He spends time discussing Marx’s conceptions of class-for-itself and class-in-itself and its relationship to the emergent identity as the precariat. There are a number of contradictions between his, Marx’s, and D&G’s conclusions about resistance. Power and resistance are an open question, a question that Raunig is unable to definitively answer, in part because of how he frames the precariat as a social force. An activated Precariat is only one possibility, neither willfully self-conscious, nor resistant in any organized way. At one stage he actually compares the precariat with Marx’s Lumpenproletariat which in Marxist terms means an inactive impossible-to-organize force.

Here lies the contradiction: in the precarious class composition, Raunig sees the possibility of resistance to Capital, while noting that this social machine does not see itself as a force. In his use of terminology like “immaterial labor,” “cognitive capital,” and “the multitude” Raunig reveals his allegiance to particular perspectives with associated with Antonio Negri, he questionably pins his hopes on the multitude, finds new language for dated ideologies and holds an almost messianic hope for spontaneous social change. Vague political conclusions aside, Rauning admirably handles the machine question in regards to his study of D&G.

This book is useful as a reminder that machines are not only material objects that affect our relationship and perception of physical reality but also function discursively as interpreters/screens/ and mediators in how we see reality. Ultimately, Raunig’s conclusions vis-à-vis the revolutionary role of precariat labor are less rigorous then his historical narrative, but the histories of the theatre and war machines are useful addendums to A Thousand Plateaus. This concise essay seems to take D&G too literally at times, and despite his vague conclusions the journey is interesting in-and-of-itself. This work is potentially useful as a secondary source for those working through certain specific elements of Deleuze and Guattari’s ideas.

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Endnotes:
(1) Deleuze and Guattari. Anti-Oedipus:Capitalism and Schizophrenia.
    University of Minnesota Press. 1983 pg 36.
(2) Deleuze and Guattari. Nomadology: The War Machine. Semiotext(e) 1986. pg 5.

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Gerald Raunig’s A Thousand Machines was published in 2010 by Semiotext(e) as part of their ongoing “Intervention” series. Emerging from his extended study of Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari, Raunig’s essay constructs a genealogy of machine concepts in art, more about theatre, war, and philosophy, concluding with what he calls the abstract machine. Rauning’s relationship to the subject matter evolved out of his continuing engagement with and participation in European art and activist milieus. His broad-based knowledge of the subject’s history appears throughout the course of the essay, but in the end he fails to cogently connect the points of his argument. Gerald Raunig takes these machinic concepts to historicize, parse, and situate the current state of labor and social movements.

Deleuze and Guatarri’s seminal texts Anti-Oedipus and A Thousand Plateaus are firmly entrenched in post-1968, post-structuralist discourses and are a product of that era in French culture. In the intervening decades, these works have found purchase with the most disparate of specialists; from academics to activists, architects to the Israeli military. The flowing writing style and inventive jargon continues to resonate, maybe even greater than when these works were initially written. Deleuze and Guatarri’s thoughts are often expressed in machine metaphors throughout both works.

In Anti-Oedipus they propose a productive notion of desire called desiring-machines as the driver of social activity. This stands in direct contrast to Sigmund Freud’s representational and metaphorical use of repression and its stagnant explanation for predictable social behavior. A Thousand Plateaus carries the metaphors further and further outward away from mere psychology to a more totalizing vision of social reality. They define the machine as a system of interruptions and breaks¹ in a never ending ocean of flows, lines of flight, and trajectories in the infinitely networked social fabric. The body without organs is another machine, an assemblage, a complex social machine made out of parts in complicated relationship with one another. Machines are the forms and objects that can impede, redirect, collect and distort these flows; it is the flowering of these concepts and terms that enables Gerald Raunig to advance his claims.

Raunig introduces A Thousand Machines by positing the idea that the machine functions both as material object and as process/technique/subjectivity. The first order of business is understanding the man-machine hybrid and how humans are shaped by their relation to machines. Starting with the simple example of a bicycle, he describes the man/bicycle connection in reference to film and literature examples like The Bicycle Thief. In the film the bicycle is both a means of production, as Antonio cannot do his job without it, and also part of himself, as his identity as worker is reliant of having the bicycle. Thus losing the bicycle means losing his job and therefore himself. Although Raunig doesn’t explicitly state it, a parallel could be made to the relationship of today’s knowledge workers to their laptops and mobile phones-especially if the devices are stolen. This introductory discussion of bicycles was merely a roundabout way of illustrating his main thesis.

Raunig’s central thesis emerges from an uneasy tension between classical Marxist and Deleuzian themes. Ultimately he asks, “What is the way towards liberation?” He synthesizes an analysis of what Marx saw as the machinic social systems of Capitalism, namely the behaviors and regimentation that allowed for industrialization and proletarianisation of workers. Then he attempts coupling this with D&G’s concept of the social machine as an assemblage of individuals becoming an autonomous force. Throughout A Thousand Machines, Raunig returns to these interstices of machine-as-assemblage versus machine-as-discourse. The difficulty he encounters is created by balancing the perspectives of a materialist and pessimistic Marx against the speculative and idealistic theories of D&G.

The bulk of the book provides a series of examples beginning with a history of technique and machines for use in the theatre. Starting with antiquity he describes machines in both their material object-hood and technique. There are technical innovations for theatre like riggings and pulleys used to fly actors in, or trap doors to make them disappear from stage but also a discussion of plot devices especially the Greek invention of a deus ex machina—a problem that can only be solved by an external force. The deus ex machina originally involved complications to a story caused by and/ or solved by the interventions of the gods, later these narrative devices (or plot holes) are solved through technological means or external interventions. Skipping forward nearly two millennia to the Russian Constructivist theatre of the late 1920’s, Raunig speaks briefly of the experimental methods tried by Meyerhold and Eisenstein including novel forms of audience feedback and participation, new technologies like actual work machines as the center of the story, and taking the theatre to the factory floor. These examples contextualize how techniques and technologies can frame a story and serve ideological purposes.

Outside the theatre appears the war machine. War machines continue to be one of the more lasting and familiar of D&G’s terms, defined loosely as, “pure form of exteriority…irreducible to state apparatus.”² Further they must be mobile, nomadic, and contingent, able to shift and move tactically as opposed to the immobility, regimentation, and ossification of the State. By this definition, a war machine is not the military of a nation-state, rather technical and tactical deployments of collective resistance. Again, starting with antiquity Raunig discusses a number of literary examples and places them within the framework of D&G’s earlier statements.

Unfortunately, Raunig diverges to a discussion of the European notion of precarity. Precarity as it came to be used over the past decade was first a descriptor of the post-Fordist condition of labor; the emerging state of uncertainty with no guarantees of meaningful or stable employment for future generations of workers. This politicized definition evolved out of the Euro Mayday movement and was taken up as the name of a movement of its own, a diffuse Pan-European labor/social movement. This section is seemingly derived from his personal involvement and though maybe interesting as a post-mortem for active participants it is likely irrelevant to many of his readers, the digression into the history of Euro Mayday activism seemed both tedious and unnecessary.

As D&G have formulated, war machines are essential to preserve smooth space (e.g. organic self-organization or community) against the striated (regimented, controlled, hierarchical) State. The broadening of objectives is what transitions a war machine to an abstract machine, from an insurrectionary force to a larger society. Raunig’s final conclusions associate the precariat as the resultant abstract machine. In a particularly vague way he discusses how immaterial labor and the precariat is a form of social machine that could be a disruptive force. Reminiscent to Marx’s predictions of the rise of the proletariat as a counter-force against the bourgeoisie, Raunig sees the precariat as a counter-force to existent social reality. He spends time discussing Marx’s conceptions of class-for-itself and class-in-itself and its relationship to the emergent identity as the precariat. There are a number of contradictions between his, Marx’s, and D&G’s conclusions about resistance. Power and resistance are an open question, a question that Raunig is unable to definitively answer, in part because of how he frames the precariat as a social force. An activated Precariat is only one possibility, neither willfully self-conscious, nor resistant in any organized way. At one stage he actually compares the precariat with Marx’s Lumpenproletariat which in Marxist terms means an inactive impossible-to-organize force.

Here lies the contradiction: in the precarious class composition, Raunig sees the possibility of resistance to Capital, while noting that this social machine does not see itself as a force. In his use of terminology like “immaterial labor,” “cognitive capital,” and “the multitude” Raunig reveals his allegiance to particular perspectives with associated with Antonio Negri, he questionably pins his hopes on the multitude, finds new language for dated ideologies and holds an almost messianic hope for spontaneous social change. Vague political conclusions aside, Rauning admirably handles the machine question in regards to his study of D&G.

This book is useful as a reminder that machines are not only material objects that affect our relationship and perception of physical reality but also function discursively as interpreters/screens/ and mediators in how we see reality. Ultimately, Raunig’s conclusions vis-à-vis the revolutionary role of precariat labor are less rigorous then his historical narrative, but the histories of the theatre and war machines are useful addendums to A Thousand Plateaus. This concise essay seems to take D&G too literally at times, and despite his vague conclusions the journey is interesting in-and-of-itself. This work is potentially useful as a secondary source for those working through certain specific elements of Deleuze and Guattari’s ideas.

---

Endnotes:
(1) Deleuze and Guattari. Anti-Oedipus:Capitalism and Schizophrenia.
    University of Minnesota Press. 1983 pg 36.
(2) Deleuze and Guattari. Nomadology: The War Machine. Semiotext(e) 1986. pg 5.

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Paul Glabicki’s experimental animations of the late seventies and early eighties fracture geometric figures with juxtaposing sounds and images. In Five Improvisiations (1979) the images form and then explode the frame, stuttering forward and backward in time. The sounds and images repeat and fade; sometimes taking architectural forms; columns and isometric drawings

In Object Conversation (1984) the movement and destruction of language corresponds to the movement and deconstruction of bodies exercising. Crowds jitter and shout, doorbells ring. Both are visually challenging, disorienting, and destabilizing. They quickly become difficult to watch but create an intriguing combination of mathematical, architectural, verbal, and written languages. Glabicki currently teaches film at University of Pittsburgh.

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