Monumental DATA - My Doctorate of Design at Harvard GSD
I am proud to announce that I have been accepted to Harvard University as a doctoral candidate. Here, I have the rare privilege of tightly integrating my expertise in art, design, and writing into my new research endeavor: designing monuments that serve both present and future generations, instead of merely tethering us to the past.
There Are No Landlords in Utopia. (1 of 2)
I have always been fascinated with the idea of Utopia. Originating from Thomas More’s 1516AD work, the promise of Utopia sits somewhere between magic and admin. On one hand, Utopia is fantastical because we cannot quite believe that humans can effectively organise equality. On the other hand, utopic ideas often call for a simple redistribution of resources and effective management of what we already have. It seems at once achievable and impossible.
There Is No Art in Utopia. (2 of 2)
I have always been fascinated with the idea of Utopia. Originating from Thomas More’s 1516AD work, the promise of Utopia sits somewhere between magic and admin. On one hand, Utopia is fantastical because we cannot quite believe that humans can effectively organise equality. On the other hand, utopic ideas often call for a simple redistribution of resources and effective management of what we already have. It seems at once achievable and impossible.
Ornamental Hermits and Alchemist Hens. Why I reversed the narrative of Jack and the Beanstalk to write Alexander in Mimesis.
I extracted Alexander in Mimesis from encounters with graveyards, bars, museums and research labs. As I explored Manchester, NH, the story revealed itself in pieces and I tried to let the space guide me. What I didn’t expect, however, was to end up writing my own anti-Jack-and-the-beanstalk in order to grapple with the darker aspects of capitalism.
Beetles Having Sex in the Park…
In the scorching heat of a Berlin summer day in 2017, I found myself captivated by the intricate mating rituals of beetles. With my camera in hand, I dedicated myself to capturing their every move, eventually transforming my footage into a short film. While some may question whether it was a productive use of my time, I believe that delving into the wonders of the natural world and sharing it with others was actually probably not a good use of my time. Enjoy.
The Factory on Willow - Artist in Residence Interview
THE FACTORY ON WILLOW - ARTIST IN RESIDENCE INTERVIEW
ChatGPT thinks I’m a Criminal and won’t date me.
Two months ago, the Faculty of Education at the University of Cambridge sent students an email concerning ChatGPT. This warned of the strict guidelines on student conduct and academic integrity, stressing that students must be the authors of their own work, and that the use of AI platforms such as ChatGPT would be dealt with under the University's disciplinary procedures. Though the email conceded that AI platforms were now being used as research tools worldwide, it stressed issues related to biases in the current information searching model, the questionable accuracy of content, and ethical concerns related to the use of large datasets and gathering data from users. In response I logged onto Open AI for a cheeky look.
“When something dies, we clone it” - the perks of a garden tended to by Cambridge research scientists.
Many think of Darwin College as the garden oasis of the University of Cambridge. Others see it as a kind of monastic escape from the contemporary world with its miniature islands, herb gardens and bee hives. Others only know it as having the classiest dive-bar you’ve ever seen. Regardless of what Cambridge residents know, everyone has heard rumors of the rare and ancient plants in our gardens - Jurassic living fossils, cloned trees, parasitic beings… something about a banana tree which can’t make bananas.
Darwinian Skinny Dipping, Drunk Drawing and the next adventure…
It’s surreal to think that I’m moving to Cambridge in just over 2 weeks. I’ve only been there once, in 2007 I think, and was escorted off the University premises for drunkenly skinny dipping in the early hours. “Efficient security”, I thought to myself, crossing the bridge away from the college and leaving a trail of wet footprints behind. I knew from experience that the University of East Anglia security definitely could not run that fast. The gates clanked shut as I pulled my underwear back on, and I marvelled at the beauty of the scene. I had bought the cheapest available Easyjet flights with some friends, returns to Valencia, and due to the timing we’d decided to crash on the floor of a friends’ friend’s Cambridge college dorm overnight.
Happy Pride everyone! (Except André).
I still remember the taunts from my Dad’s friend André; “Do you like Gilbert? Do you like George? Are you going to grow up and be like them?” I was around 5 or 6 years old, and my family was visiting the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao with friends. My Dad’s friend André was a pest, and since hearing me begging for the latest Polly Pocket toy for my birthday, had taken a particular interest in bothering me.
Artificial Intelligence Bedtime stories from a sweaty Prince Andrew.
I had a molar tooth extracted yesterday evening. I have spent the better part of 24 hours lying in agony and cursing dentists everywhere. Fortunately, I could distract myself with a machine learning program called Midjourney. It describes itself as “An independent research lab. Exploring new mediums of thought. Expanding the imaginative powers of the human species.” and alongside Dall-e, is one of a few new computer vision programs which allows you to generate images from written detailed descriptions.
The Leprechaun is the Mr. Mime of National Symbols : As Proven by my useless Venn diagrams.
What are these weird humanoid things doing playing around with the magical creatures? Is it the National mascot of Ireland, or isn’t it? Ask anyone on the street: “Lion, Unicorn, Dragon, and…?” They will most likely say: “Shamrock… no, Leprechaun… no, wait?” But after a quick google search, I discovered that the Hare is actually the national animal of Ireland!
I couldn’t get this off my mind, so I made some Venn diagrams.
The United States War Department: “The Brits are not panty-waists.”
“Don't make fun of British speech or accents. You sound just as funny to them but they will be too polite to show it.”
“You can understand that two acts on your part will slow up the friendship - swiping his girl, and not appreciating what his army has been up against. Yes, and rubbing it in that you are better paid than he is.”
“The British don’t know how to make a good cup of coffee. You don’t know how to make a good cup of tea. It’s an even swap.”
(Amen!)
The Korean Bar Girl Turned into a Giant Snake; Stories At War
Is the Easter Bunny a Christian deity? How about Father Christmas? Of course they are both in the cannon of Christian symbolism, but do we believe in them? Well, yes and no, many children of Christian families do, regardless of whether their parents believe or not. Father Christmas is loosely based on St Nicholas, but he’s more like a transformation of pagan Winter-gift-giving spirits from European Folklore. And the Bunny, with its colourful eggs, judging the behaviour hopeful children? Well this character also hails from pagan Springtime beliefs, and seems to have slipped into the Christian tradition via stone carvings of rabbits in churches. The reason I’m brining these examples, is because I’ve always been fascinated with the blurred boundaries between cultural stories we respect, and those we don’t respect.
The Angel of Santa Fe : Barcu Biennale
Last week marked the launch of the 2020 Colombian Biennale, Barcú. I was invited by Gallery Nuance to collaborate with Fundación Vida Nueva, which translates as “Foundation for New Life.” This charity offers women in Colombia the opportunity to leave sex work, and as a continuation of my “Faces of Employment” series, I created a portrait of the brave women currently working with the foundation to better their lives.
“SAND YOUR OWN GODDAMN VAGINAS” : My feeling about unpaid internships
“Your job is to sand down those plaster vaginas” the gaunt middle aged man snapped at me, flicking his wrists towards the pile of cast genitals on the work surface. I remember blushing and sweating and wondering what I had done to deserve the nasty tone with which he ordered me around. “Of course I’d never let you take the casts, none of the customers would want you pouring gunge all over their genitals, that’s my job,” he scoffed.
THE TRUTH ABOUT MY PIGEON: A STORY OF CRUELTY & RESILIENCE
The first time I encountered death was at the age of 5. I remember walking back from the park with my family and tripping on the torn and twisted corpse of a pigeon, burst open with its red and purple strewn across the tarmac. It had a snapped beak and crushed head, but its tortured eyes were wide open.
