Mario Cuomo, RIP

Mario Cuomo has died.

Growing up, he'd always seemed a hero to me. He was elected governor when I was nine, and probably the first major statewide figure I can remember. I remember him as a politician able to separate his religious views from his political ones. And the counterpoint to Al D'Amato, who seemed like a ludicrously right-wing politician in my more naive days, before I discovered just how far right some politicians could swing.

His 1984 Democratic Convention speech is the first political speech I recall, and remains one of the great ones, a condemnation of the pure fucking evil that was Ronald Reagan.

He accomplished a hell of a lot as governor, and there are a zillion memorials online listing everything he did, including the blemishes, and he was clearly well past his political prime, but it still feels weird to realize he's gone.

Mario Cuomo, RIP

Mario Cuomo has died.

Growing up, he'd always seemed a hero to me. He was elected governor when I was nine, and probably the first major statewide figure I can remember. I remember him as a politician able to separate his religious views from his political ones. And the counterpoint to Al D'Amato, who seemed like a ludicrously right-wing politician in my more naive days, before I discovered just how far right some politicians could swing.

His 1984 Democratic Convention speech is the first political speech I recall, and remains one of the great ones, a condemnation of the pure fucking evil that was Ronald Reagan.

He accomplished a hell of a lot as governor, and there are a zillion memorials online listing everything he did, including the blemishes, and he was clearly well past his political prime, but it still feels weird to realize he's gone.

The ephemerality of new media

I just listened to last week's Studio 360 (winter travel puts me behind on my podcasts), which included this piece on the maintenance of the art of Nam Jun Paik. I love Paik's work, and am so happy to have gotten to see some of his pieces in person, as by their very nature, web sites or prints don't convey the real sense of his art (even more than with paintings).

But unlike, say, Calder's mobiles, or Agam's Agamographs, there's a level of maintenance that actually gets harder as technology changes. Cathode tubes are becoming a thing of the past, as are the people capable of servicing them. So as time goes by, the ability for MOMA (let alone smaller museums) to find people to maintain them will get tougher and tougher. And most preservation programs focus on more traditional paint and sculpture. Once the tubes required for some of Paik's pieces are no longer available, the art will be lost.

Of course, ephemerality of art is nothing new. Painters paint over their works all the time, writers delete works, or just fade into obscurity (how many copies of 1800-era novels survive, especially from authors who had little traction even then?). Aeschylus's plays are mostly lost. Old Doctor Who episodes were taped over. London After Midnight was destroyed in a fire. Etc.

(And that's not even counting art by the likes of Christo, where the ephemerality is a part of the product. And live performances of music and theatre have long been, by their nature, experiences that can't be replicated elsewhere.)

But it seems weird to think about losing contemporary art, especially art that explicitly relies on and comments on technology, because we've actually advanced technology. Seems like one of those weird contradictions.

And that's a regular concern of new media in general. Not so much files, which can be converted (and no DRM yet has stopped something from getting copied), but when semi-ubiqitiout technologies like floppy disks or zip drives fade out, how much gets lost? How many current new media projects rely on internal hard drives? Even SSDs fail, and that's a recent innovation.

I adore art that requires installations. I was lucky enough to attend a conference in San Jose a few years ago when their art museum had an awesome exhibit called Retro-Tech, and I was amazed at some of the uses of even-then-outdated technology like LED displays (and speaking of preservation, I'm so glad for an internet that allows me to at least find a record of the exhibit). I wonder how many of those pieces could still work these days?

I don't have any good answers -- tech changes, and knowledge of old tech gradually becomes such a niche skill that it's hardly worth it, even for preservationists. But at the same time, it's hard not to mourn the loss, of both the art and the opportunity to see that art.

The ephemerality of new media

I just listened to last week's Studio 360 (winter travel puts me behind on my podcasts), which included this piece on the maintenance of the art of Nam Jun Paik. I love Paik's work, and am so happy to have gotten to see some of his pieces in person, as by their very nature, web sites or prints don't convey the real sense of his art (even more than with paintings).

But unlike, say, Calder's mobiles, or Agam's Agamographs, there's a level of maintenance that actually gets harder as technology changes. Cathode tubes are becoming a thing of the past, as are the people capable of servicing them. So as time goes by, the ability for MOMA (let alone smaller museums) to find people to maintain them will get tougher and tougher. And most preservation programs focus on more traditional paint and sculpture. Once the tubes required for some of Paik's pieces are no longer available, the art will be lost.

Of course, ephemerality of art is nothing new. Painters paint over their works all the time, writers delete works, or just fade into obscurity (how many copies of 1800-era novels survive, especially from authors who had little traction even then?). Aeschylus's plays are mostly lost. Old Doctor Who episodes were taped over. London After Midnight was destroyed in a fire. Etc.

(And that's not even counting art by the likes of Christo, where the ephemerality is a part of the product. And live performances of music and theatre have long been, by their nature, experiences that can't be replicated elsewhere.)

But it seems weird to think about losing contemporary art, especially art that explicitly relies on and comments on technology, because we've actually advanced technology. Seems like one of those weird contradictions.

And that's a regular concern of new media in general. Not so much files, which can be converted (and no DRM yet has stopped something from getting copied), but when semi-ubiqitiout technologies like floppy disks or zip drives fade out, how much gets lost? How many current new media projects rely on internal hard drives? Even SSDs fail, and that's a recent innovation.

I adore art that requires installations. I was lucky enough to attend a conference in San Jose a few years ago when their art museum had an awesome exhibit called Retro-Tech, and I was amazed at some of the uses of even-then-outdated technology like LED displays (and speaking of preservation, I'm so glad for an internet that allows me to at least find a record of the exhibit). I wonder how many of those pieces could still work these days?

I don't have any good answers -- tech changes, and knowledge of old tech gradually becomes such a niche skill that it's hardly worth it, even for preservationists. But at the same time, it's hard not to mourn the loss, of both the art and the opportunity to see that art.