The Aesthetics of Internet Art and the Hauntology of Post-Internet Art 



Since the advent of computers and the Internet, contemporary artists took to using the  conjunction of both as mediums, canvases and inspiration for their own art. Despite an Internet  accessible computer being a rather recent innovation, one that was only in homes at the  beginning of the nineties, it has seen radical transformations in its form, capacity as an artistic  medium, and in its presence as an object of material culture which is capable of being more than  ever thought possible. Despite the relatively young gap of about 3 decades between the beginning of the nineties  to 2019, a sort of nostalgia seems to persist in contemporary art at this moment for the the visual  aesthetics and limitations of the early Internet. In short, because so many iterations of internet  experience have developed so quickly, so too has waves of nostalgia for its past. The old future1, then, somehow looks more more “futuristic” than contemporary computer and Internet  aesthetics. Rather than using the latest technological innovations, a certain group of  contemporary artists harken their work to this recent past, which I argue is a hauntological  reading of the Internet culture of the 90s. 

In this paper, I will be looking at two groups: works made at the advent of the Internet;  and works made after, or Post-Internet art. The mediums I’ve chosen are Video Art, Net Art, and  Photography. I picked these mediums because they offer the artist an ability to manipulate and  define the values of truth in their development through editing and enhancement, but also  because these mediums were forever changed as a result of Internet use. I will begin by looking  at the particular aesthetic and visual modes of the earlier 90s internet art, defining its reactions to the contemporary understanding of the Internet and computers. Forward, I will compare these  works to “new” works that harken back to the past of Internet and computer use and read these  works from a hauntological perspective. In doing so, I will consider why these artists are going  for this particular aesthetic, and what are the implications for Post-Internet art.   Hauntology is a term coined by Jacques Derrida in his work Spectres of Marx (1993),  which refers to his idea of us never approaching something which is fully present, or there.  Present is always mixed with past and future, and with the absence, In short, we can only make  sense of the present by comparing it to the past, and thinking of the future. Experiences are  haunted by thing which no longer exist, or do not yet exist. Lifting from the word “ontology, or  the study of being, hauntology sees existence as always haunted. Cultural theorist Mark Fisher  had adopted hauntology in its most popular form, referencing popular culture and media as  always referencing the past, going towards a lost future which never happened. People are no  longer anticipating the future, due to neoliberalism, which asks for short term answers for the  current present. Mark Fisher would see that new technology did not invent new forms in the  same way; rather, new technology was used to look towards the past more than ever. For Fisher,  nobody makes anything futuristic anymore. Because the present is so disappointing,  retrofuturism is so appealing because it was a past time of optimism. Pop culture today loves the  aesthetics of the past that are easy to revive and recreate, creating forms based off the past. The  future that does not arrive is the past that we cannot move on. Fisher ultimately remarks that as  hauntology is “a vir- tuality that already impinges on the present, conditioning expectations and motivating cultural production.” 

Part 1: Internet Art of the 90s/Early 2000’s. 

The Internet Art of the 1990’s was first spearheaded by a more interactive strain of  computer art, stemming from the fifties and sixties. An early computer art exhibit called  Cybernetic Serendipity-The Computer and The Arts at ICA London in 1968, captured one of the  early motivators of computers as a medium for art, an “Explosive charge” in the fact of  traditional establishments of art. Coupled with the excitement and optimism of computers as a3 medium was the ease of use of the computers, as well as the type of “fear” that computers,  capable of “recreating” art in their own language of flickering lights and screens, would  ultimately kill art. What the Internet as a medium provided was true interaction with machines4, even the possibility of opting out of the art itself by just clicking the x button in the corner of a  window. What these works are, in stark contrast to Post-Internet Art, is deeply optimistic of the  Internet as a medium capable of bringing people together. Not yet does the fear of surveillance or  government intervention color these works. The works of Nam June Paik, Corpos Informaticos  and Mariko Mori respond to this optimism in various ways.  An artist present at Cybernetic Serendpity, Nam June Paik, figured heavily in the show, and also lived long enough to react to the Internet in its burgeoning stage.

Image 1
Nam June Paik
Internet Dream, 1994
Video sculpture

Paik’s 1994 Internet  Dream (Image 1) stems from his interest in the mediated and networked world, coining the term  “electronic superhighway” to bring into language and meaning the signals and waves that were now making up contemporary communication. In Internet Dream, Paik creates a video wall of  52 CRT monitors to form a large, unifired image of three videos which are being manipulated  and morphed to new forms via a video splitter. Internet Dream on the surface would remind one  of other videowalls by the artist, without the added bonus of being able to source the imagery.  Where as other works of Paik lift heavily from the sources of television and music videos as  source material, the images of Internet Dream seem to have no source, as if these scenes of  oscillating blobs and and travelling cars have no origin. One can usually pick out the human  figures and rock stars that pervade his work; here they are absent. The Internet that Paik  mythologizes here is thus an unknown that cannot be tampered with quite yet, rather than a bank  of videos that, if caught at the right time, turns the ephemerality of television programming into  something tangible, that can be caught on a rod and fished up, rather than something to be  recalled later or to be waited for once it turns up again. 

The Internet becomes a medium of advantage for Paik. The Internet as a medium was  able to finally give artists a non linear viewing experience that disrupts the temporal linearity of  television and radio. Paik was critical of the medium he was most well known for, once stating in  an interview that “The only reason why videotape is so boring and television is so bad is that  they are time-based information. Human beings have not really learned how to structure time based information in recording and retrieval very well, because it is new. No one says the  Encyclopedia Britannica is boring although it has lots of information, because you can go to any  page of the encyclopedia, to A or B or C or M or X, whereas when you watch videotapes or television, you have to go A, B, C, D, E, F, G.” For Paik to create Internet Dream is to finally5 come to a place where technology can soar over his own personal visions of his art, finally  capable of creating works which are not sequenced patterns, but works which can truly be  interactive. Internet Dream does not yet fit that capacity, but in its visual language, is proto excited for the recent future of the Internet.  

Image 2
Corpos Informaticos
Telepresence 2, 2002 (http://archive.rhizome.org/anthology/telepresence2.html)
Net Art

A work of early net art, Telepresence 2 by Corpos Informaticos (Image 2), a Brazilian6 artistic collective, forwarded Paik’s desire to acquire as much visual media as possible, albeit  with a different goal in mind. In Telepresence 2, a collage is created of webcam feeds from  around the world, gathered from the groups various “telepresence” events. Telepresence is  defined as the use of virtual reality technology to control machinery from somewhere else.  Through webcams and the Internet, Corpos was able to host and create events via the  telepresence of human bodies. Telepresence 2 was intended to bound the limitations of  participants ideas of their own bodies and presence, instead giving into the idea of the  “networked” body (or the body as information and interactive via cyberspace) as something  which mattered, too. The collage of videos of peoeple, who the artists behind Corpos7 Informaticos did not know, are grainy and pixelated. This is not an aesthetic choice, but a  limitation of the era of early webcams. Bodies are often spliced into bits of lost data, but it was seen as advantageous perhaps to a certain kind of net artist. In observence of these flaws,  participants of Telepresence 2 were interacting with machines in new ways. Often this was seen  in the fact most participants would just have webcam sex, creating a voyeuristic and perverted  audience by default.

Other times, it allowed total strangers to come into a social setting at the8 click of a screen. For Corpos Informaticos,, the recording of the body need not be the highest  quality for it to have any meaning. A member of the collective, Bia Medeiros, said “Our  Investigation lies on the possibility of survival of a digital body, of a numerical flesh body; it lies  on the possibility of survival of a sensual body turned into image.” It’s also worth pointing out9 that Corpos saw themselves as a team of researchers working with free technology, not  necessarily artists or scientists exactly. This inbetween nature of identity as net artists reflected  the fluid nature of identity as a result of the internet: the avatar is born to represent and re establish the identity of those controlling it. Webcam footage as a proxy of a person helps create  “false information which counterfeits an object as original or authentic”. This false10 information can, consequently, be read as some kind of truth. In Mariko Mori’s photography, the avatar has come to life among everyone else in Japan,  who can opt in an out of this type of virtual reality when they please.


Image 3
Mariko Mori
Play With Me, 1994
Photography

In 1994’s Play with Me (Image 3), Mori takes on the preoccupation of the blurring between man and machine as a result of the influence and sociological pressures of computer and Internet usage. Here, Mori is posing  as a robotic anime girl in front of an arcade/ video game store in Japan, living seamlessly  alongside the people coming in and out the store. Mori, in her cyberpunk and kitschy outfit, also  recalls the characters the gamers are playing. This aesthetic, in no doubt inspired by anime and  science fiction in Japan, Mori “expresses a desire to eclipse space and time as a means to  'transcend ... national borders and share one consciousness as global beings and life forms”11. Mori’s avatar as a cybernetic anime girl can be read as a kind of truth about her persona and  being that cannot be attained under normal circumstances. The people entering the store are in  suits or must have just come out of work; Mori is not of that world, presently, opting out of the  role of the salaried office worker in cyberspace at the same time as they are coming into the  office. The photograph is, ironically, not shot on a digital camera, but on film. This decision  complicates the role and future of the avatar and cyberspace fictional characters as well: by being  able to capture a character who lives between these two realms on film, it helps usher  Mori’s character as a material truth in the world, rather than being digitally manipulated into the photo  herself. Play With Me suggests the final goal that the Internet is capable of, which is to live in  both the worlds of Earth and cyberspace authentically, with no judgement. What Paik, Corpos Informaticos, and Mori, are responding to, once again, is an early  Internet culture that cannot quite yet reflect to an earlier history of the Internet.

These works also  cannot truly reflect the artists earlier experiences with computers, with the technology and cultural values their works responding to being immediate releases around the world. Finding information at ones own whim, the reality of telepresence being just as good as full presence  (albeit Derrida would disagree there wasn’t ever presence!,) and the ability to be who we aspire  to in virtual reality are themes that are echoed through Internet Art, and even occasionally in  Post-Internet Art. However, the next batch of artists, working in the same mediums as these  three, are no longer invested in the feel goodery techno-utopic impulses of the nineties Internet  culture. Instead, a bitter irony and play with the limitations of old aesthetics seeps in, making the  earlier Internet works naive. If Internet art is the last bastion of art reflecting and responding to  the future, then Post-Internet Art is the first movement to criticize a still developing medium  which has yet to reach its apex.  

Part 2: Post Internet Art and Hauntology 

This next group of contemporary artists are deeply embedded in the world of Internet  culture. No longer a new technology, it is a normalcy of the upmost degree the point of reactions  to it becoming perhaps boring. This group of artists does not criticize the current state of Internet  and computer usage as one might expect, but rather is entranced in the early aesthetics of the  developing Internet in order to create works that are hauntological by default. This type of art sees a few common aesthetic patterns. The first is that it inherently appropriates the the  developing practices of the Internet as a form, using what is now considered low quality12 internet based media (anime music videos, pixel art made by teen girls, early 3D rendering, etc)  when it isn’t necessary or what is typically regarded as good Internet designerly practice. The second is that the graphics of 1990s Internet websites has become a trite strategy in the field of  digital art. In short, to be Post-Internet, you must be using this imagery in some type of ironic13 fashion. In using these past Internet aesthetics, their works are haunted by a promise of the  Internet as a tool of togetherness, rather than division.
 
Image 4
Hito Steyerl
Factory of The Sun, 2015
Video Art/Installation

Hito Steyerl’s 2015 Factory of The Sun is deeply self aware of its own hauntological  bent. Swaying between high definition original film and appropriated figures of characters from  anime shows suggests that the future is inherently going to look a little cheap. Her seminal article  “In Defense of the Poor Image” suggests that this is the type of future we are headed towards, for  her, the poor image is one that says more than a high resolution one ever could, stating that “the  poor image tends towards abstraction: it is a visual idea in its very becoming.” Her most14 important take is that the poor image is one everyone has access to create, receive, and distribute: “Poor images are thus popular images—images that can be made and seen by the many. They  express all the contradictions of the contemporary crowd: its opportunism, narcissism, desire for  autonomy and creation, its inability to focus or make up its mind, its constant readiness for  transgression and simultaneous submission. Altogether, poor images present a snapshot of the  affective condition of the crowd, its neurosis, paranoia, and fear, as well as its craving for  intensity, fun, and distraction.”

Steyerl’s own writing is in deep discussion with Factory of the Sun. It already posits itself as a  physical space where one transports into the web, with lawn chairs in a grid black and cyan blue  room, as if one walked into 1980’s cover art of Necromancer copies, implicating the space as  virtual as well, the grids reminiscent of the constraints and mathematical and software tools  necessary to create 3D renderings. The film consists of Yulia, a female cyborg, narrating 15 between different switches of reality, in a fight with Maria, another cyborg who is disgruntled by  working conditions. These characters fight via dance battles by actors dressed in gold suits, who  in turn morph into anime characters, with models cleverly lifted from Internet-based creators16. Interestingly, Paolo Maganoli suggests that Steyerl’s work is Steyerl’s films seem to be more  about the ‘revolutionary’ power of the medium and avoid looking back at the 1990s as a golden  age of the Internet,” I would argue otherwise. Factory of The Sun creates a film that looks like17 a video game, an already derided medium, to create a sci-fi fantasy film of orphans haunted by  the anime version of Stalin. There is no way to announce that clear fact of what the work depicts  without exploring that the work is ironic and harkening back to a hauntological lens of 90s  Internet Culture as a place where video games are the law of the land. Hauntology suggests that works which are haunted are read first as idealizing the future they miss, and second as undermining it because of its incapacity to currently exist, forfeiting an obsession with it to the  realm of idealism over political praxis. Factory of The Sun, in its hauntological response to the  Internet, does not elevate the culture of Internet usage and practice, but rather mocks it, bringing  to the surface the dregs of people mythologized to live in mother’s basements, coding away.  Where as Nam June Paik’s work is situated in the true possibilities of what the Internet is capable  of, Steryel has witnessed it, and is fascinated by its intellectual limitations. 

Image 5
Jillian Mayer
A Place For Online Dreaming, 2013 (http://www.aplaceforonlinedreaming.com/) Net Art

In a sudden jeer from the ironic and “I’m better than you” nature of Stereyl’s film, Jillian  Mayer’s 2013 website A Place for Online Dreaming (The Sleep Site) (Image 5) relishes in the18 early Internet as a place of calm and meditative practice. 3D rendered Native American dream  catchers sway, as a pillow slowly breathes up and down, and your choice of the sounds of  crickets, a babbling brook, or a rain forest. Your dreams can be logged onto a typed box and then  posted to Twitter. Meyer’s work, despite the link to Twitter, is deeply hauntological in its website  design: the Web 1.0 look of the .gifs swaying against the night sky, the gold serifed font that announces the “officialness” of a website. This is as simple of coding a website can be. In its  sheer distance from the modern visual aesthetics of websites, Mayer has suggested there is a  certain type of naivety and gentleness in these prior aesthetic forms that cannot be replicated in  todays hyperrealistic visual world. The hauntology is found here in that there was perhaps never  a gentle Internet to begin with, but to go back to an era where it was possible that the Internet was always used for innocent purposes fulfills the hauntological drive of people obsessed with  non-existant futures. In contrast to Telepresence 2, whose graininess was a result of the webcams not being up to par, and certain conclusions of the impact and scope of a work being concluded from its limitations, Mayer’s website is made to look cheap on purpose. These works also  approach telepresence differently: where the footage of webcammer’s eating and having sex was  what quantified participation in Corpos work, the simple act of tweeting on social media is  enough to constitute the ability of being connected worldwide, despite no real conversation  having happened. For an Internet and global community ravaged by the truth of the platform as  a tool for governmental and political control, Mayer’s work, along with the works of these new  crop of Post-Internet artists, is complacent in hiding this reality under the banner of nostalgia19. 

Image 6
Sophia Al-Maria
Sisters Series, 2016
Photography

Sophia Al-Maria’s work in the 2016 photography series Sisters (Image 6) intentionally  hides the subject matter of her photography through a paradoxical use of pixels. Where was one  would only see the pixels of digital photography once zoomed in, Al-Maria’s photography  showcases blown up photos of young women covered in the same material which distinguishes  film from digital photography, bringing the pixels to the forefront and leaving the real image  behind. The creator of the term “Gulf Futurism,” Al-Maria strategically uses the past aesthetics  of bad digital imaging to reveal another method of Internet use: to conceal identity. This, coupled  with her own Qatari heritage as a Muslim woman, complicates the hauntological reading of her  work. Rather than looking to the past for a lost future, Al-Maria looks to the past to reveal certain  truths about the futurism of todays Persian Gulf elite. Al-Maria, a science fiction author as well,  revels in her own retro futurism that seeks to undo the progressive speediness of Gulf Futurism  and pause to reflect on the past.is articulated that distorts and undermines modernity’s signature  narrative of development and progress, holding up a mirror to its history of broken promises and thereby challenging its imagined foreclosure of possible futures.

The Sisters series obscures the20 face of its participant and showcases other parts of female bodies, such as legs in bathing suits  and breasts. It seems that the pixelization of images, perhaps relating to data loss and truth in an  image, allows the viewer to have a degree of anonymity. In contrast, Mariko Mori’s Play With  Me situates the individual as living (and perhaps hiding) through the form of an anime character.  Both are remarkably printed on Fujifilm photostock, which is an interesting move both for artists  who work in 3D and virtual reality often. In printing these photos rather than having them live on  a screen, Al-Maria is not legitimizing or validating the online persona as just as “real” as the real  life one. Instead, her work is in the business of legitimizing the act of using the prior flaws of the  Internet to hide away, forever, an act that is increasingly growing impossible to do with the threat  of surveillance and the pressures of Islamophobia for a Muslim woman. This is a politically  motivated look at hauntology. Fisher suggests that the current hauntological lens from which we  see our world robs us of our ability to imagine any new realities radically different from this  one. By reverting to a retrofuturist look at the body, Al-Maria pines for new futures21.  

Conclusion

It would not be truthful to say that earlier Internet art did not speculate on the negative  aspects of the World Wide Web in detail, nor that contemporary Post-Internet Art is incapable of  looking towards new realms of technological advancement. An all encompassing definition of a  global phenomenon is not appropriate given that the medium it was born on, The Internet, is championed as an arena of different voices coming together. However, in noting that  contemporary critics have witnessed the reliance on old tropes of Internet aesthetics as a focal  point of contemporary art raises questions on how these works are displayed and spoken of by  art institutions. For other contemporary Post- Internet digital artists like Jon Rafman, Ryan Trecartin and Ian Cheng, would it not be wise to mention their work steeped in nostalgia? It  seems that, depending on the curator, the look of data loss and bad graphics are a deliberate  choice one can make, rather than an aesthetic mode left behind by the majority of society. To see it persist in contemporary art without calling into question makes for the field of Post-Internet Art to be bloated in its retrofuturist, nostalgic aesthetic that becomes trite over time.

Citations:

1Paolo Maganoli, "Digital Utopia in the Post–Internet Age,” in Documents of Utopia: The Politics of Experimental Documentary, 123-60. (New York: Columbia University Press, 2015): 133
2Mark Fisher, “What is Hauntology?”, Film Quarterly 66, no. 1 (2012): 16.
3Rainer Usselmann, "The Dilemma of Media Art: Cybernetic Serendipity at the ICA London,” Leonardo 36, no. 5 (2003): 389.
4Rainer Usselmann, "The Dilemma of Media Art: Cybernetic Serendipity at the ICA London,” Leonardo 36, no. 5 (2003): 391.
5Jonas Blume, "Exploring the Potentials and Challenges of Virtual Distribution of Contemporary Art,” in Digital Environments: Ethnographic Perspectives Across Global Online and Offline Spaces, edited by Frömming Urte Undine, Köhn Steffen, Fox Samantha, and Terry Mike, (Bielefeld: Transcript Verlag, 2017): 101.
6https://anthology.rhizome.org/telepresence
7Michael Connor, Aria Dean, and Dragan Espenshied, The Art Happens Here: Net Art Anthology (New York: RHIZOME, 2019), 182.
8Michael Connor, Aria Dean, and Dragan Espenshied, The Art Happens Here: Net Art Anthology (New York: RHIZOME, 2019), 186.
9Michael Connor, Aria Dean, and Dragan Espenshied, The Art Happens Here: Net Art Anthology (New York: RHIZOME, 2019), 184.
10Daniel Becker, “Desiring Fakes: AI, Avatars, and the Body of Fake Information in Digital Art,” in Faking, Forging, Counterfeiting: Discredited Practices at the Margins of Mimesis, ed. Becker Daniel, Fischer Annalisa, and Schmitz Yola. (Bielefeld: Transcript Verlag, 2018), 201.
11Gwyneth Shanks, "Visualizing the Now: The Alien, the Island and Mariko Mori's Beginning of the End,” Third Text 28, no. 4-5, (2014): 394.
12Steve Dietz, "The Database Imaginary: Memory_Archive_Database v 4.0,” in Database Aesthetics: Art in the Age of Information Overflow, edited by Vesna Victoria, (Minneapolis:  University of Minnesota Press, 2007), 113.
13Paolo Maganoli, "Digital Utopia in the Post–Internet Age,” in Documents of Utopia: The Politics of Experimental Documentary, 123-60. (New York: Columbia University Press, 2015):  124.
14Hito Steyerl, “In Defense of The Poor Image,” accessed May 1st, 2019, https://www.e-flux.com/journal/10/61362/in-defense-of-the-poor-image/.
15Chrissie Iles, Tom Gunning, John Canemaker, Giuliana Bruno, Noam M. Elcott, J. Hoberman, and Esther Leslie, Dreamlands: Immersive Cinema and Art, 1905-2016. (New York: Whitney  Museum of American Art, 2016): 136.
16A bit of sarcasm: where as images online can be hard to locate a source on, certainly a manipulated 3D model is not, so the fact I found the YouTube video and creator which made  these character models with a simple YouTube search, and not The Whitney Museum of Art itself, presents an issue of the definition of Internet Art, with capital A. 
17Paolo Maganoli, "Digital Utopia in the Post–Internet Age,” in Documents of Utopia: The Politics of Experimental Documentary, 123-60. (New York: Columbia University Press, 2015):  128.
18http://www.aplaceforonlinedreaming.com/
19Paolo Maganoli, "Digital Utopia in the Post–Internet Age,” in Documents of Utopia: The Politics of Experimental Documentary, 123-60. (New York: Columbia University Press, 2015):  125.
20Mike Frangos, “The Girl Who Fell to Earth: Sophia Al-Maria’s Retro-Futurism,” C21 Literature:  Journal of 21st-Century Writings 5, no. 3 (2017): 18.
21Mark Fisher, “What is Hauntology?”, Film Quarterly 66, no. 1 (2012): 16.

Bibliography:
Becker, Daniel. "Desiring Fakes: AI, Avatars, and the Body of Fake Information in Digital Art." In Faking, Forging, Counterfeiting: Discredited Practices at the Margins of Mimesis, edited by Becker Daniel, Fischer Annalisa, and Schmitz Yola, 199-222. Bielefeld:  Transcript Verlag, 2018. 

Blume, Jonas. "Exploring the Potentials and Challenges of Virtual Distribution of Contemporary   Art." In Digital Environments: Ethnographic Perspectives Across Global Online and Offline Spaces, edited by Frömming Urte Undine, Köhn Steffen, Fox Samantha, and  Terry Mike, 97-116. Bielefeld: Transcript Verlag, 2017. 

Connor, Michael, Aria Dean, and Dragan Espenshied. The Art Happens Here: Net Art Anthology. New York: RHIZOME, 2019. 

Dietz, Steve. "The Database Imaginary: Memory_Archive_Database v 4.0." In Database Aesthetics: Art in the Age of Information Overflow, edited by Vesna Victoria, 110-20.  Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2007. 

Fisher, Mark. "What Is Hauntology?" Film Quarterly 66, no. 1 (2012): 16-24. 

Frangos, Mike. “The Girl Who Fell to Earth: Sophia Al-Maria’s Retro-Futurism,” C21  Literature: Journal of 21st-Century Writings 5, no. 3 (2017): 1-21.

Iles, Chrissie, Tom Gunning, John Canemaker, Giuliana Bruno, Noam M. Elcott, J. Hoberman, and Esther Leslie. Dreamlands: Immersive Cinema and Art, 1905-2016. New York:  Whitney Museum of American Art, 2016. 

Maganoli, Paolo. "Digital Utopia in the Post–Internet Age." In Documents of Utopia: The Politics of Experimental Documentary. New York: Columbia University Press, 2015. 

Shanks, Gwyneth. 2014. "Visualizing the Now: The Alien, the Island and Mariko Mori's Beginning of the End." Third Text. 28 (4-5): 393-405. 

Steyerl, Hito. “In Defense of The Poor Image.” Accessed May 1st, 2019, https://www.e flux.com/journal/10/61362/in-defense-of-the-poor-image/. 

Usselmann, Rainer. "The Dilemma of Media Art: Cybernetic Serendipity at the ICA London."  Leonardo 36, no. 5 (2003): 389-96.