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n the age of Dropbox and cloud computing it is not difficult to imagine the USB flash drive’s future techno-fossil status. Yet as a presently universal interface, pathway, connector, translator and storehouse, the flash drive is a simple and even obvious way to distribute digital works of art.
“Rebellion?” Lee Lozano asks in one of her late 1960s journals. “Ce-rebellion! Cerebellion.” The note, an offhand entry jotted out in ballpoint pen, seems a fitting way to describe the artist’s particular brand of artistic defiance, synthesizing as it does the tone, form, and ideology of her now-legendary conceptual practice, which manifested itself as a series of private acts of refusal.
Within the universe of Julie Aults workin the dozens of exhibitions staged as a member of the collective Group Material, pages written on her artistic heroes, and histories recorded on alternative and hard-to-categorize creative practiceschronologies and an accompanying interrogation of the structures that guide them are perennial matters of concern.
Perhaps the most surprising of the many surprising things about Hilma af Klints retrospective at the Guggenheim Museum is how rational it feels.
Changes telegraphs the sustained themes of the prominent 20th-century choreographers non-representational dance practice, emphasizing by way of its fragmented form his maverick interests in collaboration, pedagogy, technology, chance-based methods, and ephemeral experiences that occur in relation to the written form. Cutting together extensive notebook entries overlaid with instructions for individual dances, photographs, theater programs, movement charts, and assorted notations by members of his cohort such as his longtime partner John Cage, the project registers as a working example of his methodology, in which sound, visual elements, and movement could be independently and suggestively developed in close proximity on stageor in this case, on the page.
In the visual arts, despite the spate of exhibitions devoted to understanding life in the age of the internet, art practices that happen online and attendant questions surrounding their platforms, networks, and unique mechanics of reading, looking, context, and display are still historically peripheral or misconstrued. This is in part a problem of preservation.