From Chatrooms to Memes

Among this corner of the internet, one where reposted images are manipulated until overprocessed and abrasively sardonic until no longer decipherable, a new type of artist has risen. These hyper-online artists create work that explores living during dreadful times in a saturated digital world. On Sunday evening, thanks to the help of Metalabel, their work went from smartphones to the big screen in new film The Idiot. Co-founder of Metalabel, Yancey Strickler, explains, “The film shows the power that comes when a group of artists with a similar worldview release work together. A wider perspective, bigger than any individual piece, emerges when a shared context brings work into dialogue.”

Curator and media artist Jay Islate created The Idiot, inspired by Byung-Chul Han’s Psychopolitics: Neoliberalism and New Technologies of Power — specifically the quote, “One of the roles of philosophy is to play the fool or idiot.” The hour-long film exhibition features work by Charlie Curran, Emilia Howe, Wonderful_cringe, Domonique, Network Glass, Sam Stewart, and Leïth Benkhedda. Alongside the videos, a Twitch chat was displayed for people who couldn’t make it, and many people from the intimate audience joined as well. It became a virtual fever dream for people who were in on the joke. They laughed at the same parts and trolled one another in the chat.

The Idiot works best at exploring our physical self’s relationship to the internet. Leïth Benkhedda’s “The Internet of Friends” contribution tells narratives through pictures made on Whisper via viral Tumblr posts and kitschy stock images. One shares a transwoman's experience about finding tranquility in her identity after posing as different characters in chatrooms; another recounts finding love and community in World of Warcraft. Emilia Howe created screenrecordings of herself dancing to popular Tik Tok songs amidst existential thoughts and cutesy filters.

However, when mentions of 4chan, autism, r/, god are used and someone has the user “uralldasha,” the exhibition can feel a bit edge lord-ish. I understand this objective may stem from the nihilistic undertone tone that characterizes our current cultural epoch, but provoking for the sake of provoking is a poor foundation to base politics on. It’s the exact ideology that big data and capitalist society urge us to fall into, a culture of submission. A clip of someone setting their phone on fire over a compilation of low quality memes with an “Everytime We Touch” nightcore remix playing ends the exhibition, allowing us to imagine one day we will have that strength. But that day is not today. So read on for a dummy guide to this glitched-out subculture of art, memes, and the deep, dark web from Jay.

To start, can you tell me a bit about psychopolitics and why it interests you?

One of the main ideas within the book is how neoliberalism has discovered the productive force of the psyche. Much of this force comes through the utilization of algorithms and big data and its attempt to homogenize both emotion and expression. For me, this instantly draws on the idea that due to this homogenization and conformity, many of the conversations and ideas challenging/questioning these ideological and aesthetic powers are occurring within online spaces.

Another reason this book resonates so much is due to its prescient nature of insight and theory. Written in 2017, a year into Trump’s presidency and years before COVID, the ideas have maintained a timely relevance and have even predicted much of what we have come to experience — both online and in person. In today’s information overload, I find this resonance incredibly compelling and inspiring.

What do you think led to a deep-fried internet?

The sheer amount of information posted and seen. It’s truly incomprehensible. Then all that information gets exponentially compounded within memes, Tik-Toks, or any other form of content. It’s a sure-fire recipe for internet rat brain, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

One of my favorite things is seeing a story or post that has literally been screenshotted, remixed, or added to until the post is an illegible artifact of social spread/connection/interaction. It’s like playing the game telephone but with a picture. Still the exact same image but different by the “end.”

Why do you think this aesthetic works as a medium for political art?

Mainly just due to the fact that it operates on such a different spectrum aesthetically. Some of these videos contain so many images and videos that they are almost incomprehensible. They are also in direct defiance of fitting within the algorithm. It sort of feels like a direct confrontation with creating art for capital/economic success. That’s where I believe the magic comes from being able to create and express yourself with utter freedom. This freedom is sort of a pipe dream but also one being made possible within contemporary digital mediums. Almost everyone has a smartphone, what else do you need for a studio?

How do they navigate our current world — both online and off?

With love.

Is there a certain literacy someone must have to understand this form? If so, how can one develop it?

With much of online culture and the internet in general, there is a necessary visual literacy needed to navigate and understand the firehose of images we all see. Taking any form of content at face value is essentially an admittance of illiteracy in our modern age.

The world is nuanced; ideas take time to process. It’s okay to feel stupid. For me, half of exploring all this is this constant feeling of being dumber than the rest, but that’s sort of how learning goes. With this being said, it takes time and also effort. Brad Troemel is sort of a master at satire that highlights how little time or effort we put into processing ideas/images. Then I guess it sort of goes without saying but, spend time online. Find your dark forest or interest then follow it until you find something else worth exploring. It’s all a cycle, and everything is way more connected than you expect.

How did you initially come across this community of artists?

I’ve met and found all of the artists through various online communities I’ve stumbled upon and have followed. Up until a few weeks ago, I hadn’t even met anyone in person. I only know some of the artists by their social media handles, which is pretty cool to me. As I mentioned earlier, many of these online communities and people (at least within this sort of NYC/art/literary/meme admin scene) are only separated by what feels like less than 1 degree of separation. It’s truly incredible. Through these online platforms, we can sort of foster a “small town” vibe within a huge urban area.

In what ways does this current iteration of post-internet art differ from the one that emerged in the early 2010s?

I wasn’t really around or involved in the art being made on the internet then, and anything I know now has been found through research or discovery. It’s all viewed with this sort of nostalgia for the “old internet.” One thing now that seems different is just the sheer amount of people online and posting. The lines between everyday life and life online are blurrier and blurrier. Much of the work from the 2010s was constrained by desktops and ethernet cables. Now all of that is in our pocket, so naturally that’s going to have quite an effect on the work being made now compared to then.

This is just pure conjecture, but I feel like how we post is different. With early Myspace and geo-cities, these pages were sort of a new extension of expression. With social media being less of a tool for expression and more of a proof of existence, we are confronted with the reality that our digital existence signals proof of our physical existence.

If all of our memory is built on a digital record and you don’t post, do you exist?

How does this form of art relate to shitposting?

Personally, I don’t feel comfortable really tying any of these works to the idea of “shitposting” as a concept or action. All of this work was chosen because of its artistic merit and the ideas behind the pieces. Basically, I just don’t lump these works in with memes. It feels important to make that distinction.

That being said, visually, there are definitely connections. Specifically within the use of memes and memetic imagery. Unlike shitposting though, many of these images are used as a personal expression or intrinsic look into personal identity. Images and ideas can hold so many different meanings upon appropriation and remixing across the internet. Many of the online webs and nodes are connected by meme pages with admins who most definitely are shitposters. But meme pages and admins are just different types of online residents. This showing is about the artist making work responding to all of these online residents, contents, and life online (not that it’s much different than life “offline”).

Why did you partner with Metalabel for this exhibition?

I’ve gotten to know several members of the Metalabel squad over the past year or so. Much of this connection was driven by a shared deep curiosity about subcultures and their modern interpretation within online spheres.

What does the context of the Metrograph — a theater in Dimes Square, a microneighborhood basically created online — add to the exhibition?

The whole Dimes Square thing has been such a fascinating example of a subculture starting online and then searching for a place to latch on to in order to devirtualize. Did that need to happen to validate the community’s existence? Not really, but it certainly helped it export its ideas, aesthetics, and lore into the world.

That’s sort of the idea behind the theater and displaying this work. I want to get as close to being inside the timeline as we can. It’s attempting to work in reverse and ask people to virtualize their existence. Become a part of the Discord server. This work doesn't need to devirtualize. There’s not much of a difference between those two states anymore anyway.

It’s also worth noting how incredibly lucky we are to be in a city that is so large that it can support these online subcultures and also offer neighborhoods, bars, and venues for these scenes to linger in. A place or space for connection is key within any subculture.

Art

Pamela Sneed’s Speaking Tongue opens at Dashwood Projects

November 15, 2024

Pamela Sneed’s latest exhibition, Speaking Tongue, will be on view at Dashwood Projects from November 20 to December 21. The show features twenty watercolor and ink paintings inspired by her recent trip to Kenya, where she was deeply moved by the elegance of giraffes, the landscapes, and the energy of Nairobi.

Blending her background as a poet and visual artist, Sneed’s work reflects on themes of identity, nature, and connection. Her paintings capture the beauty and spirit of the animals she encountered, alongside reflections on her own experiences as part of the African diaspora.

This exhibition marks Sneed’s first solo show with Dashwood Projects and will be accompanied by a new book, also titled Speaking Tongue, to be released in December.

By Enzo Holdt
Artworks by Pamela Sneed

Art

Tiebreaker - Alvin Armstrong

November 15, 2024

There is a moment of silence right before the play. Just before the racket strikes the ball as it hangs weightless in the air, breathless and charged. It’s the fleeting yet decisive instant that can alter the course of the match, determining who wins and who loses.

Alvin Armstrong depicts this crucial moment in his new exhibition Tiebreaker, symbolizing the risks and rewards of competition. It’s an implication of something else at stake, where athletes push not only their bodies, but their spirits to the absolute limit.

The dynamic figures embody the strength, grace, and agility juxtaposed by the vibrant color palette evoking not just the joy of competition but the charged energy of the court.

Tiebreaker is opening Thursday, November 16th at Anna Zorina Gallery.

By Rea Brayshaw
Artworks by Alvin Armstrong

Art

The Things People Are Ashamed To Take Photos Of: The Photography and Films of Yuhan Cheng

Yuhan’s latest exhibition of photo and video work titled 窗子外 Outside the Window, Inside the Tank 鱼缸里 takes its namesake from what could’ve been a mundane encounter. A month after moving to New York City from Chengdu, China, they stumbled across an abandoned fish tank left curbside. It reminded them of “the rotating fish in a tank that faded into the background of their mother’s home in Chengdu”, a thread connecting childhood familiarity that transformed into a symbol of greater significance in adulthood. A tank is a world within a world; a microcosm secluded from the broader chaos of the outside. Since then Yuhan has captured the other kinds of “fish tanks” closest to them in their photography and short films. Not literal ones necessarily– but intimate confined spaces in Chengdu and NYC where time stands still.

In the midst of taking snapshots of loved ones, Yuhan decided to turn their tender but examining lens on themselves. They realized shooting self-portraits unraveled a deeper understanding of their own nonbinary gender and queer sexuality. Yuhan admits in one of their short films “I hide from looking at my own body.” Yet, in the seclusion of their room which doubles as a dark room, Yuhan began to develop their first nude photos chronicling the subtle wounds; bitten cuticles, bruises, and scrapes they’ve accumulated involuntarily, once again documenting the things people choose to hide.

窗子外 Outside the Window, Inside the Tank 鱼缸里, debuted at FAR-NEAR Studio Hours a gallery in Chinatown focused on expanding the art world's view of Asia and Asian artists curated by Lulu Yao Gioiello. The event merged Yuhan’s works from the past three years, including 70 photographs, three short documentaries, and one installation. There was something uncanny about the gallery’s atmosphere – from the dollar store teal green curtains obscuring every window to the clusters of framed photos mimicking how photos of relatives are displayed in one’s childhood home, to the darkened lighting that was both disorienting and cozy. All these details were meticulously chosen to imitate the rooms depicted in Yuhan’s films and photography. In other words, the audience was invited to Yuhan’s “fishtank”, to share the odd balance of comfort and unease of being known intimately. We talked to Yuhan at Cafe Reggio to understand how their latest body of work came into being.

Initially, I was exploring my friends’ identities through the lens, but slowly, it became a tool to confront and understand my own queerness and gender identity.

Ora Margolis— Were any memories/childhood experiences you had in Chengdu important to how you've developed as an artist?

Yuhan Cheng— Growing up in Chengdu, especially in a military household, shaped and gave me a source of contention how I understood my identity. There was always a sense of conflict when it came to my body and feeling like I didn’t quite fit the expectations around me. This tension has been a driving force in my practice, pushing me to explore identity and belonging in my work.

Tell us a bit about your latest exhibition Outside the Window, Inside the Tank at Far. What headspace were you in when taking these photos?

YC— Outside the Window, Inside the Tank is about the fluidity of self; our bodies, our environments, and our identities. The idea of water as both a symbol of confinement and freedom is central to the photos and film that comprise the exhibit. This fluidity much like how I see my experience moving between Chengdu and New York, where similar feelings follow me no matter where I am. Water mirrors the body, the frame, and the room, which are all containers of the self.

Previously, you’ve said you wanted the exhibition space to look "like your room". How did you make that happen and why is your NYC room important to you?

YC— My room in NYC is an extension of my identity. It’s where I feel vulnerable and where I explore myself most openly. It’s a manifestation of my sense of self. I recreated certain elements in the exhibition—the green sheer curtains, the dollar store shower curtain with bubbles, and the center installation depicted a self-portrait deteriorating in water, reminiscent of a fish in a tank. This room, like any other room or container, magnifies the tension of self-exploration.

Has your idea or comfort with your gender identity and /sexuality changed since you’ve delved into photography?

YC— Yes. The process of photography and filming has been a mirror to my own understanding of self. Initially, I was exploring my friends’ identities through the lens, but slowly, it became a tool to confront and understand my own queerness and gender identity. The process of photographing my queer friends and then myself allowed me to come to terms with who I am.

How did you and Lulu Yao of FAR-NEAR Studio meet, and what makes her a good collaborator?

YC— We first connected when I reached out with my series Princess of Funan River. Lulu understood the struggles and complexities in the work and she invited me to expand on those ideas with her. Our collaboration has worked because Lulu truly resonates with the themes I’m drawn to, like fluidity, transformation, and the intimacy of navigating belonging.

After completing Fish Tank and Remnants of an Amateur Film, what kind of movie do you want to make next?

YC— Right now, I’m more focused on writing. I need to understand what I want to say before making another film. Writing helps me find clarity;it’s a crucial part of my process.

What kind of camera do you use and why?

YC— I use a Canon AE-1. I started with it and I still love it. It's small, spontaneous, easy to use, and light. It allows me to capture moments naturally without overthinking.

What's your biggest fear?

YC— Being disconnected from my sense of self, from others, and from the things I love.

When do you feel most like yourself?

YC— It’s during those fleeting moments when I complete a project. That feeling fades quickly, leaving me searching for the next project to reconnect with that sense of fulfillment.

How do you want people to feel when they interact with your art?

YC— I want them to feel whatever resonates with them. I don’t want to prescribe the experience; it should feel right for each person.

Your work focuses on the close knit communities that surround you or various metaphorical “fish tanks”. What communities do you feel closest to?
YC— The queer artist community, both in Chengdu and NYC, has been a source of comfort and understanding for me. There’s something about shared struggles and shared creative language that feels like home.

What's the biggest difference between living life as a queer artist in NYC and in Chengdu?

YC— In both NYC and Chengdu, I’m learning more about myself. NYC offers a sense of freedom, while Chengdu is home, a place of comfort and history. Neither place defines me but both are significant parts of my path.

What are your next moves/goals?

YC— I want to continue exploring both film and photography, expanding my narrative style and experimenting across mediums. During my show, I found new ways of seeing my photographs such as by adding a window screen between frames or letting a self-portrait fade and grow mold in water. These approaches allowed me to see my work not just as 2D images but as 3D objects.

I want to keep pushing the boundaries of how photo and film can interact, and I’m also interested in trying photojournalism. My focus remains on collaborating across mediums and continuing to accumulate experiences that I can translate into sincere honest work.