This project is by Ben Reynolds, from Dip 5 at the AA. It got honours in 2011 and was tutored by Cristina and Efrén from AMID.Cero9 whose work I really like. I find the project deals with a rather interesting topic, great contradiction of the necessary and the banal that makes it very relevant. I also find quite enjoyable the combination the high tech take and the old folks.
Nestled between fairway-condos and swimming pools as kidneys is a data centre that stores the massive and shapeless stuff of digital production. For the leisure-suit-laden retired bankers of Palm Springs CA., it is a country club of two worlds: above, are spaces that exploit their tired bodies through games where play is celebrated social act and the production of illusions temporarily dislocate their realities. Every metaphor is swiftly realised through precise technology.
Below is made of excreted material from the data centre, dripping explanations of artificial and natural processes. Where the data centre cleans up concepts, below is the domain of physical superabundance–error and excess—across time, and through strata of materiality. A poetic vision of binary banalities.
Above, the games employ their commodified minds, language and emotions. Below, the data centre is melted into a glutinous mass, a squeezed archive, leftover 0’s and 1’s. Information’s ivory towers become silicon’s shit, all homogeneous and flowing into itself. The building is a codified territory; a reified .csv file blurring both the details of a body and something completely artificial, alien. It’s likeness to a body–with wrinkles of inflatables, pits as thermal pools and as hair ethernet cables–is no coincidence as the exchange of data and total creation of information is the sum of human effort. The building becomes where information came from. The bankers are again the libidinous college kids; 1950s splendor is restored and is floating as a desert oasis of information.
(L) At the tip of Cimarron golf course, the building is as alien as Palm Springs, foreign as it is artificial.
(R) Palm Springs itself is divisible by its square Jeffersonian Grid. It is golf-course urbanism, that encroaches on the mountains and fades into the desert.
The investment tribes of lower manhattan.
“Then we find out it’s bullshit. The genius is fake. We’d been competing with a phantom.”
“They don’t have a good bathroom to do coke in.” Country Club Roof
“Until your name is the name on the door, don’t tell me what to do.”
The stations that exploit their commodified minds, bodies and emotions.
“I was making a lot of money. I didn’t need the money. [Am I] a flawed character?
It writes every movement of its bowels: a changing cumulonimbus.”