New Geographies of Violence
Jorge Valiente, Amaia Sanchez-Velasco and Gonzalo Valiente
Neoliberal Violence(s)
Byung-Chul Han describes violence today as “shifting from the visible to the invisible, from the frontal to the viral, from brutal force to mediated force, from the real to the virtual, from the physical to the psychological, from the negative to the positive, withdrawing into the subcutaneous, sub-communicative, capillary and neuronal space, creating the false impression that it has disappeared. It becomes completely invisible at the moment it merges with its opposite, that is, with freedom.”[01] What Han describes as ‘micro-violence’ crystallizes the so-called ‘post-political’ shift as the consequence of the hegemonic consolidation, from the microscopic to the global scale, of the neoliberal “common sense.”[02] The multiple scales of contemporary forms of neoliberal violence is the focus of two recent installations by Grandeza (one of them in collaboration with Miguel Rodriguez-Casellas, alias Bajeza): The Plant (2017) and Valparaiso Post-Liberal (2017). By analysing, describing, and narrating the material, discursive and representational qualities of these two artworks—understood as one-to-one scale architecture models that stage, perform, debate and challenge new geographies of violence—this account of a developing working practice aims to open Grandeza/Bajeza’s developing methodologies to scrutiny. Both works establish links with previous and upcoming projects, all of which form an ongoing body of work that studies late-capitalist spaces and narratives to identify (through critical analysis) and neutralize (through political imagination) the mechanisms that veil and normalize neoliberal violence.These two works depart from the critical analysis and research of diverse geographies of concealed violence, which are spatialized and revealed through architectural models that dislocate, decontextualize, and relocate objects and subjects. Props, authors and audience become part of an antagonistic and relational political arena where information is not just displayed as data but also negotiated and discoursed.[03] Combining humour, absurdity, mythology, philosophy, history, aesthetics and politics, the two projects fantasize and spatialize post-heteropatriarchal political imaginaries. As Rosi Braidotti states, “We need more conceptual creativity, more theory rather than less, and a renewed trust in the cognitive and political importance of the imagination.”[04]
In a state of planetary civil war, environmental annihilation and perpetual crisis, we argue that it is the ‘crisis of the political imagination’ that perpetuates our schizophrenic march towards extinction. The greatest success of late-capitalism is, perhaps, its capacity to self-portray as ‘scientific’ and ‘natural’ rather than ‘ideological’ and ‘imposed’.[05] As academics and creative practitioners, we feel the responsibility to open up fissures in the ‘excess of positivity’ embedded within contemporary discourses and aesthetics to propose new epistemological frameworks in which the imagination can flourish and engage with dissonance, disruption and discomfort, embrace ugliness, failure and otherness, and generate doubt, friction and dissent.
Design and Research
We will narrate a close reading of the two projects and of how the research, together with discourse, thought, design and fantasy are articulated and juxtaposed. A multiplicity of meanings have been constructed at the intersection of uncertain realities and feasible fictions. This narration of events will take place at this intersection of reality and fiction, uncertainty and feasibility.In both installations, the research questions formulated by the curators took us to the periphery of our previous research. This supposedly fragile position meant that the projects were simultaneously informed by previous work, and open to further study and interpretation. Thus, we occupied and vandalized the space between knowledge and doubt as a space of creation where collective discussion and design converged.
In response to the curatorial questions, we appropriated the performative strategies that artists and architects of the past century used to question the cultural and political assumptions of their time (the ‘epic theatre’ of Bertolt Brecht, for example, who called himself an architect). We combine this with the aspirations of the Situationists of making artistic creations that perished in the impact that they produced; and with the irreverence and apparent absurdity of the Dadaist gesture, which was capable of challenging artistic conventions by positioning the audience in a state of pleasant discomfort. Through architectural pastiches that comprise dissonant aesthetic and linguistic expressions (from different movements and times) we intend to talk, with the most serious absurdity, about the present.
Case Study One: The Plant, Wagga Wagga Art Gallery, 2017
The Plant was exhibited in 2017 at the Wagga Wagga Art Gallery, in the Riverina region of New South Wales, Australia. For around forty thousand years, this was the land of the Wiradjuri people. It was so when Anglo-Saxon graze squatters took over the region less than two hundred years ago.The Plant was one of nine works by artists and architects commissioned by the New Landscapes Institute to reflect on the past, present and future of the Australian Travelling Stoke Routes (TRS).[06] The curatorial team contacted Grandeza when they came across Transhumance,[07] a previous research project on the contemporary situation of Spanish transhumance, a semi-nomadic shepherding practice which has had a presence on the Iberian Peninsula since the early times of animal husbandry.[08] The curatorial team was interested in bringing international input into the discussion.
The commission started as a dual request. Firstly, they wanted Grandeza to design an artefact that incorporated the research that Joni Taylor (chief curator) had conducted on the state of the art of both Australian and international stock routes. The project had to integrate a series of maps, texts and audio interviews. Secondly, and simultaneously, Grandeza’s intervention should become an artwork in itself, be nomadic, and expand the conversation outside the gallery. Furthermore, the work should respond to a research question posed by the curatorial team as part of the commission: they wanted the team to unravel the contemporary condition of the ‘plant’. The Plant is a term that refers to the ensemble of human, animal and technological resources involved in the tradition of moving stock across the TSR network. This movement, throughout the country, facilitates the transportation of food, energy and shelter.
After some conversations with the curatorial team and other artists, we perceived a nostalgia or sense of loss over the picturesque ideal of an Australian landscape populated by stockmen with horses and ropes. Moreover, there was a longing for the time when these paths were shaped by the passing of long horse-driven caravans at the beginning of the colonial period. Indeed, the recommendation of the indigenous population—who knew the country better—was fundamental in many cases to finding the best corridors and to accessing pastures and water. We purposely distanced ourselves from the ‘white male anxiety’ described by Rossi Braidotti, or from what Zygmunt Bauman described as a ‘retrotopia’, a form of utopia that idealizes the past for the simple fact of being past, both of which are common place amongst Western artists and architects whose practice intertwines with the complexities of contemporary rurality.[09] Instead of approaching the project from an eco-nostalgic perspective, we decided to reveal and stage the contradictions and the inherent violence concealed behind the seductive beauty of the Australian countryside. By examining the history of these landscapes and by tracing the technologies that comprise the ‘contemporary plant’, we found that the colonial history of Australia is continually evolving. It is perhaps more voracious and effective than ever in its extractivist capacities, and as sophisticated as always in concealing and normalising the uneven access to the wealth that it produces.[10]
01. The Plant. Installation at Wagga Wagga Art Gallery.
The Australian Travelling Stock Routes have not disappeared; they have expanded temporally and spatially. During the twentieth century, a constellation of pioneering farming and transportation technologies shifted the scope of the Australian TSR from a territorial to a planetary scale. Today, the movement of livestock across time and space operates 24/7, in one continuous season.[11] The farming industry has become autonomous and flexible, adapting to post-Fordist modes of production and capital accumulation. Trains, trucks, vessels, drones, helicopters, cattle crushes, portable fences, refrigerated chambers and supermarket trolleys are part of an archipelago of concatenated technologies, which can be thought of as the material qualities of a ‘globalised plant’. As Rosi Braidotti suggests:
“to say that ‘naturecultures’ today are fully integrated into a technological apparatus that maximizes efficiency and profit, is stating the obvious. But coming to terms—psychically, socially and ethically, with this statement seems a problem of an altogether different order and scale.”[12]
We must not forget that these technologies are fuelled by individual subjects that operate as ‘the other’ to one another, in an atomized and sprawling social landscape inhabited by farm owners, workers, and exploited backpackers in search of visa extensions,[13] Aboriginal communities struggling for sovereignty,[14] and environmental activists rebelling against the relentless inaction of the Government against climate change.[15]
We sought to deploy this convoluted and disputed landscape in the exhibition, bringing it into the gallery to avoid confusions or ambivalent messages. Similar to Forge’s On Exactitude in Science, we wanted to develop a map of the region whose size was that of the region, and which coincided point for point with that region. As this was an exquisitely impossible task, we decided to design a compressed version: a stage, and a synecdoche. We knew that the act of squashing the whole thing into a fragment of that thing was yet another violent and reductive act of expulsion and omission. Thus, the ambiguous juxtapositions of fragments and the de-contextualisation of isolated parts allowed us to embellish the incongruence of the system itself. The Plant is a synecdoche of a territory, a geography of absences. It is an inhabitable one-to-one architectural model and pastiche.
02. Merino Chairs set-up.
Characters and Performance
The Merino Chairs belong to a previously unknown chair species that can live both indoors and outdoors. Their skeleton, made of a light, foldable aluminium structure, supports a fluffy body covered by a synthetic sheep-like fur. It is a light and portable creature with a cosy look, and a hybrid specimen at the intersection of two mirrored trading routes. Millions of Australian Merino sheep travel overseas annually, aided by a sophisticated network of technologies for livestock transport,[16] while tons of synthetic sheep-like furs reach Australian ports in shipping containers. If Androids dream of electric sheep, the Merino Chairs graze on surreal landscapes that blur the dichotomy between the pastoral picturesque and the rural techno-aesthetics of a nature-culture continuum in perpetual becoming.
03. Merino Chairs grazing.
Thirty square metres of synthetic fur, bought in Wagga Wagga (one of the cities in Australia that delivers larger amounts of sheep products into both national and international markets),[17] were used to fabricate the Merino Chairs. At 3:00am, on a cold night, on the outskirts of the city near the highway, six outsiders worked inside a rented fibreglass cabin (that held four) in an archetypical Australian caravan park. It felt like a clandestine sweatshop; six workers captured inside a one-to-one scale architectural model that was representative of the same suburban field in which it sat. An Aboriginal artist, a French professor, an Argentinian architect, and the three members of Grandeza were finalising the preparations for an exhibition. Under the gleam of three disturbing fluorescent lights, they constructed thirty Merino Chairs, the night before the opening. Aided by the rhythm of techno music, cocktails and other substances (three pizzas ordered by telephone), they completed the mission in time. When the pizza arrived, they had started to perform an improvized, post-punk version of Don Quixote in the cabin. Using the newly assembled Merino Chairs as props, they enacted a surreal theatre play, which did not go unnoticed by the pizza delivery boy. “I see that you are enjoying yourselves,” he said.
04. Post-punk Version of Don Quixote in a Cabin.
Indeed, for the rest of the night, and in preparation for the artists talk, they combined joy, collective hedonism and the most seriously absurd conversations about the project and its multiplicity of meanings. This scene was illustrative of the approach to design-research that this bunch of amateur actors, stage designers and architects—called Grandeza—develop as a form of emancipatory practice.
05. Margarita, open (detail); Margarita, closed, carrying the Merino Chairs.
Margarita (‘Daisy’ in Spanish) is a punk cow-table on wheels that escaped from an automated dairy farm on a foggy winter morning when the guard drones were blinded by meteorological mischief.[18] She has the tactile qualities of a living creature, the gracious appeal of a domestic animal, and the sensual qualities of a carefully handcrafted piece of furniture. However, she refuses to describe herself in these terms, as she resents the hetero-patriarchal gaze that commodifies her elegance and disregards her talent. Even if Margarita has always been attracted to bondage aesthetics, her liberated soul resists domination and authoritarianism. A cold morning in April, grazing along the Murrumbidgee River, Margarita spotted a flock of fluffy grazing chairs. Mesmerized by her arresting presence and dignity, the chairs began to follow Margarita and became a loyal gang of apprentices and supporters.
06. The Plant, nomadic.
Resembling Don Quixote and his squire Sancho Panza, the furniture herd—composed of Margarita and the Merino Chairs—operates as a nomadic ensemble that extends the exhibition beyond the gallery to incite and freshen political encounters and debates. Was Margarita, as Don Quixote, a mentally alienated creature in search of chivalrous adventures in an empty landscape where no one was willing to listen? Or were the Grandeza members inebriated by “folk-political” literature, like both Don Quixote and his author, Cervantes, were inebriated by knight-errant romances?[19] “But you gathered,” says Margarita, “you gathered around me by the river. Was the round-table encounter not authentic? Was it just a performative representation of a desirable debate never to transcend?” she continues.
When the thirty Merino Chairs and Margarita arrived at the gallery on the opening day, a queer cattle crush on wheels, dressed-up as a media machine, was ready to capture them. As the windmills in the most infamous passage of Don Quixote, the cattle crush became the delusional giant for this chivalrous furniture-mob, an unbeatable creation of reason, progress and efficiency. Nevertheless, Margarita knows that the “inescapable” advancement of industrious technologies—like the algorithms that govern them—are not the politically ‘neutral’ result of ‘natural’ evolution. They inherit, replicate and reproduce the same patterns of violence, exclusion and dispossession of the bond to which they belong.[20] A cattle crush is a machine that smoothens hyper-productivity, a robot that reduces labour costs, and a technological artefact that immobilizes animals to safely and efficiently manoeuvre them. It operates as a boundary device that consolidates and articulates fences while accelerating, safeguarding and optimising transactional exchanges of animals in an increasingly technologized rural realm.
07. The Plant, inhabited and vandalized.
Its presence in the gallery surprised local visitors, although it was an artefact with which they were familiar, but visitors from urban areas were captivated by the tangible precision of this mechanical presence. Re-situating such an artefact inside a cultural institution incited the visitors to interact with it, to play. This Dadaist gesture transformed an object of hyper-efficient production into a purposeless and innocent playground. Similar to the world exhibitions of the Industrial Revolution, the behind-the-scenes technology of the consumer society became the attraction at the centre of the stage. However, instead of celebrating the features of its technological advancements, visitors profaned them with childish behaviour. Intentionally or not, they turned into performers of a post-capitalist fantasy—of a world without work—where automated technologies produced an equitably distributed wealth.
Case Study Two: Valparaiso Post-Liberal, XX Chilean Biennale of Architecture and Urbanism, 2017 (by Grandeza and Miguel Rodriguez Casellas, alias Bajeza)
On the occasion of the XX Biennale of Architecture and Urbanism in Chile, the curatorial team invited us to answer an ‘unpostponable’[21] and provocative question: “Why did the UNESCO heritage project for Valparaiso fail?” Answering that question could open the door for us to participate in the Biennale. In this case, the curatorial team knew about our previous research project Immaterial Company Towns, a work that studied the rapid urban transformations of Valparaiso (an important Chilean seaport city). Immaterial Company Towns was exhibited at the 1st Chicago Architecture Biennale in 2015, as part of the Indo Pacific Atlas. Although that project was not explicitly related to the UNESCO heritage project, it documented some of the reasons for Valparaiso’s rapid transformation. Once again, we dusted off a previous research project and expanded on it to answer a different question.
08. Valparaiso Post-Liberal, installation; Valparaiso Post-Liberal, electoral process.
During its industrial peak, Valparaiso’s harbour became an entry point to the city for ‘others’ arriving from all over the world. This was the melting pot that fuelled the consolidation of an eclectic, picturesque, post-industrial landscape that appears today in every heritage postcard of the city. In turn, the economic exploitation of newcomers’ anxieties established the city’s bohemian character. Today, Valparaiso is neither prosperous nor untouched by the gentrifying processes of real estate speculation and tourism. Moreover, the city is unable to reconcile with its productive industry (the port) nor fit UNESCO standards. In 2016, a report written by Juan Luis Isaza (a Colombian expert in heritage management) stated that Valparaiso’s project was “calamitous.”[22] The conclusion not only summarized the institutional miscommunication and unclear hierarchical relations between UNESCO, the Chilean government and the municipality, but also reported on the dreadful conservation of the city’s architecture.
Our response, then, to that initial questions was that the failure of Valparaiso as a heritage city was a symptom of the lack of epic aspirations in the political and social projects of the twenty-first century. It was, in the end, the failure of neoliberalism and a sign of its exhaustion. If the ‘picturesque postcard’ was that important, we wanted to cut it open and transform it from within into a spatial diorama. We wanted to bring back and make present the expulsed and undesired subjectivities to the postcard,[23] and affirm their role in the consolidation of Valparaiso’s cultural identity. We wanted to recover unproductivity, hedonism, pleasure and sensuality as some of the supreme values that, combined with a cosmopolitan human dignity, gave shape to the social character of its citizens.
Installation and Performance
Valparaíso Post-Liberal appropriates three key concepts of neoliberalism (namely urgency, unavoidability, and the demonization of the state’s apparatus) to propose a new political, institutional and collective subjectivity.
09. Valparaiso Post-Liberal, postcard-mural detail; Valparaiso Post-Liberal, bullet-riddled bureaucrat’s desk on reflective floor.
We proposed a ‘public trust’ (a property trust) as the main axis of a parallel state in charge of transforming the current tourist playground into a productive territory. In turn, the validation of excess and clandestine activities—two foundational elements of the port’s bohemia—would be the focus of an urban rebranding. On this occasion, the one-to-one architectural model was simultaneously a space designed to ‘promote’ the foundation of the parallel state, and a clandestine nightclub inspired by those dissonant atmospheres expelled by the heritage project. Through an electoral process, the new citizens would collectively define the agenda of the alternative political apparatus.
The wall of this space was composed of a mural—formed of 4080 postcards—which was an enlarged and vandalized version of the archetypical heritage postcard. On one side the postcards were stamped with golden seals appropriated from the classical European painting tradition (where the ideals of emancipation that once inspired revolutionary projects in America were depicted). On the other side of the postcards were 272 political proposals which underpinned the epic tone of the political aspirations of Valparaiso Post-Liberal(ranging from short poems exacerbating Valparaiso’s social and aesthetic contradictions, to exhortations to discredit neoliberal common sense). Here, the visitors were invited to select their preferred political proposals and send them to the Chilean Government.
This civic mobilization took place in a setting that reflected the features of both a luxurious boutique and a bohemian nightclub. On top of a reflective gold floor (that introduced the metaphor of the parallel universe) there was a second-hand desk, painted in gold and riddled with bullet holes, where the visitors deposited their votes. This desk simultaneously embodied the traces of violence that dismantle the bureaucratic system (the bullets) and the promise of emancipation of the deposited votes. Hidden inside a drawer, the voice of Alejandro Arellano played from a speaker, a retired journalist and victim of the violent expulsions engineered decades ago by the Chilean dictator Augusto Pinochet. After a euphoric welcome to visitors, Arellano’s voice proclaimed the political ambitions of the parallel state.
10. Valparaiso Post-Liberal, shooting the bureaucrat’s desk.
While vandalising the bureaucratic desk we approached the Dadaist gesturality and moved away from the language of architectural representation. The day that the desk, already painted in gold, was shot at the headquarters of the PDI (Chilean Investigations Police) by the officer and architect Renato Román, the project reached its greatest poetry. The exercise of creative violence had moments of great beauty; between bursts, the shot pattern was assessed as if it were a work of art. This act (which summarizes the seriousness with which we approached even the most absurd aspects of the project) turned us, without knowing it, into performance artists.[24]
11. Valparaiso Post-Liberal, nightclub atmosphere.
Conclusions: (Architectural) Discourse and Representation
Currently, the re-politicization of academic work within architecture schools runs the risk of being reduced to another instance in a seemingly endless, recurring search for novelty. For instance, the dissociation between architectural discourse and marketing (namely, that of the icon and the ‘starchitect’)—a shift deemed necessary after global capitalism’s last crisis—has now led to a new trend that embellishes political violence with social management languages of political mitigation. In this framework of ‘architecture-as-troubleshooting’, concepts such as resilience (extensively used in current academic discussions and publications) appeal for the adaption to, or self-recovery from, the effects of ecological or political devastation, without questioning or altering the institutional roots or causes of such devastation.Parallel to these social alleviation trends (epitomized at the 2016 Biennale of Architecture in Venice: Reporting from the Front), architectural discourse has also shown a growing interest in tackling spatial issues that go beyond the traditional scales of the built environment. Anthropocene, climate change, mass extinctions, hyper-surveillance, migrations, sovereignty, borders, belongings and transit are only some of the recurrent topics that nurture a generalized feeling of embodied disempowerment, which fuels the determinism of a technologically-driven planetary annihilation. According to Rosi Braidiotti, “new necro-technologies operate in a social climate dominated by a political economy of nostalgia and paranoia on the one hand, and euphoria and exaltation on the other.”[25]
Following these discourses, different forms of architectural representation attempt to catch up with the emerging disciplinary concerns. Aided by the development of ways to collect data and precise mapping technologies, ubiquitous cartographic representations filled with filtered information and aerial photographs populate architectural publications, biennial exhibitions and academic works. These large-scale forms of Cartesian representation, which rely on a ‘dataistic’ accumulation of information, epitomize a new paradigm of objectivity, conquering a discipline that has historically navigated the tensions between the construction of objective truths and the formulation of subjective realities.
While accepting the challenge of architecture’s peripheral condition when reflecting on the big questions of our time, we reject the depiction of a world ruled by an unstoppable and technologically-driven Anthropocene, where the salvation is relegated to an army of SMART technologies. In these depictions, human and non-human subjects are rendered invisible or disempowered. We acknowledge the vulnerability of traditional architectural languages when addressing the scales of representation of the territories and transits that we inhabit today, but we also discard the estrangement of these new forms of Cartesian representation. Contemporary forms of political violence require alternative forms of spatial representation, and commonly forgotten forms of subjectivity need to be recognized, acknowledged and included in the picture.
Using the words of Paul B. Preciado (who, in turn, invokes Félix Guattari):
“We need to invent new methodologies of knowledge production and a new imagination capable of confronting the logics of war, hetero-colonial reason and the market as the hegemonic place of value and truth production. We are not simply talking about a change of the institutional regime or a rearrangement of the political elites. We are talking about the micro-political transformation of the ‘molecular domains of sensibility, intelligence and desire’. We need to modify the production of signs, syntaxes and subjectivity –the modes of life production and reproduction. We are not talking about reforming the nation-states of Europe. We are not talking about moving borders or replacing one state for another. We are talking about decolonising the world and interrupting the integrated global capitalism. We are talking about transforming the ‘Earth-politics’.”[26]
Impact and Interpretation
When José Luis Pardo describes the impact of the Situationists’ practices he states that the Situationists did not produce art with the intention of that art being interpreted. Rather than seeing art as an object, transcending the instant of emission to posthumously become part of a collection, their artistic interventions aimed to produce an impact and perish in the collision between creation, performance and reception.[27] In recent years, “impact” has — to the point of becoming almost a meaningless meme — come to dominate discussions about academic research. Its influence on the computable accounting of individual performance seems to be just another threat to the increasingly bureaucratic world of academia. We use this impasse (in which the academic apparatuses are still debating the meaning of the word) to rescue the Situationist reading of the term and re-politicize its meaning. Moreover, we embrace their avant-garde ambition of blurring the boundary between life and art, by embedding ourselves in collective research processes that celebrate discussion, difference, dissonance and joy while questioning the prevalence of individualistic and competitive forms of knowledge production.Notes
[01] Han, Byung-Chul. 2018. Topology of Violence, trans. Amanda DeMarco. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, p.vii.
[02] We feel comfortable here with the description of neoliberalism made by Wendy Brown. In the first chapter of her book, Undoing the Demos: Neoliberalism’s Stealth Revolution, Brown describes neoliberalism as “enacting an ensemble of economic policies in accord with its root principle of affirming free markets. These include deregulation of industries and capital flows; radical reduction of welfare state provisions and protections for the vulnerable; privatized and outsourced public goods… replacement of progressive with regressive tax and tariff schemes; the end of wealth redistribution as an economic or social-political policy; the conversion of every human need or desire into a profitable enterprise… and, most recently, the financialization of everything and the increasing dominance of finance capital over productive capital in the dynamics of the economy.” In the same chapter, Brown suggests the post political shift by stating that “the absence of a scandalized response to the state’s role in propping up capital and demoting justice and citizen well-being is also the effect of neoliberalism’s conversion of basic principles of democracy from a political to economic semantic order.” See: Brown, Wendy. 2017. Undoing the Demos: Neoliberalism`s Stealth Revolution. New York: Zone Books.
[03] Bishop, Claire. 2004. “Antagonism and Relational Aesthetics.” October, Vol.110 (Fall), pp.51–79. In her critique of Bourriaud’s “Relational Aesthetics,” Bishop argues—through Chantal Mouffe and Ernesto Laclau—that “a democratic society is one in which relations of conflict are sustained, not erased. Without antagonism there is only the imposed consensus of authoritarian order—a total suppression of debate and discussion, which is inimical to democracy. It is important to stress right away that the idea of antagonism is not understood by Laclau and Mouffe to be a pessimistic acceptance of political deadlock; antagonism does not signal “the expulsion of utopia from the field of the political.” On the contrary, they maintain that without the concept of utopia there is no possibility of a radical imaginary.”
[04] Braidotti, Rosi. 2017. “Posthuman and All Too Human: The Memoirs and Aspirations of a Posthumanist.” Transcript, Tanner Lectures, Yale University, delivered 1st-2nd March, 2017 (accessed 26th September, 2019). See also: Braidotti, Rosi. 2017. See also Braidotti, Rosi. 2017. “Memoirs of a Post-Humanist” (accessed 26th September, 2019).
[05] Bifo, Franco Berardi. 2011. “The Future after the End of the Economy.” E-flux Journal, No. 30 (December), accessed 26th September, 2019. In this article, Berardi compares ‘sciences’ and ‘economics’, clarifying that “science is a form of knowledge free of dogma, that can extrapolate general laws from the observation of empirical phenomena, and that can therefore predict something about what will happen next. […] In the schools of economics and in business schools they do not teach or learn about physics, chemistry, biology, astronomy—subjects that deserve to be called sciences, that conceptualize a specific field of reality. Rather, these schools teach and study a technology, a set of tools, procedures, and pragmatic protocols intended to twist social reality to serve practical purposes: profits, accumulation, and power. Economic reality does not exist. It is the result of a process of technical modelling, of submission and exploitation.”
[06] Taylor, Joni. 2017. The Long Paddock. Curated by Joni Taylor and the New Landscapes Institute, exhibition catalogue, 6th May-17th July, Wagga Wagga Art Gallery, Wagga Wagga, New South Wales, Australia.
[07] See: Grandeza Studio. Multi-scalar strategies to reactivate the transhumance in Spain – project. Grandeza Studio (accessed 26th September, 2019).
[08] Rodriguez-Pascual, Manuel. 2004. La Trashumancia: Cultura, Cañadas y Viajes. León: Edilesa, p.24-32. Translation by the authors.
[09] In her essay New Radical Enlightenment, Marina Garcés links the concept of ‘retrotopia’ (described by Zygmunt Bauman in his posthumous book of the same name) with the emergence of ethno-nationalisms as a response to the accelerated worsening of the material conditions of life. In the chapter “Posthumous Condition,” Garcés explains the concept of ‘retrotopia’ as one of the responses to the “posthumous condition,” which manifests itself in the blind belief in the irreversibility of the destruction of our living conditions. See: Garcés, Marina. 2017. Nueva Ilustración Radical. Barcelona: Anagrama, pp.13-32. Translation by the authors.
[10] Daley, Paul. “It's 50 Years since Indigenous Australians First 'Counted'. Why Has so Little Changed?” The Guardian, 19th May, 2017 (accessed 26th September, 2019).
[11] See: Crary, Jonathan. 2013. 24/7: Late Capitalism and the Ends of Sleep. New York: Verso Books.
[12] Braidotti, Rosi. 2017. “Posthuman and All Too Human,” Transcript, Tanner Lectures, Yale University, delivered 1st-2nd March, 2017.
[13] Davies, Anne. “‘Get naked if you like’: the Australian working holiday from Hell.” The Guardian, 10th December, 2017 (accessed 26th September, 2019).
[14] Maddison, Sarah. “White Australia Can't Solve Black Problems. White Australia Is the Problem.” The Guardian, 7th April, 2019 (accessed 26th September, 2019).
[15] Various. “‘We Declare Our Support for Extinction Rebellion’: an Open Letter from Australia's Academics.” The Guardian, September 20th, 2019 (accessed 26th September, 2019).
[16] Ahedo, J. Maria. 2015. “Shipping and Handling.” Log, No.34, pp.143-146.
[17] City of Wagga Wagga. n.d. “Livestock Marketing Centre.” City of Wagga Wagga (accessed 26th September, 2019).
[18] Daley, Paul. “Transforming the Bush: Robots, Drones and Cows That Milk Themselves.” The Guardian, 4th June, 2016 (accessed 26th September, 2019).
[19] In this paragraph, “folk-politics” is used as a term of self-critique by which we consider our proposal, referring to the term defined by Srnicek and Williams in their book Inventing the Future: Postcapitalism and a World without Work. According to the authors, “Folk politics names a constellation of ideas and intuitions within the contemporary left that informs the common-sense ways of organising, acting and thinking politics. It is a set of strategic assumptions that threatens to debilitate the left, rendering it unable to scale up, create lasting change or expand beyond particular interests. Leftist movements under the sway of folk politics are not only unlikely to be successful - they are in fact incapable of transforming capitalism.” See: Srnicek, Nick, and Williams, Alex. 2016. Inventing the Future: Postcapitalism and a World without Work. London: Verso.
[20] In relation to the allusion to algorithms in this paragraph, in Weapons of Math Destruction the mathematician Cathy O'Neil reveals the societal impact of algorithms and how they are increasingly used in ways that reinforce pre-existing forms of inequality. See: O’Neil, Cathy. 2017. Weapons of Math Destruction: How Big Data Increases Inequality and Threatens Democracy. London: Penguin Books.
[21] Cancino, Miguel. 2017. Unpostponable Dialogues (Dialogos Impostergables) XX Chilean Biennale of Architecture and Urbanism. Curated by Felipe Vera, Rodrigo Tisi, Jeannette Sordi, José Mayoral, Miguel Cancino, Claudio Magrini, Pola Mora & Pablo Navarrete, exhibition catalogue, 26th October-10th November, Parque Cultural de Valparaiso, Valparaiso, Chile.
[22] Isaza, Juan Luis. 2016. “El estado de conservación patrimonial de Valparaíso es calamitoso – interview.” El Mercurio de Valparaiso. 26th May, 2016 (accessed 26th September, 2019). Translation by the authors.
[23] Invoking Saskia Sassen’s use of the term. See: Sassen, Saskia. 2014. Expulsions: Brutality and Complexity in the Global Economy. Cambridge, MA & London: Belknap Press (Harvard).
[24] Valiente, Gonzalo; Rodriguez-Casellas, Miguel; Sanchez-Velasco, Amaia; Valiente, Jorge. 2017. “Post-liberal Valparaíso: 272 Political Postcards.” ARQ, no. 97, pp.112-119.
[25] Braidotti, Rosi. 2017. “Posthuman and All Too Human,” Transcript, Tanner Lectures, Yale University, delivered 1st-2nd March, 2017.
[26] Preciado, Paul B. 2019. Un Apartamento En Urano: crónicas Del Cruce. Barcelona: Anagrama. Translation by the authors.
[27] Pardo, José Luis. 2015. “Prologo,” in La Sociedad del Espectáculo (The Society of Spectacle). Madrid: Pre-Textos, pp.9-31. Translation by the authors.
Figures
Banner.
Margarita, elevation (detail).
01.
The Plant. Installation at Wagga Wagga Art Gallery.
02.
Merino Chairs set-up.
03.
Merino Chairs grazing.
04.
Post-punk Version of Don Quixote in a Cabin.
05.
Margarita, open (detail); Margarita, closed, carrying the Merino Chairs.
06.
The Plant, nomadic.
07.
The Plant, inhabited and vandalized.
08.
Valparaiso Post-Liberal, installation; Valparaiso Post-Liberal, electoral process.
09.
Valparaiso Post-Liberal, postcard-mural detail; Valparaiso Post-Liberal, bullet-riddled bureaucrat’s desk on reflective floor.
10.
Valparaiso Post-Liberal, shooting the bureaucrat’s desk.
11.
Valparaiso Post-Liberal, nightclub atmosphere.
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