Reading the essay, I feel like I have a sliver in common with the author, just as I suspect he has a sliver in common with Calder. I resonate with that sense of not just seeing the world...
Reading the essay, I feel like I have a sliver in common with the author, just as I suspect he has a sliver in common with Calder. I resonate with that sense of not just seeing the world differently, but… more than that.
I’ve spent a lot of time with that mobile — hours on end — commonly sitting on the floor in the corner of its Turinese museum room, with a laptop. The Italian museum functionaries are cool with this act of communion. They probably think that I’m writing something about the mobile. I’m not, but I’ve written a lot in there, and been delighted with its presence.
That's the paragraph that got me. I recognize that feeling of being mesmerized by an alien mindset, one that doesn't make sense until you consider that the underlying goals are also different. And there's a compulsion. At the extreme, you end up like Calder, and you build an eccentric life for yourself not because you're trying to be an artist, but because that's the only thing you can do. But in a milder form, perhaps you observe someone else's mobile, understand a fraction of what's going on, and become entranced.
“Why did the world’s most famous kinetic artist have a Maker home?”
As soon as this question struck me, I knew that I had things wrong. Clearly, I was “back-projecting.” I was distorting history to suit my own present-day notions.
Alexander Calder (the famous artist in question) created twenty-two thousand documented artworks in his lifetime. However, he never “hacked” or “fabbed” anything. Calder died back in 1976, when the concept of “hacking” was still restricted to eccentric engineering students at MIT.
However, Calder was an eccentric engineer himself, and to my eye, there was no question that many things in his home looked Maker-style “made,” or “fabbed,” or even “hacked.” Calder performed this personal activity, with various methods, intentions and materials, for seventy years.
Reading the essay, I feel like I have a sliver in common with the author, just as I suspect he has a sliver in common with Calder. I resonate with that sense of not just seeing the world differently, but… more than that.
That's the paragraph that got me. I recognize that feeling of being mesmerized by an alien mindset, one that doesn't make sense until you consider that the underlying goals are also different. And there's a compulsion. At the extreme, you end up like Calder, and you build an eccentric life for yourself not because you're trying to be an artist, but because that's the only thing you can do. But in a milder form, perhaps you observe someone else's mobile, understand a fraction of what's going on, and become entranced.
Here's the start of Bruce Sterling's essay:
Fascinating! Thanks for sharing.