Graffiti on the Web: A Cultural Interchange

A Lighthearted Romp with an Artist in Webland that Stops Being Lighthearted at the End

ABSTRACT:

The Mosaic browser on the WorldWide Web permits and encourages publishing endeavors from all corners, and the result has been a growing number of grass-roots artspaces. The important spots on the Web are not only the funded institutional sites but also the creative underground, who, in Webspace, can look as good or better than the big. In an environment such as this, it is the content of the site that communicates. Content informs. Content speaks.

This paper is an introduction to one such place: NWHQ, and the forces that brought it to life.

I have been doing art for as long as I can remember. When I was a child we lived in many countries, and as I always wore the wrong clothes and spoke the wrong language for my physical presence to be of social value, I learned to communicate by the things I made.

At one point, it was suggested that I grow up. I tried really hard for some time, but growing up seemed to mean acquiring some taste for patriotic behavior. I was spectacularly unsuccessful at this. I said to myself, life seems to be a sporting event, and there are those who wear the uniforms and carry large sticks and then there are those that are the round rubber things that slide around.

So I kept wandering around, poking at things, annoying people. I became somewhat infamous for yelling at people accompanied by loud musicians. I would say things like, I am not here to entertain you, and I rather hope that you don't entertain me. This is not about selling beer, I would say, at which point some would leave greatly disappointed.

We're in this together, I would say. I'll tell you mine, and you tell me yours. And let's try making something together, maybe an even more different thing. And let's do it all for free, I would add, for which several people considered me ideologically impaired.

Then one day, a friend of mine, pre-occupied with sainthood and acts of altruism, decided to update me technologically. He said, I'm tired of wading around here in pieces of paper, here's the money to buy a computer. When you finally finish your stories, send them to me to read, along with 75 dollars a month, which I'd also like to read. And that's how it started.

TEXT:

I fell in love with technology. I now write, paint, do music armed with nothing more than my new Mac and some also new, very unbecoming glasses. But since a relationship with a computer precludes any relationships with actual living persons, I throw all vanity to the wind; and a new me emerges, a nun of sorts. I am no longer my old, morally questionable self; I am now a veritable ascetic. From afar, my mother, all mothers, heave a sigh of relief.

One day, my telephone rings. A sepulchral voice intones, we are the Voices of Industry and we receive a hefty grant from the ever generous Canadian government to alleviate the dismal economic condition of artists. Would you like to work with us, they say. How much, I say, being wise to the Voices of Industry. Oh, not much, since we are paying ourselves salaries we cannot afford to pay you as well, but you will learn all kinds of nifty new ways of publishing things, they say, and being an artist we know you for a sucker for learning nifty new things. They know me well. I right away throw caution to the winds. Well, okay, why not, I say. Ever the optimist, I am.

I am put in a room with several other seeming idealists and someone comes and speechifies at length about the Internet, a word new to me, but as the concept unfolds, strangely attractive. A grandiose scheme is in progress, ostensibly to set up something called a Web site, one dedicated to information for artists. All kinds of terminology is flying around the room and finally I beg a lanky young enthusiast to tell me what the hell they're talking about. He sits me in front of a fancy computer, punches some keys, and I lose my mind. The WorldWide Web, Mosaic, writing, pictures and sound... gee, I say to myself, this is potentially the biggest art gallery in the world. And available to anyone, all there for the putting and the getting, I say, how very unusual.

A month passes this way. I am learning as fast as I can. After a month the Voices of Industry get tired of a bunch of artists poking their grimy hands into expensive equipment and throw us out. So much for idealism. By this time, I don't care, I had been wise, I have actually acquired, what for me is highly unusual: some technical skills. And I have also acquired new friends, real, self-described, computer geeks. They impress me, I now aspire to that loftiest of loftinessess, I now aspire to Geekdom. I am a Geek in training. I have learned to set up a Web site.

And as the doors to the Voices of Industry lock behind us, I turn to my new pals the Geek Gods and I say, hey you guys, let's do something, let's do our own publication on the Web, and lets do it all for free, I say. And lo and behold, they do not think me nuts.

Publishing on the WorldWide Web is, by its very lack of physicality, a new way of considering publishing itself. No longer bound by the costs of paper, printing and distribution, the publication exists as digital data residing on a server, digital data that may comprise not only textual but visual and aural information. Unlike publications on paper, it never physically travels itself; it is the viewer that travels, by accessing the data. The information itself is pro-active; it invites exploration by presenting a pro-active environment. The publication itself may be continually evolving; instead of publications in other media where old is replaced by new, a virtual publication has the luxury of growth. Old linked to new, disciplines linked to disciplines, all becoming a part of a continuum, a labyrinth growing more complex over time. A web within the Web.

We all acquire Internet accounts at the celestial Pearshaped.com, the dwelling of the Venerable Buddhas of SL/IP interconnectivity, guardians at the gates of infinite hard drive space. Commitment to bandwidth is manifestly related to spiritual amplitude, this is a lesson that I shall never forthwith forget, I mutter to myself as we get set for our first meeting. We bow down, we offer our meagre gifts of chocolate bars and cokes, then tremulously I say, Sirs, I am but a mere artist, and thus hobbled by the challenges of an existential nature could never aspire to your wizardish ways. Yet, if I may, I would beseech of you a favor: would you, magnanimous as I think you, allow a little Web site, a magazine of art and literature to live among your folders and files blinding as they are in their wisdom and symmetry? I say all this furiously batting my eyelashes, cause I am the only woman within miles and a feminist though I may be but a fool I ain't. And we badly need a site for our magazine, and that for free. A big keyword, that "free".

With much creaking of chairs, Pearshaped.com confers. We politely withdraw and commune with the modems velcroed to the walls, impressed by the ingenuity of our chosen avatars. Lost in the pristine beauty of UNIX incantations, we hold hands and meditate.

A deep voice, its very profundity proof of mysteries beyond our meagre imaginations, interrupts our reverie. What the hell, it says, go ahead, build the thing. In return you can clean up our homepage, it says. I turn to one of my companions, and I say, hey, you can do that part, cause me, I don't do windows.

A low rumble is heard, like the distant reverberation of temple bells; Pearshaped.com is laughing. And I think to myself, this truly must be heaven. They even have a sense of humour.

With the advent of Mosaic, a new cultural phenomenon is afoot. One only has to surf the Web to observe this: that there is an active interchange taking place between artists and technicians. With Mosaic opening up possibilities for the display of data other than only textual, as with previous browsers for hypertexted Internet environments, visual artists are also exploring mark-up language for the display of work and ideas. In a sense, artists and technicians are becoming collaborators in invention and by this, the interchange of skills, they both benefit. In a true collaboration, the whole is greater than its parts.

I run around town, gathering material from my writer friends. I say to them, paper publishing is dead, too limited, too expensive, too driven by the marketplace. Watch this, I say, as I give demos at art galleries. You've got to get on-line, I keep saying over and over. The unlimited distribution of content, that is power, I say, over and over. Some people are beginning to seriously doubt my sanity. Elizabeth is in one of her enthusiastic periods, the say derisively. Soon she will stop and then we will have to, yet again, take her out to dinner to stop her incessant moaning about the state of the world. Oh you guys are so, so negative, I say, and I think to myself, well, this is a new one, I used to be the queen of negativity, I think to myself. And instead of jumping at the chance to be able to influence and shape this new culture, they seem afraid. Afraid of technology.

I buy three pounds of coffee and with the help of the Geek Gods learn to use BBEdit, GifConverter. I spend untold hours surfing the Web checking out sites, exploring all the possibilities for an interesting layout. The challenge is to present an intellectually stimulating content in a visually exciting format, to explore the possibilities of Mosaic for a creative presentation. Many midnight calls are made, I say to the Gods, hey, how's this made, and this, and this. And if I try this, what's going to happen, I ask. You will have bulk-erased all your files, drawls a Regal voice, and hangs up. I discover, that contrary to my own experience, some people actually sleep nights. Me, I am developing very interesting circles under my eyes. I stare in wonderment at their romantic purpleness in the reflection of my monitor.

The potential of a hypertexted environment is very exciting for a writer . For one, it affords one a luxury not present in working on paper; and that is, it allows one to conceptualize a written work in three dimensions. No longer painterly but sculptural; no longer bound by the physical limitations of a sheet of paper - in essence, two dimensions - one is able to think in three, to add layers of subtext linked to the main story-frame, or yet again, to shatter the very linearity of the frame by presenting choices to the viewer/reader. It is possible to create a work of nothing but choices, making the reader interact with the work itself, becoming an active participant within. Which also adds another dimension, that of time. A work on the Web can be visited again and again by writer and reader alike, perhaps releasing secrets, sub-strata, as they are added. The viewer becomes an active participant, a fellow traveler.

Markup language is easier than I thought. As I check the progress of the Web pages, I discover new ways to circumvent the limitations of the layout. I make some decisions, deciding that since I am a Mac enthusiast, I will forget about the Mosaic software design flaws, such as the discrepancies between MacMosaic and Mosaic for Windows and do my layout strictly for Macs. I figure out how to center text and graphics. Later, as I watch the same centeredness turn into total visual gibberish on a PC, I will regret this.

The material for the magazine is coming together, my own stories and those of other local writers. It seems that the possibilities for three-dimensionality inherent in hypertexted environment proves exciting to some, that I have managed to evoke excitement among some writers. Some are also learning to do their own markup, this is very good. The graphic work is less forthcoming, visual artists, it seems, are afraid of the new media's propensity to eliminate the concept of the unique, the original. Me, I love the idea.

If there is no physical original, if the original work exists as digital information only, it is impossible to purchase ta share in the identity of the artist; there is no investment potential if all reproductions are the original. Then the work is worth exactly what it should be worth; its true artistic worth: its content.

Therefore, to put my newfound beliefs on the line, I decide to illustrate the whole magazine myself. I spend three weeks in interesting self-destruction mode, making tiny paintings. After which, realizing that in order for them to display properly on other computers they must be in a palette of colours that are native to all systems, I spend two more weeks readjusting everything. I become fond of the loss of sight as a means to enlightenment and fearing for my health, my previously retiring room-mate devises ancient hungarian folk remedies for eye-strain. One evening, as I lie groaning on the floor, he sneaks up behind me and places a mound of raw potato gratings on each eyelid. After which, I always make sure that he is safely locked in his room before I allow myself any self-indulgent expressions of agony.

Finally it is time to insert the links, and since by this time I feel no fear, I invoke all BBEdit extensions, perform a few incantations, spit in four directions and link away. When I bring it all up with Mosaic on my computer, it all works fine, click, whir, and there you are. I am ecstatic, I call the Geek Godlets to invite them to the unveiling. Do you realize, they say to me, that all the folders will have different names once you transfer them to the site? That the links that work on your computer may not work when the magazine is on the server? Have you at all checked out the directory set-up?

I wail hysterically and ever beneficent, they come over and fix the links. And then I watch them transfer all the files to Pearshaped.com. It all works. We have a little celebration, I am sprinkled with coffee grains and ceremoniously inducted into Geekdom. My room-mate, newly released from house-arrest, offers to fix the famous hungarian delicacy deep-fried grease in grease, which we gracefully decline. We are standing, open-mouthed, in front of the monitor. Wow, I say overwhelmed. Yeah, they say, overwhelmed. Yeah, chant the Buddhas of Pearshaped.com from afar. But, I say, there really should be more white space under that poem, and there really should be a different alignment to those icons, and I should center those graphics, and that link in that story needs an anchor. I am fast becoming underwhelmed. Oh shut up Elizabeth, the Geek Gods intone peeved by so much artistic neurosis, and they leave, slamming the door behind them. Then I spend another week tweaking all the tags.

The magazine finished, we decide to have a release party at a local art gallery. People gather around a work-station, we open MacTCP, then launch Mosaic. The room is hushed as the magazine appears, first the text, then the graphics. We invite one of the audience members to click on a link. He tremulously extends a digit, do not be afraid, nothing will blow up, we laugh, we soothe, we encourage, and emboldened he presses down on the mouse.

And Mosaic, damn it's its cute little whirling planet heart, crashes.

The magazine is now on-line. I am happy, I am excited by a possibility, something that, were it not for the Internet and the hypermedia capabilities of a browser such as Mosaic on the WorldWide Web, would be, given the current cultural climate, impossible. And that is this: that there now exists the possibility for decommodification of the arts, the possibility for the arts to be re-integrated into a general, global culture instead of - a. being ghettoized into the academic community, or - b. having no other societal purpose than an investment opportunity. or, yet again, -c. trivialized by the extant media, its sting removed, chewed up and regurgitated by a monolithic entertainment industry as inconsequential pap, dulling an already dulled population. The medium having no other message but itself.

Artists are cultural inventors, in a sense. The Internet, and by it's very ease of accessibility, the WorldWide Web, is a new medium, a medium of interactive communication, the free sharing of information between people of different disciplines. All contributing into the possibility of a whole, true interchange, a nascent culture in a new world without borders.

In a culture such as this, artists of all disciplines take their rightful place, as equal contributors, for what is art but a sharing of information of a different sort, a contributing of skills of a different sort, an exchange of information of a different sort. In a healthy cultural environment, all benefit equally, technicians, academicians, economicians, artists; cultural workers all. If we contribute to each other's work, if we teach and in turn, learn from each other, there may yet be hope for our world, our planet, physically ravaged as it now is, ravaged by the very one-dimensionality of unmitigated human greed, for what we seek here is not an escape, but a leavening, a swelling into a multi-dimensional whole, to make into food not only to dull hunger but to nourish human nature itself. That we may heal these very scars. That there may yet be hope for our survival as a species.

Yes. the keyword is "free". Information accessible, available, and above all, free. Free culture to be free culture, accessible to all, art as ritual, as mystery, as adventure. As communication. Not product but process; not the marketing of identity but the free sharing of information.

AUTHOR'S BIOGRAPHY:

Elizabeth Fischer is the creator of NWHQ, a WorldWide Web-based nexus for literature, art, and exploration in hypermedia. Drawing on two decades as a musician, painter, and author, she threw herself feet-first into the digital universe and has emerged on the raw edge of a movement that mixes art, literature and subversive economics into the technological environment of the Net. She is a member of Knossopolis, a co-operative of like-minded artists and creative programmers.

Elizabeth Fischer currently resides in Vancouver, Canada. She performs in Canada and abroad both as a musician and a performance artist and her visual work has been exhibited widely. 

NWHQ               efischer@wimsey.com