Anna Clabburn

There's something in 'Nothing Natural'
Nothing Natural
Curated by Helen Stuckey
Basement Gallery, Melbourne

True to its title, the exhibition Nothing Natural at Melbourne's Basement Gallery offered an entirely synthetic experience which suited the 1996 Next Wave festival's techo-agenda. Despite a slightly nylon aftertaste, the four-person show offered a witty critique of contemporary technology's intrusions on the human body.

Of late, many visual artists have joined the throngs of computer-heads pulsing through urban street and office blocks in hot pursuit of something new, different and (dream on) unique. However, this mass-seduction of practitioners into the computer interface has not necessarily prompted superlative art 'product'. On the contrary, too many artists seem to regard 'new' technologies as an excuse not to think beyond their materials. In their euphoric beige-rimmed 'high' they seem to forget the fact that good art needs to speak beyond its two (three or four) dimensions and get out there among the masses where it can make a tangible impact. In short, flat retinal onanism is just not enough to compete with the high quality of work currently created in 'older' more conventional media.

Thankfully, 'Nothing Natural' countered the problems outlined above with good ideas and, in the main, strong aesthetic appeal. Curator Helen Stuckey deliberately chose artists who convey the height of contemporary techno-art's slick and ironic objecthood. Martine Corompt, Chris Langton, Patricia Picinini and Ian Haig all manipulate the assumptions surrounding technology as part of their work's conceptual package. Their self-consciousness about using the computer's hot-, soft- and hardware comes across as an integral part of their message, as if they wished to include a disclaimer to help us forgive the obvious pleasure they derive from creating each piece. This tactic of self-reflection serves as a reminder to the critical basis beneath each of their projects.

On entering the dimly lit space in the subterrene of Collins Street, Picinini's large digital photographs grabbed the eye. Her psychedelic C-type prints, bursting with coloured portraits of the doe-eyed Sophie Lee and computer 'LUMP' babe-in-arms, easily dominated the small area. However, this surface-chic was all part of Picinini's plan. The series of images hailed from a larger body of recent work, The Mutant Genome Project (TMGP), and added a new phase to the artist's parodic commentary on the real life Human Genome Initiative (an ongoing attempt to 'map' the entire human DNA). These additions represented a humorous but sinister portrait of where progress may lead if we allow our desire for personalized 'things' (and our fear of extinction) to override common-garden ethics. Picinini seemed both excited and petrified about a future where babies grow from wet-ware instead of womb and end up as pulsing brain-lumps, devoid of messy orifices and programmed for ultimate parental pleasure.

Where Picinini's work arrived at the computer by means of natural evolution (she began with medical displays of human body parts), Martine Corompt's originated inside the box itself. Her Activity-Station offered an acerbic and saccharine commentary on the ludicrous dimensions of techno-reality. Using Japanese styled kiddie-toons and nauseatingly sweet baby animal accessories, she presented a fully hands- and bums-on interactive where the viewer became the driver of a very 'sick' video game. A moving stool acted as a mouse (complete with push-button 'clicker' clitoris) with which to manipulate the little creatures on screen through various levels of 'neo-tene cuteness'; from 'threshold' ugliness through to 'cute Utopia' (Yuk!). Although the piece offered a beguiling feat of contemporary kitsch and sparked a few thoughts about on-screen paedophilia and the current cult of virtual beauty, its longevity seemed questionable. Once every alternative was explored, where could such a compact, closed item go? This, no doubt, was part of the artist's point about the built-in redundancy and sensory disappointment of today's 'toys'. In any case, Corompt posed a valid question about the entertainment value of art: Is it worth producing anything more complex for an audience so beset by quick-fix pastimes?

Unfortunately, Chris Langton's ECOWALKER epitomized the failings mentioned above; of work too reliant on techno-relevance. The adapted exercise treadmill quashed expectations of Langton's usually high-finish. Its tacky appearance and messy tape-on-floor failed to create the critical edge necessary to distance the object from the ludicrous mail order items it sought to lampoon. Despite this, the notion of a fitness machine cum stroll in the virtual park was appealing and successfully queried the psychological implications of living life in a plastic home-zone

Ian Haig's highly amusing computer-generated prints of grotesque muscle-men seemed to take Langton's point beyond absurdity. A series of hyper-, super-, maxi-, power- , bods floated in the discomfort and deformity of their bulging glory; as if struck dumb by their ridiculous strength. Like his co-exhibitors, Haig's humour housed a more profound question as to who actually designs our concepts of beauty, power and progress - and to what purpose?

Collectively, Nothing Natural succeeded in its mission. It highlighted the dangers of consuming technological products and ideals without critical inquiry. In focusing on the manipulated human body, the artists chosen asked the viewer to weigh artificial (or popular) standards of appearance and lifestyle against the blemished reality of their own needs and desires. Stuckey chose a sane group of individuals willing to explore the technical potential of new media but equally attuned to the dangers of 'tripping' too high on the stuff. Their strategy of critique within humour offered an excellent case of social surrealism; something profound within nothing natural.