Death Machines

Humans have been called death machines, genetically programmed to self destruct through a disposition to the onslaught of particular diseases. Our history tells us that we have inflicted death and damage on other human beings and creatures in our environment. Our bodies ~ more bacterial than human are periodically invaded by dangerous viruses. We create death machines capable of destroying individuals, populations and the environment. We elevate the notion of the human ~ its intellect and achievement and yet many see human life as worthless, viewed purely in terms of its use value, as pure commodity. What is this hu(man) then in this world in which the female is still the poorest of all individuals, are subject in many countries to rape, abuse, under-age marriage and slavery, where they are still the primary object of the pornographic imagination and the object in cinematic as well as game play scenarios, of attack, mutilation and humiliation? Some individuals and cultures elevate animus (spirit) above the human (homo-sapien ~ of the earth) and the value that they place on the notion of the afterlife inspires them to suppress, oppress or attempt to eradicate those who do not value their values, especially the beyond human expression of another worldly state. Likewise, those who do not applaud the notion of the resurrection of the spirit, adhere to and promote longevity as a mark of the contemporary human and one which we should all aspire to, one that finds us entering into an alliance with non-humans (animals/machines/technology) in order to enhance or extend human life, thus valorizing the human’s relationship to land/place/the environment. Philosophically the human is perceived as a ‘work in progress’, however some would argue that evolution of the human ended as soon as individuals mastered genetic engineering and became capable of altering the human genome, creating a synthetic evolution of life on earth. Life takes on different currency in virtual space in which aspects of our lives are played out in social media and other internet forums that proffer our (selves), selfies and other images as code. Traces of our lives, strange phantoms that stand as avatars of our imagination, together with electronic footprints of our monetary and other transactions form a picture of the human as information that can be circulated ad infinitum. Indeed these ephemeral and ghostly aspects of self continue long after the demise, decomposition or cremation of the material body. Our ‘humanity’ then, alive or dead, material (actual) or virtual, animus (spirit) or of the earth, a conglomeration of hybridity is a hotly contested zone of enquiry. The question remains: how can we be ‘anything but (except) human’? Might we aspire to be anything beside (outside) the human, indeed, how may this otherness be imagined? Is this quest to be beyond the human pure fantasy, simply a desire to be different from, an escape from the pleasures and perils of being such.

LIKE TEARS IN RAIN

The title of this expose, exhibition, revealing, showing and telling was inspired by Roy Batty's (Rutger Hauer) death soliloquy in the science fiction drama Blade Runer (Ridley Scott, 1983). Roy reminisces on his short but very bright life as a Nexus 6, genetically engineered replicant:  I've seen things you people wouldn't believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion, I watched c-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. Poignant, beautiful.

I was fascinated by the fact that in the film the replicant Rachel (Sean Young), unaware than she was not human believed that her 'humanity' and memories were verified by photographs; as if they were tangible evidence of her prior existence and not a medium that could be constructed or manipulated.

We believe when we are told, that the photograph of us is indeed ourselves as a baby even though we have no memory of that time, likewise, we view a photograph of ourselves and don't believe that it’s a true resemblance of our visage - the photographic medium lies or we tell tales to ourselves, believing, and rightly so, that we are more than our mere image. And there may be a photograph of ourselves that we have taken and yet people will say ‘surely that is not you’ for the camera has captured something in your face that they do not recognize and yet you do.

We have memories that are not supported by photographic documentation and there are photographs that hold memories that will never be told. Photographs then, are an approximation - memories too, are tainted - they may be buried or almost forgotten; however the photograph may allow them to be resurrected and reconsidered.

I asked friends to provide a photograph of themselves from any era, up to three words to accompany the photograph and a short explanation of the significance of the words. As you can see, I had varied responses.

Like Dr Who our many faces and many life experiences inhabit our psyche and this project was intended as prompter, as vehicle for recuperation, to retrieve a memory that may have been lost in time. I chose to present the photographs I received in Polaroid format for several reasons. It harkens back to a particular moment in photographic history - I was one of  many using the Polaroid SX70 camera and to me the empty, white space underneath the square-framed photograph always called out for text. Finally, I'd just viewed Blade Runner for the umpteenth time in my life and coincidentally found a self-portrait I'd taken with a Polaroid camera in 2000.

I had already been around Europe for a year as a runaway beatnik at 15 and was about to depart for Australia. Now, more than four decades later I see a defiant and suspicious young man who believed that freedom could be gained by putting distance between himself and his past.

Werner Hammerstingl

My only sister died suddenly in September. Her death leaves a black hole.

Art is where we turn to explain and express our grief and sorrow, a place to keep our memories. Art remains when life is gone.

I will do what I love, and be with those I love. 

Naomi Faith Bishop

this city wears black well

pockets of dark desire

bias cut. stretching to fit

bodies of thought –

that muscular space

beyond the avant-garde

and ragged dreams.

each street weaves urban

into states of cool opaque

mind full of self espresso. 

uncoloured threads of reverie

hem the wake of workers into lanes
where night-graffitied shutters uncloak

secrets. raw yarns spinning shadows
for the heady days where noir is

the new black this city wears

cecilia white

Left alone, got straight into the lipstick

Pezaloom Wd.

Today's St Kilda footsteps echo softly into last century's footsteps with my deceased brother and deceased sister. Their footsteps echo loudly. I tumble. I steady. Take another glimpse. I tumble over and over into the black precipice. I will never trade yesterday's proud and lonely footsteps, for today's gold.

Julie Boustead 

At the peak of my clinical LSD experience I was hyper-globular and totally tidal wave wherein I exited my corporeal self. In the instant in which I thought I would die, I was catapulted back into self awareness and the LSD trip. It was a palpable and utterly unforgettable experience.

Brecon Walsh

This picture was taken in 2005 at Safeco field in Seattle, where I was watching a Mariners baseball game. You can see the game in the reflection of my sunglasses. I had just returned to the US from Australia, and was very happy to be way up high watching my favorite sport.
John Mcgowan-Hartmann

This manifestation of self

barely remembered - although, she is also me,

lies hidden beneath the

lines & cracks

that trace the surface of 

this aging asphalt.

All is ultimately

stone and bone. 

Julie Clarke 

Photo by Alex Garton

Andrew Garton

I close my eyes and remember falling.  So hard and so fast that I hit the bottom before I even knew I’d gone over the edge.  Everything changed from that moment.  Sometimes I even feel grateful for it.  

Kim Anderson 

1. absorbed in or involving thought process - “brows drawn together in thoughtful consideration” - studious, curious, delighted and engrossed.

2. showing understanding for the needs of other people - “she was attentive and thoughtful” - however, most certainly not to the detriment of her own needs.

Tracey Lamb

This photo was taken by Francesca Jurate Sasnaitis at Sappho's Bookshop and Cafe in April 2012. Jurate and I are very old friends but hadn't seen each other for over 20 years. We both found ourselves at a outdoor reading & while April it felt like winter. Jurate took this picture without my knowledge.

Mark Roberts

I sit unaware of the company of my big shadow, smug, content as it takes over my mood. Overcome in my malaise, depression, flat, without vigour. My eyes! Unrecognizable, where HELL did I go? land of disgust, defeat, anger? A Duality moment, struggle with self.
Enza Benincasa