Senefelderplatz - Pigment Print, 2017

The whole surface of the earth seemed changed—melting and flowing under my eyes. The little hands upon the dials that registered my speed raced round faster and faster. Presently I noted that the sun belt swayed up and down, from solstice to solstice, in a minute or less, and that consequently my pace was over a year a minute; and minute by minute the white snow flashed across the world, and vanished, and was followed by the bright, brief green of spring. - H.G. Wells, The Time Machine, 1895

Evidence suggests that human ancestors used lunar cycles for subsistence purposes as early as the Middle Paleolithic (c. 100ka).1 Coastal populations, surviving on shellfish, would have required some method of recording and interpreting patterns in the lunar cycle. Aristotle sketched an outline for this process as empeiria, a mode of knowledge that mediates between direct sensing of nature and the universal truths. Yet with Pliny we see the more precise use of the latin observatio as formulaic collection of a distinct environmental sensation, made distinct from the knowledge gained in singular experiences.2 This interplay between "observation" and "experience" may be fundamental to human perception.

Techniques for celestial observation were refined in the Middle Ages by monastic cultures seeking precise schedules for prayer. Methodical observation became correlated with the search for spiritual insight, and was itself co-opted into ritual behavior. In some cases, ritual architecture even became a device for sample measurement. The monastic process fed into scientific methods of empirical observation in the early modern era, and spiritual inquiry still underlies contemporary astronomy. Since the 1970s, James Turrell’s “naked eye observatories” have used architecture to guide focused, communal observation of changes in the appearance of the sky, a context that implies spiritual seeking.

Scientific collaboration has led to the sharing and aggregation of observations. As early as the seventeenth century meteorological observing networks began to create global data sets, leading to a mode of collective perception that has been called the “communality of data”.3 Christian Marclay’s The Clock (2010) cultivates this phenomenon, dissolving the isolated dreamstates of cinemagoers into a fixed, collectively experienced timebase.

Meanwhile, sensor technology has enabled automatic observation, which alienates the human observer. Samples from remote sensing devices allow unprecedented access, such as the Anarchist prints by Laura Poitras (2016) or Thomas Ruff's ma.r.s (2011), yet the images are trapped in a technical domain, sharply dislocated from both subject and viewer. Their reframing of the data is an attempt to give it context.

Observation satellites combine these two modern effects of communality and alienation in a single act of sampling. A Landsat device captures a thin band of land color as it orbits the planet, and these threads are stitched together to form a wider view, a quilt depicting many strands of spacetime. These photomontages represent no tangible reality that a person might ever experience. Like an image of deep space warped by its dependence on lightspeed, the means of sensing distorts the representation away from human perspective. Tied as we are to a specific framework of time and space, this image implies a view of the world that is outside direct human experience.

However, the human gaze is overly diluted in these images, they feel like the mechanical results of formulas for spatial capture. The culture of science values the objectivity that comes from the averaging and arranging of sensation.

Yet it is the physical presence of the time traveller in a warped view of spacetime that brings insight to Wells’ reader. His interaction with the environment gives meaning to this other experience of Earth. The artist often takes this role. In the pursuit of knowledge, Paul Cézanne argued that “in order to make progress, there is only nature, and the eye is trained through contact with her...we must render the image of what we see, forgetting everything that existed before us.”4

This need to “forget” motivates the adoption (and adaptation) of image capture technique from science, as they are necessarily agnostic to the rigid culture around a medium. It also motivates a return to simple questions about our surroundings. Wells implements a machine as a vehicle for expanding his description of time.

I began experimenting with recordings of the sky in Berlin, where I built a camera to record the color of a single pixel of the sky at short intervals, and over long durations. I write the color samples to sequential bands in a single image. Unique forms of atmospheric information become layered into a single landscape carrying a diversity of readings: light pollution at a fixed position presented spatially, weather conditions across a hemisphere outside linear time, or a snapshot of the state of Earth’s rotation in reference to the Sun.

My intention is to create new, expansive views of my atmosphere in spacetime, using the rigorous, experimental sampling techniques of scientific research while avoiding the communality and alienation they breed. It is an attempt to hybridize the exploratory capacity of scientific technique with the presence of the artist.

1. Marean, Curtis W., Miryam Bar-Matthews, Jocelyn Bernatchez, Erich Fisher, Paul Goldberg, Andy I. R. Herries, Zenobia Jacobs, Antonieta Jerardino, Panagiotis Karkanas, Tom Minichillo, Peter J. Nilssen, Erin Thompson, Ian Watts, and Hope M. Williams. "Early human use of marine resources and pigment in South Africa during the Middle Pleistocene." Nature 449.7164 (2007): 905-08.
2. Daston, Lorraine, and Elizabeth Lunbeck. Histories of scientific observation. Chicago: The U of Chicago Press, 2011.
3. Nebeker, Frederik. Calculating the weather: meteorology in the 20th century. San Diego ; Toronto: Academic Press, 1995.
4. Rewald, J., Cezanne's Letters, 4th edition, Oxford, 1976.