error handling vocabulary from several programming languages, audio files 2018
In programming, there is a function that exists known as error handling. Its purpose is to anticipate, detect, and resolve application and communication errors to prevent the program from crashing. In this way, the language can never fail.
But, what does it mean if a language is not allowed to have any errors? If there is no room for misinterpretation or gaps in meaning?
In response, I've attempted to translate the coding vocabulary of error handling (words like throw, do, catch, return...) into human communication. I and another person communicate limiting ourselves to the list of 'error handling' vocabulary. We use words meant to prevent errors in a coding language to undoubtedly cause errors in another.
In this interactive sound sculpture, a soft and intimate part of the body, the tongue, is cast out of bronze. Viewers are invited to touch the tongues. The ability of the body to hold a slight charge triggers the sound of a vowel in English or Spanish to be spoken. As each vowel floats between the two languages, it's their phonetic similarities and differences that are highlighted.
Vowel sounds are the first our mouths learn as we come into language. As several are touched in a row, they begin to take on qualities of musical notes – making a connection between sound and language.
(Video coming soon)
letter tiles, table, felt, projector, MaxMSP, web camera, lamp 2016
What might it mean for a group of people to collectively shape a text?
A table as a democratic platform for viewers to build words with tactile letter tiles. Once a word is assembled and placed on a slither of green felt, the participant pushes a button that will capture it with a photo and enter it into a database. Words are then pulled at random and placed into a text that is projected on an adjacent wall.
The words are constantly being scrambled by chance, at times forming a nonsensical text. This echoes the deconstructive and playful strategies the Dadaists implemented with language as a way to free it from meaning. The result is a collective portrait of those that participated, constantly in flux.
(Video coming soon)
chalk, wood, blackboard paint 2016
Casts of the artist's tongue are made out of chalk – a fragile, pedagogical material. Viewers are invited to use the tongues as writing tools, reorienting the relationship between speech and writing.
a pair of speakers, audio files 2016
Two voices recite a list of Spanish and English false friends back and forth as if in conversation. False friends are words that sound and look alike in both languages but have completely different meanings. Yet, they often share similar etymological origins.
The piece stems from a conversation with my mom who is an elementary school Spanish teacher and Walter Benjamin's idea that you can never really know anything except through its translation.
Juggling string becomes a metaphor for navigating spaces between languages. Using experience as a starting point, I interviewed my mother about her use of Spanish and English as a person who was born and raised in Panama, then later moved to the United States. 'What was your first language? How did you learn English? What language do you think in now? Dream in?'
As the performance progresses, these (blood) lines become tangled, crossed, and inevitably bound to one another.
Lines of Communication
Open Air Mattress Talks
air mattresses, question cards, conversation, people 2016-Ongoing
An ongoing series of intimate conversations between students, professors, and the general public on various sites around the Arizona State University campus to talk about sexual wellness.
Participants sit on air mattresses, as a partial nod to Emma Sulkowicz’s mattress-lugging durational performance on Columbia’s campus, but also as a metaphor for the intimacy and relative innocence of student life and sexual exploration.
The mattresses are arranged in a circle and a stack of collectively written questions are passed around, encouraging the group to open up about topics related to sexual wellness. “What does a healthy relationship look like to you?” reads one. “What was your sexual education like?” reads another. Some are more personal, “Will you tell me about your first kiss?” or “What’s one piece of sex-related advice you would give to your 15-year-old self?”
381 Foreclosures in Vermont
cardboard, table, deed cards, mail correspondence 2009-10
There were 381 foreclosures in Vermont during the month I lived there. I built the same amount of houses using cardboard, an ephemeral material. Fellow artists and writers at the Vermont Studio Center were invited to assist in construction. The houses were a little larger than monopoly game pieces.
Upon completion, all houses were put up for sale. Each had a corresponding deed card that listed the price, mortgage rate, and a statistic about foreclosures in the United States.
Viewers could purchase a house by simply removing it from the table. In doing so, they entered an agreement to mail the mortgager (me) small monthly payments of $.75 per house.
If their payments were late or not received, I forwarded foreclosure notices asking that they return their house(s).