pattern of emergence and evolution is not unique to drones, nor is the course of works responding to it unique to drone art. All technologies raise challenging questions. All technologies evolve. Therefore, the arc of drone art is a valuable object lesson for how art about technology emerges, flourishes, evolves, fades and, ultimately, becomes something else.
For those who have tracked the drone art movement closely, it is hard not to feel that the genre’s golden years have come and gone. Today, drone art in its original community-building form
relationship between addresses and print was also distinct
from that in petitioning. Whereas print might be used as part of discreet
lobbying strategies, in addressing activity, print was almost exclusively
employed to publicise the loyalty of the addressers (and by extension, the
level of public support enjoyed by the regime in question). These
connections between addressing, printing, publicity and central authority
meant that addressing was a peculiarly mnemonic genre. Prompted by events
such as the succession of a new ruler, the
In their focus on possible identities, meanings and events, the martial networks of US drones enact a shift from producing a definitive world picture to overseeing the ground from which such representations emerge. The mobilization of data that makes this possible, conflicts with the historical goals of surveillance and reconnaissance operations. Rather than identifying discrete individuals, the kill chain collects the partial traces of metadata in order to produce the actors necessary for a strike. These relations allow drones to penetrate the world directly, to work through and as instead of upon its objects. In this way, drone power shifts from the symbolic to the ontological; its operations become one of world-making. Using work by Trevor Paglen, Noor Behram and others, this chapter examines the ways in which the above relations resurface in the context of drone art and the larger attempt of this genre to reimagine its subject by way of this convergence.
deal with drone warfare. She shows that although drone images portray abstracted flattened landscapes, they also trace the human body. Thereby she engages with the genre of the tilted image, which plays with background and foreground and in which two images are present at the same time (such as images of a duck and a rabbit, or a young and an old woman). Analysing artworks by James Bridle, the online campaign # NotaBugSplat and Seth Price, her chapter reveals the dynamic of appearance, disappearance and reappearance of the human body, which in turn demonstrates the
Kirby, 2013 ). In this respect, as Billig observes ( 2005 : 7), ‘we are the laughing animal only because we are also the unlaughing one’: the charge that something isn’t funny functions as a recognition of its status as humour rather than as a refusal. Second, ‘humour’ as defined here both encompasses and exceeds ‘comedy’, understood as a formal genre of performance that usually takes place in an overtly mediated setting (on stage, on a cinema or TV screen, through a radio speaker, within a text). In addition, humour also refers to the attempted incitement
originary moment of sacrificial violence. The origins of ‘politics’ as a distinct sphere of human activity are thus bound up with the origins of ‘comedy’ as a genre of performance.
Humour – and in particular, ‘parasitic’ forms of humour – thus offers a singular purchase on questions about the definition, redefinition, transformation and affirmation of what it means to be (or not to be) a ‘political’ subject, and about the contours and limits of the orders in which those subjectivities find meaning. It is of course true that not all appeals to humour are ‘parasitic’ in
. If you want to have a visual memory of the war, you hence have to rely on paintings or tapestries or things like that; they were quite limited. And the third thing is the role of Hollywood, which got really into the idea of the myth of the West. For fifty years, the Western was the dominant genre of Hollywood. It developed into this incredible phenomenon that spread around the world and was adopted by audiences.
Together, the mythical stories created by Hollywood, the history books written in a very ethnocentric way, and the images missing from the other side
Vicki Squire, Nina Perkowski, Dallal Stevens, and Nick Vaughan-Williams
role of narratives, understood broadly as discursive attempts at producing an order of meaning, is to offer a plot, a sequence and a sense of coherence in the absence thereof (White 1987 : 11). Because all narratives inescapably entail ‘ontological and epistemic choices with distinct ideological and … specifically political implications’, they performatively produce the reality that those using them often purport only to observe (White, 1987 : ix). Second, there is a specificity to crisis narratives as a particular genre of political narrative, which take a given
-evident. In 1921, a photograph appeared in André Breton’s journal Littérature with the caption: ‘View from an Airplane by Man Ray’. On the face of it, there is nothing remarkable about this fact. Two decades into the twentieth century, pictures taken from the sky were already a celebrated genre, the powers and limits of which had been extensively explored by artists and critics. While the potential for abstraction may exist in every photograph, aerial shots work against the mimetic or indexical pretensions of the medium in a peculiar way, as their perspectival ambiguities
that associates punk with
postmodernism. Then I will attempt a critique of this approach and show why
some authors convincingly argue that unlike other genres of popular music,
punk is rather a reaction, and to a certain extent a revolt, against the postmodern condition. Discussing this paradox I introduce a response given to
the tension between the postmodern attitude and a search for authenticity by
the immigrant punks. This response is analysed in relation to the rebellious,
revolutionary and transformative potential of punk, so crucial to its cultural