Lately I have become interested in artists for whom collecting is central to their process. Dealing with taxonomies and systems of classification, their work is, at least in part, a critique of the activities of museums and collecting institutions or individuals. Fundamentally, these artists are exploring notions of identity through quantitative assessment. Here, identity is expressed through an ontology—a system of objects, representing a particular and unique perspective. A collection seeks to establish a framework by which to formalize, structure and express its content. Through their work, these artists critique that framework at different levels—relating to individual identity, the role of the institution, or society at large.

It seems that the need to categorize is a basic human trait. We cannot not categorize. The ontologies we create define cultures, as the result of processes by which we shape our lives. Museums fundamentally aim to document culture, and the systems of classification created within the museum context reflect those present within society. Art involved in a critique of these systems is therefore fundamentally also a critique of society at large—a particular society, that is—aiming in an almost scientific way to objectify the outcomes of those processes that manifest themselves in certain predictable or less-predictable forms.

The work of Bernd and Hilla Becher, to me, is exemplary of the latter (see above). Their photographic documentation and classification of vernacular industrial architecture seems to be in pursuit of an archetypal form, which—independent of its actual purpose or function—appears to be saying something about the culture it resulted from.

Olafur Eliasson, The Island Series (1997)

Olafur Eliasson’s phenomenological photographic work, on the other hand, is apparently more interested in natural processes, rather than human processes. Even the Reykjavik series (2003), documenting recurring architectural building types in the Icelandic capital, seems to regard human activity as a natural phenomenon.

Both bodies of work represent a critique of objectification, as a visual documentation of phenomena which, typically relegated to a single generic category (e.g. “horizons” or “gravel plants”), are shown to not only contain a vast degree of variance, but also reveal countless subcategories of formal similarities that in many cases defy clear designation. Philosophically, they point to a fractal structure of infinitely expanding or contracting intervals of classes, in turn calling into question the notion of the object itself.

Karsten Bott, One of Each (1993)

Rather than documenting similar phenomena by representational means, Karsten Bott, Mark Dion and Joseph Cornell all arrange seemingly dissimilar objects into pastiche installations reflecting a particular theme or area of focus, as in Dion’s Tate Thames Dig, or a particular slice of time, as in Bott’s One of Each. Similarly, Joseph Cornell created assemblages of found objects in order to tell a narrative. Unlike the work of the Bechers and Eliasson that deconstructs archetypal categories, these three artists seek to identify and create new categories through collections of objects.

In comparing these two approaches, the former is more analytic, the latter more interpretive. The work of Bott, Dion and Cornell, dealing with the past, aims to tell stories from fragments in order to invoke new interpretations through their juxtaposition, while the Bechers and Eliasson deal with the present, analyzing and questioning existing definitions.

My interest in the geometric plane within a three-dimensional space probably stems from it existing as a concept without true precedent in reality—yet, unlike the pure, unsituated two-dimensional surface, it simulates an aspect of reality, namely a spatial arrangement conveying, or representing, an experience. As such, it exists at the threshold of the real, yet is at the same time inherently conceptual.

The plane in space is a concept I have seen represented, and have myself attempted to articulate, in a variety of media. It is the embodiment of a simulation—coexisting within our perceived real environment. Like the ornate building facade that diverts attention from the plain side and back elevations, it has a privileged perspective or vantage point. It is both architectural and flat—a conceptual hybrid. It is a membrane without depth, an extension of space that raises questions of perception and authenticity.

The use of the plane in a spatial context has appeared prominently in the works of minimalist artists Fred Sandbeck and Carl Andre. Recently, I came across two artists exploring similar formal notions in their work.

Annett Zinsmeister, outside_in / virtual interiors, 2007

Annett Zinsmeister, outside_in / virtual interiors, 2007

By mapping exterior facades to the walls of a simulated interior space, Annett Zinsmeister plays with the idea of a privileged perspective, wrapping a repetitive texture created from a building facade onto all interior elevations of a room and creating an inhabitable space from a two-dimensional plane. Her renderings create the feeling of being enveloped by the skin of the building: subverting the expectations of exterior and interior space and creating an immersive, three-dimensional trompe l’oeile.

Felice Varini, 2008

The work of Felice Varini deals with concepts such as vantage point, focus and framing. As such, his body of work has been said to occupy the intersection between painting and photography, inverting the relationship of image and space to treat any space as a screen. Writes Roberta Mazzola: “Varini utilizes light projection of a drawing in space, which is then ‘pictorially’ retraced, like a copy, a print of a slide, reversing the illusionistic import of the projection and giving space the role of a ‘screen’, a place where a certain visibility is offered.” Also apparently situated in a trompe l’oeile tradition, Varini’s work seems concerned with framing or accentuating particular aspects of a space, calling attention to features that become visible when seen from a particular vantage point, or augmenting the view with forms that allow for the reinterpretation of a scene. The theatrical, performance-based aspect of Varini’s work seems equally important, in that he compels the viewer to physically move to a particular prescribed position within a space.

Sarah Pickering, Behind Flicks Nightclub (2004)

The first incentive may be to think of mapping as a particular form of data visualization—tied to geography, and as such mapping data points in spatial proximity to one-another. Yet, when we speak of mapping, it is quickly apparent that geography is not the only possible organizing principle, and as such the use of the word ‘mapping’ suggests a larger concept.

In the introduction of Else/Where: Mapping, Janet Abrams and Peter Hall write that there are three types of space that can be conceivably mapped, from information space (finding patterns in large quantities of data), to physical space (orienting the body to the physical environment), to social space (representing relationships between people). Broadly speaking, therefore, mapping can be considered a process that determines how objects, or entities, are related to each-other by representing them on a (conceptual) field.

Lev Manovich considers visualization a subset of mapping. For Manovich, mapping is the translation from one form of representation to another. In The Anti-Sublime Ideal in Data Art, he uses the term data visualization for the mapping of abstract data that does not inherently have a visual representation. “By representing all data using the same numerical code, computers make it easy to map one representation into another: grayscale image into 3D surface, a sound wave into an image (think of visualizers in music players such as iTunes), and so on. Visualization then can be thought of as a particular subset of mapping in which a data set is mapped into an image.” (Manovich, The Anti-Sublime Ideal in Data Art). He describes data visualization as the “mapping of data into the visual domain.” In other words, if mapping typically translates physical entities into an image, data visualization translates (or maps) abstract data into an image.

James Corner presents another definition of mapping in The Agency of Mapping. Quoting Deleuze and Guattari, Corner suggests that one must separate a map from a tracing. A tracing is simply a reflection of a real situation or process, and as such does not present a point of view. A map, on the other hand, has agency: it is the product of a creative activity that suggests new narratives and conceptual constructs by which to better understand the topic under consideration. “Mappings have agency because of the double-sided characteristic of all maps. First, their surfaces are directly analogous to actual ground conditions; as horizontal planes, they record the surface of the earth as direct impressions. [...] By contrast, the other side of this analogous characteristic is the inevitable abstractness of maps, the result of selection, omission, isolation, distance and codification.” (Corner, The Agency of Mapping).

This idea is reiterated in episode 110 of This American Life, Mapping, which states that maps focus on a single topic at a time—ignoring all other information that is not relevant. This is precisely the omission or selection that Corner is referring to, that gives mapping its agency. The next question, however, becomes whether tracings—in the way that they are defined by Corner and Deleuze—can in fact exist, as they are necessarily the product of human agency of some kind. But this is perhaps the critical distinction: mapping involves a particular agenda, a political motive, whereas tracings are created without a particular motive in mind. It is a subtle yet powerful distinction. This quote from J. B. Harley seems relevant: “‘Far from holding up a simple mirror of nature that is true of false, maps redescribe the world—like any other document—in terms of relations of power and of cultural practices, preferences, and priorities’” (Janet Abrams and Peter Hall, Else/Where: Mapping).

Conclusively, to follow Corner’s argumentation, it seems that the distinction between mapping and data visualization may hinge on the understanding of mapping as a process with agency. Visualization, on the other hand, is a neutral term, expressing neither agency nor its antonym, structure. And while its purpose is defined as generating insight and drawing conclusions, it does not imply a particular political motive. As such, visualization could be considered the superordinate concept, contradicting Manovich’s idea of it being a subset of mapping. While ultimately it might be considered a question of semantics, regarding mapping as a process with agency offers a more nuanced approach to understanding the relationship between the two concepts.

All visualization begins with a hypothesis. As previously determined, visualization is an expressive medium, and as such aims to communicate abstract ideas through the use of data. Any successful visualization, therefore, allows drawing conclusions about the underlying data. These conclusions, while often revealing or surprising even for the author of the piece, are nonetheless driven by a particular hypothesis—a hypothesis as general as simply selecting a type or range of data for its perceived interest- or insight-generating qualities, or as specific as setting out to prove a certain claim based on the characteristics of the data source.

A hypothesis is followed by a concept that determines how a visualization may most successfully address its initial hypothesis. At this point, visualization becomes rhetorical—it is always biased towards conveying (but not necessarily validating) a hypothesis, effecting not only its visual expression, but also the use and description of data.

For They Rule (above), a visualization by Josh On, the hypothesis is apparent: Those people on the boards of large American corporations form intricate networks that serve to maintain their power and authority. The title itself conveys the idea of an American aristocracy, and colors the perception of the piece from the onset. The opening sequence clearly states the hypothesis: “They make decisions that affect our lives.” Using a network diagram as the form of representation, the expression suitably emphasizes the complexity and extent of the connection between corporations, conveying the network itself as something of an ueber-entity—larger than any individual agent, and with the power to affect our lives. The anonymous visual representation only adds to the sinister undertones the piece. While the piece is really only making a single statement, the fact that it is supported by actual data lends it credibility.

In his article “Visualization Criticism—The Missing Link between Information Visualization and Art”, Robert Kosara analyzes the gamut of data-based visualization between the two poles of pragmatic and artistic visualization. On pragmatic visualization techniques, he writes: “Pragmatic visualization techniques are also often general, and can be applied to many different data sets. This is considered a strength, because the user can gain experience with the method and apply that to different data, rather than having to start from scratch again.” The opposite is true for artistic visualization, which communicates a specific concern, using data as a proof that the concern is real. As opposed to pragmatic visualization, which aims for generalization, artistic visualization aims for specificity in the relationship between representation and subject matter.

Kosara references three categories: (1) Recognizable as a visualization/readable; (2) not recognizable as a visualization/readable; and (3) not recognizable as a visualization/not readable. Kosara associates the first category with utilitarian or pragmatic visualization, the third with sublime or artistic visualization, while the second is a combination of the two.

Lisa Jevbratt’s piece 1:1 Interface: Every(IP) (above) is an example of the third category, not recognizable as a visualization, and not readable. In order to appreciate the piece as a visualization, the viewer requires some context, in this case that the piece is in fact a map of every IP address on the World Wide Web, with each pixel representing an IP address, its color based on the address itself. Variations in the complexity of the striation are representative of the numerical distribution of IP addresses, and whether they reflect a high density of web servers (recognizable as smooth color transitions) or not. Jevbratt considers her piece an object for interpretation, because the image is not a realistic representation. Instead, it is an indexical trace of the real, which, like Borges’ tale of the map as large as its territory, brings up associations with the role of mappings and tracings in relation to our perceived reality.

According to Kosara, artistic visualizations generally possess an element of the sublime, an enigmatic or mysterious quality that obscures immediate understanding, yet inspires an emotional response. Jevbratt’s work can be appreciated at the level of the sublime, without the realization of its nature as a visualization, though it requires context in order to either assert or attract critique. In that light, I disagree with Kosara on the notion that recognizable and readable visualizations are not artistic. I would suggest instead that artistic visualizations can be both recognizable and readable, as they communicate a concern about their subject matter, a concern which is expressed in the way the information is structured and represented. A recognizable, readable visualization will offer the viewer the necessary context to understand how a piece is asking to be interpreted. It offers an entry point to understanding the intent of the artist.

Critique can only occur on the basis of understanding the subject matter and the intent of a visualization. I disagree with the notion that sublimity can only be the result of obscuring readability. Instead, it may also occur based on the aesthetic properties—the visual expression—of a recognizable/readable visualization, for example through complexity, quantity, scale, etc. Alicia Chang and Adriana Lins de Albuquerque’s 31 days in Iraq (below), published in 2006 in the New York Times and updated again in 2007, has a sublime quality based on its formal austerity and the sheer numbers it represents. Yet, it is also an recognizable, readable visualization. Ideally, a visualization would elicit both an emotional and an intellectual response. And, I would argue, both are not necessarily tied to readability or recognizability.

Alicia Chang and Adriana Lins de Albuquerque, 31 days in Iraq (The New York Times)