Stories & Ideas

Tue 05 Apr 2022

HYPER//ECHO: a traveller's diary

ArtExhibitionImmersive technologiesVideogames
Claire Osborn-Li

Claire Osborn-Li


Get a glimpse into a traveller's mind as she explores Firepit Collective's virtual landscape over a three-month period. New entries to this journal will be added fortnightly.

April 5
April 19
May 3
May 17

HYPER//ECHO (3 Apr – 1 Jul) is an ACMI commission for Gallery 5.

April 5

You find yourself in a city of newly-erected buildings, stoic and solid, untouched by the undergrowth that litters the floor beneath it. Marking your arrival – your spawn-point – is one lonely lighthouse. Moss and vines have crept their way up the fractured structure, and a leafy branch shoots out of a gaping wound on its head. It is debris, wreckage. But it’s also a monument to a possible future.

This is the centre of the space in HYPER//ECHO. Its mechanics are simple: using the touchscreen of your phone, or the keyboard on a computer, you enter the game as a small anonymous sprite, ready to explore, build, and maintain. At the launch event, I joined the other attendees, led by the developers, at the spawn point. We waited for others to arrive. And then we picked one direction, walking until the islands ended and became endless stretches of water, light grey and void-like. So then we built a bridge: one endless bridge stretching out into nothing. There’s a limit on how much one can build in a small window of time: a meter, representing either our energy or our materials, runs out after placing an object and replenishes over time. So when one ran out of stamina, another took over, until, many clicks later, collectively we’d had enough and decided to take root. Together we constructed a house – or perhaps a shrine – for a frog. And then we returned to the place we first spawned, starting off in a new direction.

Each player appears as the same wandering, hooded figure with blank eyes. We each have the same pitter-pattering footsteps, the same structures to forge, the same means of communication (emoticons are left on stone tablets like hieroglyphs). This means that when we build, we build together: private property has been abolished as each structure is unidentifiable from the next.

Messages, day 1 - HYPER//ECHO

There’s still room within this collective identity for individuals, however. Players have already found ways to make their mark. As I wandered across floating islands and weaved between staircases leading nowhere, I came across a message. Hooded man, shaking hands, hooded man. Messages like these feel like relics: somewhat readable, but with a deeper meaning that’s been lost to time. Had two players met here, and marked the occasion? Like on a letter, or a painting, at the bottom right of the message were two dashes followed by a frog and a forest. This unique combination of emoticons left at the end of a message conveyed a signature, or the closest thing we have to a Username. As players continue to return to HYPER//ECHO over the course of its run to mend these breaking buildings, other means of creating a history and coding the personal may surface.

The exploration of HYPER//ECHO is playful and perambulatory; it relies on an encounter, with another player or message or large expanse of nothing. The Situationist International were a group of political activists, artists and writers who called this kind of exploration dérive. When we traverse urban space, it’s normally on our way to and from work: it is driven by our labour, or by the distractions of advertisements and shop windows. Dérive is the antidote, allowing us to untether these consumerist relations. HYPER//ECHO’s dérive is quite similar. Without property, and without the ordinary quests and mission markers which normally drive videogame exploration, players are able to wander free, relating to this city or digital space directed by community and curiosity. While I often followed my group, driven by a sense of community and belonging, other times I drifted off, wandering to some other thing which piqued my interest. Another player will be led, intrigued, along our endless highway in the sea and discover a building for a frog. Perhaps they will fix it up, or maybe they’ll let it fall to ruin. And then they too will return, ready to set off again.

If we don’t maintain some kind of communal connection to this place, what will happen? The monument at the centre of the city is a peek into that future. But maybe that decay and ruin will only breed new forms of life: new ways of interacting, and new ways of collectivising.

Bye emoji - HYPER//ECHO

– bye! //traveller

April 19

The last time I was here, the buildings were held in a static state: brand-new, seemingly eternal. A new update has changed this. Now, they can crumble. Bridges fall into the sea, flames die out. A blue veil has fallen over the city now: a cyan glow rising from each ‘dead’ building. Only ghosts, only echoes.

I revisit an old haunt: an island with a shrine to a frog that I built with other players. The island itself is shaped like an anthropomorphic frog. Its arms splay out like shattered bones and its eyes glow like the hottest part of a flame. It was lighthearted and fun, then. But I feel like it’s dying. The paths that once reached it have come apart. My virtual body can no longer make the long journey there without building an entirely new bridge. I reach it instantly with the click of my finger now, through a link I had saved.

April 19 - Hyper-Echo 1

HYPER//ECHO is asking us to preserve this digital space, but more broadly it asks, ‘how do we preserve the Internet and its artefacts?’ This has been asked before by curators and artists in the field of New Media art, a field encompassing any artwork that must be mediated through technology (a category which, I would argue, HYPER//ECHO falls into). The time-based, non-linear and interactive nature of these works provide different challenges to curation. Ben Vickers, previously a curator of Digital Art at Serpentine Gallery, says in an interview with curator and writer Melanie Bühler that the curator and the digital have become part of the lives of everyone using the internet [1]. We see this democratisation of the curator in HYPER//ECHO as the developers divest maintenance of this digital space to its players. The devs will still fix bugs in its updates, but for the most part, these updates do not ‘fix’ the zone but reassert our, the players’, role as a collective of curators. We decide what is to be fixed and what is to decompose. We choose which artefacts to display. We write the accompanying text on a tilted plaque like a museum didactic.

Hyper-echo messages gif

Vickers also sees the New Media curator mostly as a mediator and interpreter, arguing that there has been a departure of ‘caring, stewardship or custodianship’ from this role. But the digital is more delicate and needing of care than we think. The Internet is rife with the deterioration of web links, old software, and Tumblr blogs with custom HTML. As technology progresses, old .word files become illegible (letters replaced with Wingdings), and MySpace profile embeds break down. The Curatorial Resource for Upstart Media Bliss or CRUMB, an online archive dedicated to presenting New Media art, is itself in need of care. Updated last in 2015, at the centre of its homepage is a broken embed: Flash is no longer supported.

CRUMB homepage

Sometimes we work to preserve as much of these fleeting digital objects as we can. I have a barely working Macbook which I’ve kept from updating so I can still play 32-bit video games. preserved thousands of Flash games before Adobe discontinued support last year. Its Wayback Machine provides a view into deactivated websites and long-gone social media startups. But what gets to live past its expiration date is chosen like an artefact by a curator. My link to Frog Island is a file in an archive, allowing me to reach an unreachable past.

Hyper-echo - April 19 sign off

– buildings decay, buildings die //traveller

  1. No Internet, No Art — A Lunch Bytes Anthology, edited by Melanie Bühler

May 3

I’ve been thinking more about HYPER//ECHO and its use of dérive as well as its choice of colour, so I made a game about it. I used Chia Amisola’s wonderful game maker, engine, to make this.

Use the arrow keys to move. The light grey bars around the frame are indicators of where you can go next.

Be wary of bright colours and sudden colour changes, as well as overlapping text and images within the game. A more accessible version, for people with low vision or sensory sensitivities, can be played here.

May 3 signature - HYPER-ECHO- a traveller's diary

– wandering … //traveller

May 17

In 2013, artist Thomas Hirschhorn constructed a counter-monument. Cobbled together from unfinished wood, spray-paint, duct-tape and tarp, it was not only precarious in its potential to fall apart at any moment, but in its impermanence. For Hirschhorn, this lent a certain power to the structure: “I am for time-limited monuments. I am for the precarious moments, where every moment … should be important.” [1]

Before it was dismantled five months after its construction, Hirschhorn employed the residents of Forest Houses – the local housing project in the South Bronx – to build and maintain the monument, but also to hold workshops, run a radio station, and publish a newspaper. There were theatre performances, poetry sessions, field trips, open mics and art classes. [2] The precarity of Hirschhorn’s Gramsci Monument as a structure “where every moment should be important” emphasised its existence as a prolonged event and activated an ongoing relationship with its audience.

View of Gramsci MView of Gramsci Monument, Thomas Hirschhorn (2013).

View of Gramsci Monument, Thomas Hirschhorn (2013)

James E. Young, a Professor of Judaic Studies, sees the counter-monument as a direct challenge to conventions of monuments and the memory of the past that they represent through the active participation of its viewers. He uses Jochen Gerz and Esther Shalev-Gerz’s “disappearing” Monument Against Fascism as an example. Built in post-WWII Germany, this pillar, coated with soft lead, permitted visitors to inscribe facets of the structure with graffiti. The more visitors wrote on the work, the more the monument would disappear into the ground, before all that was left was a black square marking its absence. The purpose, Young argues, is “...not to be ignored by its passer-by but to demand interaction … not to accept graciously the burden of memory but to throw it back at the town’s feet.” [3]

Esther Shalev-Gerz and Jochen Gerz, Monument Against Fascism (1986)

In the first entry of this diary, I referred to HYPER//ECHO’s structures as monuments. Initially, players could create buildings, but beyond that were unable to interact with them. They appeared permanent and unchanging, standing solid in greys and whites, like marble.

Monuments are supposed to last. But HYPER//ECHO is a work that declares its temporality and invites interaction. Due to end 1 July, it deteriorates in real-time. From the moment that the buildings begin cracking and darkening with age, players become caretakers as well as builders. Like Gramsci Monument, HYPER//ECHO is not only temporary, but establishes an ongoing, active relationship with its audience throughout its limited life-span. The changing natures of Gramsci Monument and HYPER//ECHO enact an invitation to return, recommune and rebuild.

HYPER//ECHO - fading spiral stairwell

Perhaps it seems strange to compare HYPER//ECHO, which doesn’t appear to have an overt political message, to an anti-fascist memorial in Germany and a monument to Marxist theorist Antonio Gramsci. But the political is not just found in their content: it’s also within the form. As counter-monument, the form defines our interaction with the work, making the interaction political. In a statement on their monument, Gerz and Shalev-Gerz said, “In the long run, it is only we ourselves who can stand up to injustice.” [4] In demanding activity over passivity, we gain agency, and thus, responsibility. Monument Against Fascism and Gramsci Monument may have a clear political message; however, its position is an invitation, not an order. We become critical, thinking beings, asking questions rather than being given answers.

Hirschhorn asks, “Is art independent from politics?” His answer is most likely a resounding “no”. HYPER//ECHO is no different. On April 19 of this diary, I wrote that the Internet is in need of care. As counter-monument, HYPER//ECHO activates that responsibility in us.

I question, I care - sign off HYPER//ECHO

– I question, I care //traveller


[1] Thomas Hirschhorn Symposium, dieAngewandte

[2] Dia Art, Gramsci Monument

[3] James E. Young, ‘Memory/Monument’ in Critical Terms for Art History, 2003, p. 241

[4] Esther Shalev-Gerz, The Monument Against Fascism

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