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MFRU

Conceptually, I don't see much difference between the first and the last festival in terms of contemplating virtuality, the web, the net, and activism. Even artificial intelligence, which I carry in my pocket at the moment, was discussed in the 1990s. Regarding trust, we can delve into its various levels repeatedly. We scrutinized the trust of our collaborators, artists, and ultimately, all the visitors, in corporations, the web, and AI.
Let me focus on AI: when I moved from Maribor to Ljubljana to study, Kapelica and Ljudmila, who were already significant players in the early days, were my next stops. All our inquiries, works, and symposia are now mainstream; they are ubiquitous. However, they haven't been qualitatively reimagined. Not when a group of alternative artists in some marginal institutions were raising their voices at festivals. But now it's here, in use, and I believe it will be even more challenging to reconsider. The machinery is even stronger. I'm talking about the last thirty years.
In one of the editions of Trust, we hosted the pioneers—Marina (Gržinić), Janez (Strehovec), Jože (Slačka), Aleksandra (Kostič), and Pecot (Peter Tomaž Dobrila)—and together, we confirmed that not much has changed; only the technology has become more advanced. All the considerations are more apparent, but not much different.

Since my curatorship of MFRU in 2013, the treatment of "the computational" in the context of art and culture has evolved significantly. This evolution mirrors broader changes in technology, society, and our understanding of the interaction between humans and computational systems. I would like to outline some of the key changes and differences in thinking about the 'computational' then and now.

Then: the Early Phase of Digital Art (until 2013)

Experimentation and exploration characterized the early years of digital and computer art. Artists focused on experimenting with new technologies and exploring their artistic possibilities. This period saw exploration in digital painting, digital photography, net art, and early forms of interactive art.

Digital art was viewed as innovation. The term 'computational' often denoted novelty, with artists and curators exploring how technology was altering the way we create and perceive art.

Attention was drawn to platforms and tools, with much focus on the possibilities offered by different digital platforms and tools such as computer graphics, animation, and early computer games.

Now: Integration and Extension (2013 to Present)

Technological integrations: The contemporary view of "computing" surpasses traditional boundaries and encompasses integration with advanced technologies such as artificial intelligence (AI), machine learning, virtual and augmented reality (VR/AR), and blockchain technology. These technologies facilitate new forms of artistic expression and interaction.

Critical perspectives and social issues: Modern computer art frequently tackles critical social issues, including surveillance, privacy, the digital divide, and the impact of technology on the environment. Art serves as a platform for discussion and reflection on these matters.

Interdisciplinarity and collaboration: Today's "computing" is profoundly interdisciplinary, with artists collaborating with scientists, engineers, and technologists to explore new frontiers of artistic expression. The focus lies on the interplay of art, science, and technology.

Accessibility: The development of open-source tools and platforms has broadened access to digital art tools, enabling a wider range of individuals to create and share digital art, and fostering global collaboration and exchange.

The evolution of interactivity: Interactivity has become more sophisticated, with 'immersive' experiences utilizing VR/AR, sensor technologies, and interactive installations that involve the audience in the artwork.

The shift in the treatment of the 'computational' thus mirrors broader technological, social, and cultural changes. Once perceived as a separate field or tool, the 'computational' is now integrated into broader artistic practices that transcend traditional media and address complex social issues. This development not only underscores the growth and evolution of technology but also its increasing impact on our lives, cultures, and art.

I'd like to highlight the specific period of the pandemic, which provided me with an intriguing insight into technological aspirations. There was a push to integrate virtual communication even more profoundly. Not only were we socializing less, but the aim was to communicate exclusively through virtual means. The Meta Corporation swiftly began developing virtual online environments akin to the pre-existing Second Life—a concept I consider digital kitsch, which some proponents argue possesses aesthetic and utopian value. In essence, the goal was to establish a digital space alongside verbal and visual exchanges, rendering communication entirely online and distancing it from live presence. I refer to this as digital reality. It's not just virtual—it's your reality. However, Meta was sluggish in their efforts, resulting in the termination of 70,000 employees at the pandemic's end. They missed the mark. In such a brief period, they couldn't actualize their vision sufficiently at the production and promotional levels to make it a shared asset.

I'm just as "boring" now as I was at the beginning of my artistic career. Code, different computer languages, source code, and programming still fascinate me. I view it as a language, serving as an interface between human languages and the binary system, acting as a translator between 0s and 1s and human concepts. These interlanguages enable communication with computers and machines, which I find intriguing. The prospect of how this will function with quantum computers remains to be seen, as there are no visible indications yet. Currently, we're confined to binaries and the invented languages that interpret them for us. These languages retain the basic structure of human languages but abstract it greatly, aligning it more closely with mathematics and its abstract forms. When I encounter a language I don't understand, I can project my own interpretations onto its letters, symbols, and numbers. There's no distinction between an incomprehensible code and a blank sheet of paper—I can imbue them with whatever meaning I desire.

When we execute the code, it transforms from one form to another—it possesses activity, executability, written into it. It consistently yields some form of result; a series of my commands turns into an action—the code fulfills its promises. This implies that the code is not merely visual; it's verifiable. While it functions for us in the abstract, in reality, it's quite concrete: it carries consequences. However, what I find artistically intriguing is when I disrupt it, when I disrupt its flow at a certain point. To what extent does it fail to fulfill its purpose then? In general, I find art most compelling when it's imperfect. Undermined, displaced—a system that loses its balance. Whenever I modify the code differently, the outcome varies. There's an immense, ineffable romance in code.

A similar temporal comparison was previously explored in the 24th edition of the MFRU in 2018 through the lecture "Suspicious, Implied Agency: Sexual Mutants, Decolonized Transfeminists, Militant Filmmakers, Radical Theorists, Migrant Sex Workers," which I co-presented with Tjaša Kancler, and with my solo paper titled "Europe: Social Gender, Class, Race." Our contributions to this festival edition offered fresh perspectives and outlined a vision.

Over the past few years, my focus has been on artificial intelligence, a subject that deeply captivates me. It's astonishing how we demand responsibility from artificial intelligence, despite its lack of a brain, and how we acknowledge our accountability through our algorithms. This thesis was proposed as early as 1999 in my lecture "Virtual Reality: The Computer With or Without a Brain," part of the lecture series "Theory and Aesthetics of New Media and Technologies" at the University of Maribor. These lectures were organized by Slaček during the interim period between the two MFRU festivals.

Thus, we are well-informed about our pursuits. We have concrete references to individuals, events, and literature; no one can dispute that. While the provincial, now entirely liberal space may stifle the dreams of visionaries, it cannot erase their history. And it certainly cannot erase it from us.

Thirty years ago, the situation was incomparable to today. It was a happy time because the entire community was eager to participate without questioning what it would require of them. The optimism we often recall stemmed from their positive response to the initiative. This is intriguing because, at that time, I often wondered how it would be possible to engage people to collaborate with such a slightly strange idea. How would that play out today? I think it's harder for individuals to decide to work together. We are increasingly concerned about the requirements—how much work, how much money. What will the price be, if you understand me? It used to be all about: what do we need to be able to do this? It wasn't a one-person endeavor at all, but rather the result of all the people who came together around me.
That's why I'm extremely grateful to Marina (Gržinić) and Aleksandra (Kostič), who helped me answer the dilemmas of how to position the festival as something social—more than just art in a biennial form. Our goal was to inject content and thus movement into it, and it stuck for a long time. To sustain the movement, to keep it rolling, to shape it into different forms, and to bring other elements to the forefront. Perhaps people were more willing to participate because they saw the future in a way that compelled them to grasp it and be a part of it in order to contribute something to it. Maybe I'm mistaken. It's certainly easier to talk about it today. It's not a bad story. I conclude that it's a greater achievement than just creating the festival—that we've sustained it and continue to have it.