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Spring 2020 Editors’ Note
In some ways, the COVID-19 pandemic brought us closer to the mission of The New River, even as it pushed our meetings apart. Since the beginning, The New River has dedicated a platform to emerging and established artists working at the intersection of digital art and literature. Excellent execution has always been one of our top priorities, along with innovative ideas and user-friendly engagement. We aim to challenge passive readership—a symptom of overindulgent screen time and existential Googling. The artists we have selected for the Spring 2020 issue of The New River compliment this vision and complicate the questions “what is art?” and “who is it for?”
Lucila Mayol Pohl - 08.10.2020 - 11:03
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Camtasia Fantasy
Camtasia Fantasy is a study on institutionalized tools for presenting information, featuring numerous forms of misreading and corruption native to those systems—including automated captioning and stabilization, noise removal, layers of lossy compression, and the broader assumption that a PowerPoint slide show can communicate any knowledge worth knowing—as well as the unintended poetics that emerge from such misreadings.
(Source: http://thenewriver.us/camtasia-fantasy/)
Lucila Mayol Pohl - 08.10.2020 - 12:58
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A dictionary of the revolution (presentation)
This is a talk about police. The text is read by Alex from A dictionary of the revolution, a multi-media project that attempted to document the evolving language of the 2011 Egyptian revolution.
The project's digital publication contains 125 texts, woven from the voices of hundreds of people who were asked to define words used frequently in conversations in public from 2011-2014. Material for the dictionary was collected in Egypt from March to August 2014.
Nearly 200 participants reacted to vocabulary cards containing 160 terms, talking about what the words meant to them, who they heard using them, and how their meanings had changed since the revolution. The text of the dictionary is woven from transcription of this speech.
The project's digital publication is accessible in Arabic and English translation at http://qamosalthawra.com. The website also gives access to an archive of edited sound clips, images, and transcriptions.
Andrés Pardo Rodriguez - 08.10.2020 - 13:26
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Here Comes Her Man
Leveraging the Curveship-js system for automatic narrative variation (version 0.2) to regen~d~erate the lyrics of the second cut off The Velvet Underground’s debut album, after adjusting the street value of heroin on an annualized inflation rate, I then coded this updated and enumerated content into BBC BASIC II (1982) and emulated all that output as a series of twenty-something decidedly non-vector formats—subsequently renamed à la a Pixies tune 22 years removed from the late Lewis Allan Reed‘s original.
Lucila Mayol Pohl - 08.10.2020 - 16:15
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Stromatolite
“Stromatolite” is a dream/delusion/poem/shallow grave of language. As I say by way of introduction:
I was carving up _Was_, Michael Joyce’s “novel of internet,” feeding phrases to Googlemena, savage goddess, to see what she might throw back. Results fell mainly in three piles: interesting resonance (e.g.,”the lost what was” evoking notes on circumcision); incestuous loops (quotations from the novel in reviews, etc.); and most marvelously… THESE REALLY WEIRD HEAPS OF WORDS
(Source: https://thenewriver.us/stromatolite/)
Lucila Mayol Pohl - 08.10.2020 - 16:29
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The Renewable Sonnets of William Shakespeare (Volumes 1 & 2)
The larger project is my first foray into digital poetry that uses a relatively large data set, in this case, the complete sonnets of William Shakespeare.
In Volume 1, the user has the ability to stir lines from Shakespeare’s original 154 sonnets into their “own” creation and to render a screenshot of any particular stirring by pressing the “collect the ephemera” button. The user also has the option to “defeat the ephemera” and return the text to one of Shakespeare’s originals.
In Volume 2, the user does not have the ability to stir Shakespeare’s texts into their “own” creation as the texts are generative or “self-stirring.” Instead, the user has the opportunity to “read the ephemera” by pressing the “Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die” button rendering a screenshot of any particular stirring. “Thou shouldst print more…” is the last line of Sonnet XI.
(Source: http://thenewriver.us/95-2/)
Lucila Mayol Pohl - 09.10.2020 - 11:01
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We Descend: Archives Pertaining to Egderus Scriptor, Volume Three
Work on We Descend began in 1984, when five words came unbidden into my mind: “If this document is authentic…” I had no idea what the phrase signified: Who’s saying this? What document? Why wouldn’t it be authentic? How would it be authenticated? By what authority? How would that authority be established? Where did the document come from in the first place? As I pondered these questions, a clutch of fragmentary writings began to appear under my hands — via the standard tech at the time: fountain pen, notebook paper, clipboard.
(Source: http://thenewriver.us/we-descend/)
Lucila Mayol Pohl - 09.10.2020 - 11:18
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Shadow Trees
Shadow Trees compiles and animates images of urban nature. Focusing on shadows cast by trees onto walls, buildings, pavement, and the trunks of other trees, Jody Zellen is able to investigate places where natural and built environments overlap and touch.
The short video disrupts audience expectations of nature films and photography, which are often framed to limit or erase the presence of humans, so that trees are shown to exist in forests, not in city blocks. In so doing, such photographic conventions comfort us by removing our role in the precariosness of their existence, particularly in large metropolitan places like Los Angeles where carbon emissions choke human and nonhuman life alike.
(Source: http://thenewriver.us/shadow-trees/)
Lucila Mayol Pohl - 09.10.2020 - 11:36
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Editor’s Note: Fall 2019
I reflect on this edition I think about one of the major contemporary political issues of our time that reaches into the past and into the future.
Nature. The Earth. Climate. The human body. The human soul.
Lucila Mayol Pohl - 09.10.2020 - 12:08
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Quarters
The authors' collaboration on this piece was prompted by a Letraset visual poem by Beaulieu, “Self-Quarantine.” While thinking of the crowded space of arrows in that poem, they worked to engage with Unicode (and in particular, the four arrows U-2196–U-2199) in ways inspired by Beaulieu’s engagement with Letraset. The resulting poem is more sparse visually at any particular moment, but quite constrained and tense. The boundary will fill in in unanticipated ways if one simply waits. Those who are very patient will see that the process slows down as more and more arrow-shadows stick to the “walls.” The constantly-moving arrow leaves a trace wherever it bounces, but, as a glyph, it has a different substance than the edge of the browser, and cannot encounter its own residue. For those who crave an interactive experience, the poem can be interactive: Resizing the browser is an intervention.
Nick Montfort - 16.10.2020 - 02:00
