Idol

 

This installation is the first iteration of a larger project that explores our growing dependence on smartphones. Smartphones aren't all bad, but there are aspects of their design and use that are problematic. For starters, they're too small. It's definitely handy that they fit in our pockets, but their small size is misleading. On a subconscious level, I believe it distracts us from recognizing their monumental impact on our lives and our culture. In creating a 3.5-foot-tall replica of the iPhone, I hope to expose this dichotomy. 

Another issue with smartphones is their highly addictive nature. With every passing day and every new release, smartphones become more and more ubiquitous. Everywhere one turns, people are enraptured in dully glowing screens. And in this critical historical era, which demands unprecedented levels of individual mindfulness and local cohesion, smartphones are a constant distraction from productive self-reflection and unifying social interaction. Our future on this beautiful planet will be determined by whether or not we can (re)learn how to live in equilibrium with one another and with nature. As they are currently used, smartphones represent one of the largest obstacles we face.

It's not my intention to vilify Apple Inc. and pardon all other smartphone manufacturers, yet I do find Apple's branding particularly sinister. I cannot help but draw connections to the story of Genesis, to Adam and Eve's failure to control their indulgent nature. This is perhaps our greatest vice, and may in the end manifest our downfall. Historically-speaking, very few human civilizations have achieved self-awareness or self-control. Especially when it comes to technology. We eagerly embrace new technologies, only to later discover the profound ways in which they have harmed us. Think of cars, guns, and now computers. I see smartphones, like the iPhone, as the Forbidden Fruit that we must grapple with on a daily basis.

These devices have assumed an importance that I imagine used to be reserved to true necessities, such as food and water, and objects of religious significance. The use of these devices might not resemble worship as we imagine it, yet I believe that these inventions are, for many, false idols. As we become increasingly dependent on our smartphones, we lose our ability to be alone in comfort and, ironically, we also lose our ability to be together in person. Life is simply too short for us to allow trivial smartphone apps to consume such a large percentage of our brief time. I hope that every iteration of this project provides viewers the opportunity to reflect on the role of these devices in their lives.

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Before the idea for this iPhone sculpture existed, I was simply interested in exploring two new sculptural modes: (1) light sculpture and (2) stack lamination (i.e. the process of glueing thin strips of wood together to create large wooden structures). A long-time admirer of the Light and Space Movement, I'd been on the lookout for ways to incorporate light into my work. And after seeing the Wendell Castle Remastered exhibit at the Museum of Arts and Design in New York, I finally knew how to increase the scale of my wooden sculpture. Ultimately, these two discrete curiosities (light and lamination) became unlikely partners thanks to yet another idea. The idea was to call attention to the effects of smartphones on our lives and our world. Measuring 3.5' tall and 2' wide, the shell of the iPhone is made of stack-laminated Douglas Fir. The fluorescent screen is made of a sheet of red plexiglass, laser-cut with a particularly ominous Steve Jobs' quote.

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What separates sculpture from installation is viewer engagement. After finishing the iPhone sculpture, I could have simply hung it up in a dimly-lit room and called the project finished. But I think that people are tired of looking at art -- they want to be included in the art. Realizing that nearly everyone who will interact with this installation will likely have a smartphone in their pocket, a beautifully simple solution to the question of viewer engagement emerged: put a working iPhone charger in the space.
   
The addition of the charger transformed the installation, and suddenly every viewer had a deeply personal experience with the work. Many viewers, instantly and without conscious thought, whipped out and plugged in their iPhones. At first they sighed in relief. Their phone wasn't going to die. But, for some, that moment of relief quickly subsided as they realized the desperation and dependence reflected in their knee-jerk reaction to the charger. One participant explained to me that she had fought off "the urge to plug [her iPhone] in," saying: "I didn't want to make that offering." Others were paranoid that, if they plugged in, their iPhone would be hacked. Sadly, I'm not that good. Nevertheless I took it as a compliment.