Monsters
All the Friends I Never Had
The advent of the Internet and computer networks in the 1960s allowed for and ushered in a new era of increased and seamless communication. The development of this technology has led to a condensing of time and space, with the world and its denizens becomingly increasingly interconnected and intertwined. As Marshall McLuhan wrote in his 1964 book The Extensions of Man, “Today, after more than a century of electr[on]ic technology, we have expanded our central nervous system itself in a global embrace, abolishing both space and time as far as our planet is concerned. Rapidly, we approach the final phase of the extensions of man-the technological simulation of consciousness, when the creative process of knowing will be collectively and corporately extended to the whole of human society much as we have already extended our senses and our nerves by the various media.”
The way technology, the Internet and social networking sites have so rapidly and severely transformed the way we communicate and relate to each other has fascinated and astonished me. We have a greater capacity for connection than ever before; yet we grow increasingly more and more isolated from each other. I may have 300 friends on Facebook, but I never have to leave the comforts of my house to interact with them. Of course, this is wonderful for my own neurotic social phobia. Whereas years ago, I would have been deemed socially anxious, I am now normal, part of the millions who never venture away from the computer screen to interact with other people.
Yet part of me still longs for connection, as terrifying as it may be to attempt to create one. We as humans are engineered to be social by nature, and though we may fort ourselves off the world, we still require human interaction at the most primitive level of our genetics. While it was once essential to our survival, it is now necessary for our mental well-being, physical health and life longevity. Therefore, I face a strange internal struggle between two very base desires. Cerebrally, part of me longs for the protection from relationship-inflicted hurt that isolation can bring; yet another part, perhaps the part that is indeed the most “human”, desires the feeling of belonging and being connected to humanity.
The Morning After Doomsday explores this phenomenon of social anxiety humorously. While the work stylistically is cute and candy-colored, every piece has a sad underpinning as it discusses isolation and disconnection. But this show offers the opportunity for connection. It invites the viewer to sit on a picnic blanket with a monster. It asks the viewer to adopt a monster, to share a connection with the other 109 people who are also adopting monsters. The Morning After Doomsday provides a space for us in current society to contemplate just how we navigate our relationships; and it gives us the opportunity to change.
The way technology, the Internet and social networking sites have so rapidly and severely transformed the way we communicate and relate to each other has fascinated and astonished me. We have a greater capacity for connection than ever before; yet we grow increasingly more and more isolated from each other. I may have 300 friends on Facebook, but I never have to leave the comforts of my house to interact with them. Of course, this is wonderful for my own neurotic social phobia. Whereas years ago, I would have been deemed socially anxious, I am now normal, part of the millions who never venture away from the computer screen to interact with other people.
Yet part of me still longs for connection, as terrifying as it may be to attempt to create one. We as humans are engineered to be social by nature, and though we may fort ourselves off the world, we still require human interaction at the most primitive level of our genetics. While it was once essential to our survival, it is now necessary for our mental well-being, physical health and life longevity. Therefore, I face a strange internal struggle between two very base desires. Cerebrally, part of me longs for the protection from relationship-inflicted hurt that isolation can bring; yet another part, perhaps the part that is indeed the most “human”, desires the feeling of belonging and being connected to humanity.
The Morning After Doomsday explores this phenomenon of social anxiety humorously. While the work stylistically is cute and candy-colored, every piece has a sad underpinning as it discusses isolation and disconnection. But this show offers the opportunity for connection. It invites the viewer to sit on a picnic blanket with a monster. It asks the viewer to adopt a monster, to share a connection with the other 109 people who are also adopting monsters. The Morning After Doomsday provides a space for us in current society to contemplate just how we navigate our relationships; and it gives us the opportunity to change.
