Stupid Machines

So I’ve been thinking about Stupid Machines for quite some time – not sure how long, but it definitely feels like a good while.

It all started when I was imagining projects that made use of distractive elements, or sleights of hand, to draw people in with one thing only to have them notice something else a little later. (I pitched an idea along these lines to the Texas Biennial, but that’s another story altogether.)

I also wanted to begin working with gears. I’m not sure why they appealed to me. Perhaps it’s because I’ve always loved looking at machinery – although I definitely was not the kind of kid who took apart his watch to see how it worked. (Or when I did take things apart, it was only because I’d read in books that that was what smart kids were supposed to do.) I never really cared that much how things worked. I just liked watching their movement.

But just watching isn’t enough, at least in terms of where I am now. I’d much rather someone participated in my work than looked at it passively. I prefer something along the lines of social sculpture, where the participants are very much part of the work.

Distraction, gears, participation – with these three themes bouncing around in my head, I dreamt up the idea for a machine that has the participant turning a crank and unwittingly kicking himself in the butt. No reason. No rhyme. Just a nice self-inflicted butt-kicking.

And that’s how Stupid Machines were born.

Stupid Machines are definitely reminiscent of Rube Goldberg’s creations. They take the long road to get a job done. In that sense, I see their creation as kindred, albeit somewhat paradoxically, to the practices of artists who intentionally limit their materials – toothpicks, wires, lace, whatever – in order to foster creativity.

By taking the long road, we open ourselves up for all the surprises along the way.