"Omni Series," Art And Genetics in a Digital Age

"Omni Series: Art and Genetics in a Digital Age," by Chris Twomey, 2004, DETAIL, Ultrachrome digital prints, 13"x13"each "

By Christine Twomey
at Tribes Gallery June 3 - July 30th 2004

Navel, after navel, after navel line the walls of the rooms at Tribes Gallery, some 60 to 70 digital images in all. Each navel is unique, and their uniqueness is emphasized by photoshop manipulations: navels posterterized, pixelated, marbelized, verigated and/or colorized. Immediately I have two questions: Why navels? What is the meaning of these manipulations?

My search for meaning is quickly rewarded by a line of text which winds around the images, turning up or down, right or left, almost always at 90 degree angles. The text is not printed on the gallery walls, as you might expect, rather it is on a membrane like scroll which physically winds aound the work, much like an umbilical cord, albeit one pinned to the wall. It talks about the importance of stem cell research, and the importance of umbilical cord cells to stem cell research. 

If you follow this line of words, as it meanders through the three rooms of the gallery, (amounting to about a page of  text), you learn the difference which the artist perceives between theraputic cloning and the forms of human cloning which are commonly decried by activists. The artist is particularly concerned that the potential benefits of theraputic cloning not be lost due to over reaction to any and all uses of cloning.

In this, her cause seems just. Among the voluminous supporting text for this show you can find a letter from a mother who speaks about the stem cell transplant that saved her child's life. This mother "loved" the show, she writes, "What very few people understand is that every single pregnant woman has the opportunity to donate her stem cells to the general public so that they may be used in transplants such as (the one which saved her child's life)."

Well enough, if true. Too many artists fall into the "Frankenstein" mode of artistic production, critical of the dangers of scientific advances, without considering or weighing the countervailing benefits. At a time when right wing political forces want to end federal funding for stem cell research, this work takes on political as well as social, scientific and aesthetic dimensions. Twomey can be admired for her courage in deciding to champion theraputic stem cell research.
 
But what about all those photo manipulations?  What of their aesthetics and meaning? There is again no lack of explanatory text: a sign informs us the manipulations show us what it might feel like to be cloned. I'm trying to make that connection when I see an image on a video monitor which makes the connection for me. A photographic image of a navel appears, and then as filters are tweaked, it morphs into one of the images we see before us in the gallery. In this manner we see navel after navel transformed as we watch the DVD.

It actually seems to provide some sense of explanation, hence meaning to the images. We may not understand why the navels look that way, but at least we've now seen how they got to look that way, which provides some sort of satisfaction to our curiosity, and at least a sense of causation, if not understanding of said causation. We seem to be able to connect to the feelings  the artist had in the act of creation. The ability to thus expressively use the dimension of time inherent in digital media seems to define contemporary digital artists.

For raising our awareness of theraputic stem cell research,  Twomey's work will surely be remembered by those who take the time to read its message. By exhibiting work on the cutting edges of digital art and genetic engineering, Twomey is staking a claim as a major artist of the ArtSci movement. Her work with DNA  may not be as novel as, say Eduardo Kac's  transgenic bunny that glows in the dark,  however the goal of saving human lives gives Twomey's work a compelling gravitas. In her hands, our navels seem well worth contemplating.