SRL
Briefly, an SRL show consists of a set of ritualized interactions between machines, robots, special effects devices, and computers, with humans present only as operators or audience. On October 24, 1992, SRL staged one of its machine performances at an abandoned toilet paper factory in Graz, Austria. Two weeks prior to the presentation, 50 tons of machinery and supporting equipment arrived at the site, followed by 22 SRL crew members. Typically for an SRL performance, this was a one-shot deal: 50 minutes of non-stop action in front of approximately 3000 people.
Aside from these basic considerations of scale and style, peculiar circumstances differentiate SRL productions from the outwardly similar technical activities undertaken by military, industrial, or scientific organizations. SRL enjoys nearly unlimited freedom to engage in both decadent technical extravagance, and unapologetically acerbic social commentary. Constrained by requirements of practicality, public opinion, or rationally explicable goals, other technically-driven organizations nearly always exhibit dreary predictability in their products or restraint in their operations. SRL activities share their reliance on careful direction and scripting, their intentional or accidental provocation of relentless public debate, and their endless _official_ explanations of events. But, for SRL, such practical considerations present only the flimsiest of barriers to unrestrained action.
Graz is located below Vienna, about twenty miles north of the border with Croatia. Forty-five miles further southward, Serb and Croat forces oppose one another in the contested Banija area. Oddly enough, although this nearby conflict threatened to explode at any moment into a full-fledged regional war, it was the last topic of conversation in Austria. In honor of this aversion, and as a gratuitous provocation to Austrians (or anyone else who could ignore a war so close to their national borders), the SRL performance in Graz was titled: "THE DELIBERATE EVOLUTION OF A WAR ZONE: A PARABLE OF SPONTANEOUS STRUCTURAL DISINTEGRATION"
Implementing this theme, which was uncharacteristically specific for an SRL performance, required extraordinary measures. The first of these was bridging the credibility gap created when outsiders come in (American outsiders at that) and _tell it like it is_ to the locals, who of course know the real story. Fortunately, an opportunity to accompany a filmmaker to various war zones in Croatia presented itself. Describing this experience in pre-show interviews effectively quelled doubt among the media that the performance would indeed pursue a serious investigation of the questions raised by the war.
The show's visual look and its cast of machines suggested war themes, both explicit and implicit. A very dumb bomb, rigged on a winch, slammed repeatedly at a target painted on the floor, decimating hapless machines that strayed into the area. Ten- foot-square computer-retouched photos of naked soldiers in homoerotic poses adorned some machines and the walls of the site. A mobile overhead crane, wielding an enormous steel hook, hoisted machines into the air and moved them from one contested zone to another (in a bizarre parody of similarily futile gestures by nearby UN forces).
Many of the machines in this show were originally developed in military research programs: A V-1 jet engine, assorted explosive devices, an electromagnetic rail gun, a tele-operated gun (which launched exploding projectiles), and the spinner machine (derived from a failed military experiment which was intended to develop supersonic propellers for aircraft but produced only ear-splitting noise, reminiscent of an entire squadron of bombers).
Official permits allowed virtually unlimited testing of machinery. SRL took full advantage of this opportunity in the weeks before the show, setting the surrounding community on edge. Once the show began and the full fury of the devices was unleashed, approximately 400 Graz residents phoned police to report that Serbian warplanes were bombing the city. Not satisfied with police assurances that an art show was the source of the disturbance, 40 of these callers managed to contact the Ministry of Defense in Vienna, who ordered the Graz police to investigate. Even though they were aware of the nature of the situation, twenty police officers arrived at the site with sound measuring equipment in time to record sound levels of 108 decibels, 100 meters from the performance.
The following day was an Austrian national holiday, which we celebrated by continously operating the V-1 engine for about 5 minutes. Afterwards, the police arrived and informed us that any further _testing_ involving loud sounds would result in our arrests and the confiscation of our equipment.
My damaged right hand enjoys a respectable notoriety. For instance, a recent article that appeared in TIME magazine regarding the Cyberpunk phenomenon devoted more copy to my hand than it did to SRL activities. I have weathered a variety of interesting reactions to this appendage over the years, from simple handshake-repulsion, to cultivated indifference, to ridiculous suggestions of its extraordinary abilities. Certainly, it has earned the right (by ordeal if nothing else) to at least some of this attention. To me it remains a testament to the distinction that ought to be made between a reasonable infatuation with the merely hazardous and senseless flirtation with self-destruction.
Before leaving one night the assistant had consumed a quantity of alcohol. About an hour later he returned on foot, quite bedraggled, and announced that he had partially destroyed his motorcycle in an accident. A few days later, he and several of his cohorts boasted that they were building a large pipe bomb and were planning to detonate it in a nearby building. At this point myself and the rest of the SRL crew began to get a bit concerned and expressed our opinions to the presenters and to the assistant and his friends. This did not prevent them from sneaking away and setting off the device in an adjacent building.
The fact that the SRL crew was not impressed by this act only seemed to precibpitate further safety indiscretions by the assistant. One day this included filling balloons with explosive gas and detonating them without warning in the work area. The next day the assistant was assigned by the festival staff to jackhammer a large concrete abutment, as a sort of punishment for arousing such a flurry of complaints the previous day. I remember passing by him as he desperately hammered away, covered with dust and looking frighteningly aggravated. About an hour later, a loud explosion occurred in the next building. The assistant emerged covered with blood, carried by his friends. At first his friends maintained that it was an accident. They claimed that the device, a very large pipe bomb, had exploded without warning after the assistant had approached it to examine the extinguished fuse. Later, we found out from others who watched from a safe distance that the assistant had lit the fuse, stood directly above the bomb, and calmly waited for it to explode. The assistant survived the blast but sustained numerous injuries including several lost teeth, the loss of sight in one eye, numerous facial gouges, and permanent powder burns.
The assistant was able to attend the performance, though I did not see him there myself. When he visited the site a few days later I asked him what he thought about the show. He responded, "If you were Japanese and put on a show like that, you would have to commit hara-kiri".