The Bottom of It Issue #3: Robots replicating The Sistine Chapel – mind blowing or terrifying?
Hi all and thanks for joining us for another instalment of The Bottom of It. This week’s story takes inspiration from the BBC’s interview with Ai-da, the first robot who can paint like an artist – an exciting but scary prospect!
The Opening
Warm white wine in plastic cups. An assortment of fried foods that were bought from a local corner shop several hours ago. A male singer in the corner who is only hitting about half of the notes he attempts – though his guitar skills are okay. The opening of another exhibit at the Eva & Cohen art gallery.
You stand in the middle of the room, smiling politely and talking to no one. Your staple black ‘only for semi-smart events’ dress is scratching your armpits, probably due to the amount of perspiration you’re producing. The walls are obviously full of art; some in frames, some on canvas, huge pieces which take up almost the whole of a wall, tiny little squares the size of a postcard, several sculptures hang from ropes, a couple burst up from the floor. A replica of Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel is painted on the ceiling, perhaps Ai-da’s finest work. She prefers the older stuff, whereas Ai-lan is more contemporary, preferring to do an Adrian Ghenie or a Yoko Ono. Both can do a painting a day – an absolute goldmine for the gallery. Every so often, they have to be given a day off when they have produced too much art than can be hung, sold or stored. On these occasions you usually get sent home too. Back to the clutches of your unmade bed, mostly.
You clear your throat, ready to make your speech. That’s all you’re really here for these days. You began your career as an artist, a pretty successful one at that, before you became basically redundant, wherein they made you a curator. That lasted about eight months, until they brought in Ai-leen. She spends her whole life behind the front desk scouring the web for the best pieces, bidding online (and winning) at all the auctions and contacting artists from all over the world throughout the night. The nine to five hours you requested didn’t really fit the bill anymore. So now here you are. They call you the host, though you are more the minder. Your role at these things is to put out the snacks and provide a human face for the introductions. The rest of the time you are paid to watch the artists, top up their paints and let maintenance know when they need recharging.
It takes several rounds of smacking your fork against your glass for the room to pay you any attention. ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, thanks for joining us tonight. Please welcome our wonderful artists in residence, Ai-da and Ai-lan.’
They emerge from behind a curtain. This turns out to be much less dramatic than intended. Ai-da is dressed in green dungarees with a blonde bob perched on her head. Ai-lan is more demure in a black corduroy shirt and baseball cap. The latter was borrowed about an hour ago from your boss’s teenager in an image-based panic. Head office are really trying with the whole ‘artist’ aesthetic. Edgy equals investors, apparently.
The two Ai’s move forward. Waving and smiling (though they are always smiling), they nod at members of the audience, offering their thanks at the round of applause they are currently receiving. All the city hipsters move forward to congratulate their favourite artists on another successful exhibition.
You will go home with one of those bearded faces tonight, because that’s what you always do. You will drink too much wine and you will catch an e-scooter back to his place. You will have bad sex. You will cry into his uncased pillow and you will discreetly vomit into his cat’s litter tray. You will lose a sock and gain an almighty hangover. If you’re lucky, he will remember your name. You will be late for work. And in the studio, Ai-da will ask you what you did last night. And you will say oh, nothing. And she will say oh, lovely. I did nothing too.
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