On Free Wifi by Nina Könnemann
On Nina Könnemann’s Free Wifi 3, KW, Berlin
On September 17, 2017 I accompanied a few people to Nina Könnemann’s
Free WiFi 3 at KW, Berlin—an event that might be described as a performance
in the format of live streaming.
A large vertical screen in the proportional shape of a smart phone was hanging
in front of formal rows of chairs. A second, smaller screen could be seen in the right
hand corner of the room. During the event of circa 60 minutes, an unspecified amount
of participants at various unknown locations around the globe (or at least between
Los Angeles and Berlin) with access to free WiFi were logged into an app called
Periscope, and their feeds of live video streaming or typed comments were mixed
in situ by a sort of veejay. The result was projected on the vertical screen in the app-
formatted collage of moving image, speech bubbles, and occasionally animated emojis,
such as floating hearts.
The locations of the participants varied: McDonald’s, outside an Applestore, on the
Staten Island ferry, the shower of a public beach, to name a few. The veejay was present and visible, and on the screen we could see her select from a list of participants named Kekkamak, oddgalloway, or Al Bundance. Other (presumably) off-site commentators were writing messages in the live stream, discussing for instance minimal lifestyle, digital nomadism, or counting napkins. Könnemann herself was at an undisclosed location—participating via Periscope—but without an overview of what we were seeing.
Multiple levels of perception and orientation had to be deciphered: Is this live?
Is this scripted? As a viewer, am I supposed to be entertained? Can I leave a comment?
I want to dissociate
———————-PAUSE 15 SEC
from the money
dissociate from the money
After some time of banal, voyeuristic or surveillance-like scenes and seemingly
unfruitful screen chatter, some people obviously felt duped and left. However,
as time went on, more elements became present, including the Wahrnehmung
of time, space, and the teetering shift between what one might consider staged
or spontaneous, private or public, real or virtual. Tensions played the boundaries
of most viewers’ attention spans, which have become deeply shaped by
constant stimulation of current technological communications.
Live streaming online is first attributed to video-hosting platforms like
YouTube, where it was seen as an internet-based response to live television.
The earliest live stream platform for personal use appears to be Ustream.tv,
founded in 2007, whose developers were inspired by the challenge of American
soldiers stationed in Iraq to communicate with various friends and family
members simultaneously, since their free time and Internet access were limited.
Periscope wasn’t launched until 2015, when it was developed as a sort
of street-journalism or moving image counterpart to Twitter. Since then, live
stream is hosted on any number of platforms.
In her essay, “Inhabiting the Interface: The ‘mixed reality’ of Satellite
Communication,” Kris Paulsen frames a discussion around the new real-time
image of earth broadcasted from the Apollo 8. “You are looking at yourself
from 180,000 miles out in space,” the TV announcer stated. Satellite technology,
both in terms of television and space-race innovation, created the
phenomenon of the so-called live image broadcast. Already in the 1970s,
researchers and companies were seeking to collaborate with artists in exploring
the possibilities of a utopic “global now”, where far reaching locations could
be linked via satellite, which quickly exposed the boundaries of connectivity.
documenta 6, for instance, featured a “world-wide opening,” where three
artists were invited to present a 10-minute program respectively. “Television
is putting itself at the disposal of video art, merely as an instrument of communication,”
the announcer explains. Nam June Paik starts out by placing
an empty TV box over Charlotte Moorman’s head, then a gas mask, a speaker,
as they greet prominent watchers in Boston, New York and Moscow. He goes
on to construct a feedback loop recording of a Buddha, which in the framework
of the broadcast points to the absurdity of technological syntax more so
than the connectivity of disparate parts. He also uses a video camera to play
the piano; technology becomes an awkward replacement of the human hand
while at the same time recording an otherwise unfamiliar viewpoint of the
keyboard. Joseph Beuys, in the following sequence, addresses the audience
much in the way a world leader might speak to a TV audience. In Douglas
Davis’ third segment, the artist actively addresses the interface of the screen
between himself and the viewer, suggesting a participatory exchange, which
makes the immutability of the technological apparatus all the more evident.
He incites frustration as a way to make the viewer a subject, and not a passive
pair of eyes. In Free WiFi, the promise of the live stream, in contrast to
Periscope’s own emphatic suggestion to “discover, what the world sees right
now,” is exposed as a platform for sharing moments of precarious boredom.
The ‘mixed reality’ discussed by Paulsen might also be traced to presatellite
works, such as Originale (1961) by Karlheinz Stockhausen and Mary
Bauermeister, two artists who created events that dissolved boundaries of
performance, music composition, improvisation and performer/audience
role-playing. In Originale, a score laid the framework for progression, however
the participants could freely interpret their own roles, which lead to
interventions. For Free WiFi, Könnemann had certain participants work
from a script, whereas others were given more general cues, and since various
open-access app platforms were used, the chance of the unexpected was
high. This connected both the anxiety and enthusiasm of real time, with the
dramaturgy of composition.
Ich hatte Angst dass ich erwischt wurde. Ich versuchte so unaufällig wie
möglich zu sein, und nie mit jemanden Blickkontakt aufzunehmen. Mc Donald’s,
was kann ich bestellen was langer hält. Dicke Milkshake, große Pommes, Essen
und Technik drum arrangieren. (Milkshake ist hingefallen). Nervösität, rumgefummelt,
Maskerade aufgelöst, aufregend, totally loaded, as if very life were auf
der Bühne – oder wie klauen.
What differentiates free WiFi hotspots from the living room TV zone of
satellite transmission is their connection to public space. When it was first
introduced, and before the average person would carry their own roving hotspot
in the form of a smartphone, free WiFi connections were used to attract potential
customers to, for example, a café. At some point it became clear that this
model of freeloading, two hour long cappuccino-sipping clientele with laptops
were not the most attractive for most businesses. Nowadays, free WiFi is
available most commonly in spaces of public transport, McDonald’s, or other
large corporate stores like ESPRIT where you can access the Internet from
outside if you stand close enough to the store—a sort of egalitarian offering.
It attracts bums.
In the often-read The Practice of Everyday Life (1984), Michel de Certeau
proposes that consumers are not only passive receptacles of capitalist society,
but that they are also producers during their consumption of images or
while shopping at the grocery market. A dilemma is described: “the steadily
increasing expansion of systems (of production) no longer leaves ‘consumers’
any place in which they can indicate what they make or do with the products
of these systems.” Strangely, digital social media formats seem to offer precisely
a highly systemized space for consumers to show what they can make
of them. De Certeau describes “consumption” as “devious, it is dispersed, but
it insinuates itself everywhere, silently and almost invisibly, because it does
not manifest itself through its own products, but rather through its ways of
using the products imposed by a dominant economic order.” And in this
usage, sometimes referred to as syntax, supposedly lies an unforeseen potential.
Nina Könnemann has obviously been interested in these sorts of usages,
if we think of the video where men are relieving themselves behind billboards
(What’s New, 2015), or how smokers seek out their nervous pleasure-spaces in
the anti-smoking cityscape of London (Bann, 2012). And in the music video,
Kraft Unseres Amtes by Söhne Mannheims, directed by Könnemann in 2009,
the bottle collectors who move in the periphery of any city become the central
akteurs in a not-so-functional economy. It is an ambivalent public space
where users ‘make do’.
Free WiFi’s own ambivalent structure is open to ongoing interpretation.
While the original work was developed through a commission by Melanie
Ohnemus as part of an independent project space in Vienna, its later stagings
within institutional environs allowed for alternate framings. The second rendition
at the Brandhorst Museum in Munich, for example, situated the work as
a form of “post-apocalyptic realism.” Its third rendition was a two-city event,
occurring separately but simultaneously at the Centre Pompidou in Paris and
at KW in Berlin. By the time Free WiFi 4 reached Munich’s Pinakothek der
Moderne, it was contextualized within a group show examining the changing
perimeters of photography since the rise of Internet and social media.
As a person who studied art and architecture in the late 90s, this
might sound like a nostalgic interpretation, but I would like to place Nina
Könnemann’s sensibility within Visual Culture,—a field that emerged in a
time when the increasing flows of images were described as something intrusive,
game-changing, or at least noticeable. In contrast to today’s Instagram aesthetic,
where participants willingly post images of themselves and elements
of their lives within a gridded corporate structure for anyone to oogle, the
presence of the apparatus remains palpable as an audience member in Free
WiFi. The viewpoint is from an outward surveillance, sort of an inversion of
the Instagram, self-display mirror position. This enactment of the apparatus
of technological connectivity is one that touches on a perception in which
representation doesn’t slip through the door unnoticed. The proposition that
image-discomfort might be humanistic in that it resists capitalist or technological
totalitarianism by making representation visible is actually a deconstructive
idea. Though Könnemann isn’t suggesting that there is an outside or
an other to the apparatus of representation, one might find different forms of
usage. The artist has mentioned that an app like Periscope makes the user want
to misbehave in some way, like jumping on a bed in Ikea. Which would actually
suggest that a medium could encourage dissidence (at least for a moment).
A friend told me that when going to KW, he wasn’t expecting a performance
but a film. And as audience member, he did indeed feel “out at a shoot.”
Könnemann herself has mentioned her interest in methods used to enhance
the immediacy of video, which leads to the question: Was this a film set?
Könnemann declared that the fourth rendition of Free WiFi at the Pinakothek
in Munich would be the last one. The event took place on the opening night,
when visitors could encounter the live stream, mixed again by Könnemann’s
long-time collaborator, Viola Klein. However, after the opening, the recorded
Periscope streaming became a video that after slight edits was put on continuous
display in a museal black-box environment for the remainder of the exhibition.
This was my second experience of Free WiFi—to watch the footage as
a film—where it became clear that Nina Könnemann is also working with an
aesthetics of the abseits—the backside of representation, which perhaps could
be placed in a minimalist lineage of Slow Cinema (Chantal Akerman, Kelly
Reichardt, Richard Linklater). Free WiFi as a film-installation in a museum,
framed and represented live streaming as a community-manifested investigation
into the fantasy of acts and events.
I would like to thank Nina Könnemann, Melanie Ohnemus, Jakob Schillinger, Helmut Draxler, and Tanja Widmann for chatting about Free WiFi, which significantly added to this report.
-  At first encounter, Free WiFi seems spontaneous, but most of it is actually unfolding according to a screenplay written by Könnemann. ↩
-  See: https://www.cnet.com/news/merry-christmas-mom-ustream-links-soldiers-with-home/ ↩
-  Kris Paulsen, “Inhabiting the Interface: The ‘mixed reality’ of Satellite Communication,” in Here/There: Telepresence, Touch, and Art at the Interface (Cambridge: MIT Press, 2017). ↩
-  Paulsen, ibid. ↩
-  documenta 6, 1977. For a recording of the broadcast, see: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uXujmex7IDo ↩
-  An interesting description of this piece can be found by the dance critic Jill Johnston in “Inside Originale,” Village Voice (Oct. 1, 1964). ↩
-  Comments by a participant of Free WiFi 4 in Munich. ↩
-  Michel de Certeau, The Practice of Everyday Life (Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: University of California Press, 1984). ↩
-  The temporary space Oststation was financed by a local developer and hosted by a group of eight people at a factory in the 10th district of Vienna in 2016. ↩
-  Post Apocalyptic Realism, a series of presentations and talks at the Brandhorst Museum, Munich, from March 17 to April 1, 2017, curated by Tanja Widmann and Tonio Kröner.“The fiction of the post-apocalypse is articulated in the architectures and usages of space present throughout, as well as the type of images taken by the app […] It’s a liminal time, made tangible in Free WiFi also during the process of viewing.” (Tanja Widman) ↩
-  “Fotografie Heute: Private Public Relations,” 15.06.2018 – 07.10.2018, curated by Melanie Bühler. ↩
-  The Visual Culture Reader, ed. Nicholas Mirzoeff (London and New York: Routledge, 1998), is still worth a visit. ↩
-  I would like to contrast this with Sabeth Buchmann’s discussion of Anne Imhof’s Faust in a recent essay titled “Feedback: Performance in the Evaluation Society,” Texte zur Kunst, no. 110 (June 2018), but this is beyond my present abilities. ↩