Jason Spingarn-Koff's <a href="/cgi/to.cgi?t=1247">recent
commentary</a> on the Ars Electronica '98 festival set me thinking.
Particularly, Spingarn-Koff raves about the shock of riding a train through
one of Linz's steel mills, as contrasted to the comparatively weak
experiences of the festival's other immersive installations: "The scale,
complexity, and brutality of the steel mine are beyond words…The smell of
burnt earth and chemicals; the rusty pipes, chutes, and towers snaking
toward the horizon…"

To him, the mill suggests possibilities for net artists to render physical
and/or sensual the complexity of the Net itself. As he writes: "The
complexity and vastness of the web alone should overshadow a typical,
early 20th century steel mill." And he's right.

The problem is, the net belongs to a degree of complexity beyond that
which is humanly comprehensible. The steel mill is impressive not only
because it's vast, but also because it's small enough that we can grasp
just how vast it is. From a single vantage point, we can make out both the
whole -and- the parts which create it: it's the collision between these
two levels of experience that leaves a physical impression. But this
simply isn't possible with the net. Once we begin to see the physical
system in its entirety, we can't make out the details anymore. It's just
too big.

Spingarn-Koff's final paragraph is certainly an inspiring one: "To net
artists it may also suggest an interesting challenge: how to represent the
magnitude and complexity of networked data in a tangible, even sensual
way?" But I've seen a few installations which do attempt just that. And it
doesn't work. I'm not left impressed, I'm left confused.

As I'm sure we all know by now, research indicates that Internet use leads
to increased depression, loneliness, and general ennui. Why is this?
Nobody knows for sure, yet, but I'm certain one reason is exactly what's
outlined above: the net is huge. And while you can always make it smaller
by hanging out in your own little chat rooms or mailing lists, the
reminder of scale is constantly there. Hyperlinks jump up leading to
companies and products you've never heard of, and wish you never had. Surf
for a while and site after site after site passes by, with no end in
sight. It's depressing. By surfing we're looking in the eyes how small we
really are.

So yes, one challenge for net artists is to represent this issue of size
sensually. But it's the least interesting one, I think: the net does that
aptly simply by being what it is. A much bigger challenge is the opposite
task: to scale down the net, strip away all the trappings of information
overload and show what's really hiding under all those infinite layers of
electronics and wire. Small, tribal beings who are deathly afraid of this
thing they've brought to life.

The millions of miles of cables are simply there, like the earth itself.
The question is: how do we cope with the fact that a simple web of
electronics is bigger than we are? Now -that's- an interesting challenge.