[This interview was completed in the fall 2000 for the online+print
exhibition ON OFF at afsnitp.dk and in the printed magazine Hvedekorn,
both based in Copenhagen, Denmark (http://www.afsnitp.dk/onoff/). Issues
touched upon are: the role of programming in creation and appreciation
of net art, the market value of net art, the (art) history of
programming, the (non)physicality of the net, and the formal and
political dimensions of net art.]

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3


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Andreas Broegger: I would like to begin by asking your view about net
art in relation to painting, first of all because I know you used to be
a painter as well as a computer programmer, secondly because you often
speak of a certain painterly dimension in your net art projects.

Mark Napier: Art works best when it is interesting both conceptually and
visually. The Shredder is a good example of a project that has both a
conceptual and visual dimension. I spent a lot of time tweaking the
aesthetics of the layers of output text and graphics. I wanted the
shredded page to be variable, somewhat random, but still have a
structure that would create a visual balance and flow.

I enjoy the visual quality of graphics on the computer screen, the
luminosity of colors, the hard edges and the atmospheric blurs that come
out of distorted and pixelated computer graphics. There's a painterly
side to the medium that I want to explore further.

The web interface has capabilities that go beyond painting though. In
net art the artwork can move. It can change and evolve over time, which
creates a whole other dimension to this art form that just doesn't exist
in painting. In Pulse I spent a lot of time looking at how colors can
evolve over time, how the mood and character of a series of colors can
change and take on new qualities. That piece sets up certain color
qualities, color areas that pulse at different rates. Once the visitor
interacts with the piece they activate the color areas and the rest
cannot be predicted exactly. I created a potential for color
relationships, but the visitor actually triggers when and how the colors
will unfold. I don't control the final outcome of the piece.

And that's the fun of software: it can create results that I didn't plan
on.. Software can combine a simple set of rules to create a complex
result, that can go in directions that I can't predict, even though I
made it. To a software developer (my day job) unpredictable behavior
usually means bugs, and gives me headaches, but as an artist I often
prefer the unplanned results. In painting the medium can do things that
I can't predict as well, but once the paint dries, that's it. The image
is static.

AB: To push an analogy between painting and your current work could one
consider <tags> to be equivalent to the painter's brushes, and the
values in the tags as equivalent to the paint? In both cases the object
produced with the two aspects - tags/values and brush/paint respectively -
cannot be deduced from these two generalized aspects in themselves, only
from their specific combination.

MN: In any medium the object produced can't be predicted by looking at
the tools and materials of the medium. This is true of software
languages, as well as paint and canvas, charcoal and paper – that's
what makes these tools so powerful and so attractive to creative people.
This is also true of language: an alphabet and a grammar can produce
endless combinations of words and sentences.

I don't agree that painting and software code compare so directly
though. The two media are completely different. Paint is a physical
fluid that is directly controlled by hand. Software code is a language
(of sorts) that is controlled through a computer interface. A painting
is a static physical object. Software is more like a machine with moving
parts, or a piece of music.

AB: Do you find these comparisons between net art and "traditional art
forms" meaningful and productive, or does it more often lead to a
reductive view of what net art is?

MN: Comparisons are useful when they serve to create something. Most
often comparisons between net art and traditional media end up saying
that net art is "better" or "worse" than traditional forms. Neither
judgment makes sense.

AB: To what extent do you think the creative dimension of net art
resides (or should reside) in the coding itself?

MN: What I do requires a strong knowledge of code, because I like to
create unusual effects that challenge assumptions about how the web
works. Like "shredding" a page, or merging separate pages (i.e. RIOT).
To do that I have to work around the restrictions the browser imposes,
and that means working closely with code.

Knowing how the code works gives me access to more of what the medium
has to offer. With Java and Javascript I can create visual effects that
the folks at Macromedia never put into Flash and Dreamweaver. For the
kind of art I make, this knowledge is essential. I'm always learning
more about how the technology works.

But there is no one way to be creative, and not all net art necessarily
relies on coding. Conceptual work can make a point just through html.
What concerns me are the curators and critics that are ignorant of
technology, and make decisions about net art without understanding how
the artwork fits into a bigger picture of the technology environment.

AB: You have previously spoken about a certain "secret" aspect in
programming, a part of the code that you would usually like to keep for
yourself, because it holds the key to how you created the piece. Perhaps
you would explain this further?

MN: There are two aspects to producing a software application. There is
the 'code' which may look something like this:

if (ns4 == true) {

this.x = this.css.left

this.y = this.css.top

}

and there is the actual 'binary' or machine language which may look
something like this (if you ever manage to see it on screen, which is
rare):