My house walk-through: the internet as site of exhibition
(in a medium of one's own)

There was once an apartment,
Once I was there.
A place for me to sleep,
Though it wasn't mine, and I didn't.
It was once twenty-sixteen, and I was that age but two thousand,
Once a friend was leaving, and it is true,
He left for good.He carried my friends and I, before his own journey, return-less,
Beyond his mother's flat, floating, wait-less,
To a liminal space
(one now groaningly calls it);
Caught between nations, colonial niceties,
Between two sides of a family,
Between the distinction,
Between content and art,
Some years before the distinction,
Ossified to none.To hide our fear,
We heightened it,
Yelling/screaming/caught,
In the death throes of adolescence.

Seven years later, the video returned to me. Nestled in the corner of a rented bedroom, limbs unnaturally aligned in propped-up foetal-laptop position. Our reunion was filtered by change, as I introduced myself again, this time equipped with forty thousand dollars worth of debt and critical thinking. I asked it questions, the material of which I could not handle and shape back then.

The video is wet and oblique. It opens to the glare of a flashlight, and a deep red floor. A typhoon is in Japan, it reads in English and Japanese. We follow the camera's gaze, as it guides us through the narrator's ravaged abode. Slain tatami, peeling paper and wood provide just-discernible structure to a formless, low-resolution void. There is no music, and we hear the clicking and whirring of the camera, the incessant white noise of rain. Down the hallway, take care to notice the doll room, the alter [sic] and faded ancestral portraits. The bathroom, with cracked blue tile and gently throbbing light, like a churning scanner digitising a stack of images. He hears a sutra. Soon we hear that rhymthic chanting too, an accompaniment to his patterned speech. Through the fusama door, which is frayed and discoloured, almost fungal. A horizontal slide and squeak of wood, so abrupt as to cause us to tighten in anticipation of a fright which never comes.Down the corridor again. The same sights, described differently. This house has the floor plan of an Escher sketch. The same hallway extends out ad infinitum, with some new elements, and the same described differently. We are frustratingly restricted in vision, squinting in the dark space, illuminated only by the slow-moving flashlight. There is a typhoon in Japan, we are reminded.The rooms look less and less pleasant. Red spots splatter a room scattered with the narrator's grandmother's clothing. We are reassured they are not bloodstains, but holes borne from insects.
Soon we find the Hina Doll Room again, now covered in a layer of fibre; sinuous; translucent; crimson. The next time we see the bathroom, the bath is draped in that same fleshy material, as we tilt to reveal the frozen splayed corpse sitting in it, cracking metal foley in accompaniment. This is his grandfather, the text nonchalantly reads. The video concludes with a final trip down the now-familiar hallway, consumed in papier-mâché cobweb, a nightmare enveloped in scarlet.

My house walk-through (2016) is a 12 minute video work by a pseudonymous artist, interchangeably named nana825763 or PiroPito. He is Japanese, living in Kanagawa Prefecture. By the appropriate site-specific nomenclature, he is a YouTuber, one who posts videos to the 18-year old video sharing platform. So why does this, and so much of his other intermittent appearances on the internet, feel so incongruous with what one expects from the platform of the vlog-gaming-family-commentary-prank-fail-singalong? This analysis seeks to discern a piece of digital content's status and value in artistic terms, especially in an environment which is predominantly disposable, quotidian, and audience-oriented.It might be tempting to speak in terms of the internet as public space. An obvious analogy could be constructed, given that we travel through webspace in a routine manner, not dissimilar to our passage through the world. Being-in-the-internet is to recognise that particular spaces denote particular expectations of behaviour, and that certain furnishings will be found in one arena but not another. To enter www.netflix.com is to enter a cinema or television room, whilst www.wikipedia.com could hardly be assumed to likewise screen feature-length films and multi-season sitcoms. The latter is a digital realm much closer to a library. A site for news publication is different still, similarly containing chunks of informative text while certainly less encycloapedic than its library equivalent.YouTube is a more difficult space to decipher. It is difficult to read the space as a gallery or site of exhibition, even though it may be readily used for such purposes. Even if it was, the works within would still be poised at a significant disadvantage. Research into online exhibition practices reveals that physical works are generally 'more arousing, positive, interesting and liked, and also better rememembered, by viewers compared to the computer presentation' [1]. It is also true that the established parameters of the YouTube environment, as intended by its architects, have repeatedly been tested - rendering the space more and more amorphous. When users began to illegally upload pirated films, this was an intervention into a space intended for self-recorded videos. These were cracked down upon, but not so when creators expanded their narrative sense into more ambitious territory, producing feature films of their own. Eventually, Alphabet-owned, Google-owned Youtube would be directly funding such projects, from documentaries to scripted series. But of course, residing within the hundreds of thousands of hours worth of video uploaded each day, there is a loaded preference for trash.The digital-physical analogy only extends so far. In the world, transitional spaces are abundant. They may be otherwise referred to as 'non-spaces' - holding environments between points of departure and arrival, such as airports, lobbies, in private vehicles and on public transportation [2]. In the electronic super-highway, one materialises from one space to another, with no link in the chain of transport. In a split-second, sometimes back-and-forth, one must adapt to the norms and customs of a wholly disparate space and culture. In the world, public speech remains relatively stable, while private speech shifts. But failing to code-switch between a 4-chan shit-post, the Facebook announcement for a company's recent merger, or a YouTube community post about a delayed second-channel vlog, is to fatally misunderstand the scope of spatial and demographic difference on the internet. In the confines of one nation's public spaces, there is a distinctly singular domination of the public space by its urban institutions. As public-facing artists reveal, the idea that the public space is one conceived and sustained by the will of the people is an unfortunate illusion.Internet space shares environmental features with the world, but it is not only space, it is also a medium. If we understand Marshall McLuhan's definition to be true (and I may need five more or five less years of critical thinking education to confidently say otherwise), then the two are already intertwined; the medium is the environment - with all that resides within being its content [3]. As each website and platform has its own distinct architecture, they also possess disinctive mediating possibilities, and must be understood as individual media rather than the internet being the singular and all-encompassing medium. My house walk-through, found on YouTube, exists on a platform that is not known and predominantly used for art. In fact, a cursory glance at PiroPito's own channel reveals that amongst other experimental video works, sits over one hundred episodes of a Minecraft playthrough.

This is not the case, however, on the platform Vimeo, which is associated with a higher quality, artist-oriented selection of short films and video work.

Notice the emphasis on large thumbnails over the clean white backdrop, the Japanese titling, the lack of ancillary content. My house walk-through exists here too, in an environment instinctually more reminiscent of a gallery space. Does this affect how we might engage with the content itself, does it prime us for a particular viewing experience? The version on YouTube, a disposable mouthful amongst a smörgåsbord of junk food; the Vimeo version, otherwise identical, a delicate course in a dégustation, one worthy of high-minded critique.Speaking of, we might question the critic's role in all this, and address the understandable confusion at this serious-minded approach to a YouTube video. Especially as the scant media that surrounds it lies in "reaction videos" by popular creators on the same platform. Whilst revealing of the video's entertainment value, these contain all the depth and insight of an episode of Gogglebox.The critic shares a relationship with the artist, sometimes decried as parasitic, an attempt to associate onself with the thoughtful creative work of another, or to tear it down. It is a reductionist view, misinterpreting a relationship which is fundamentally symbiotic. The critic is an institution, one which fosters appreciation for and understanding of art. For better or worse, the critic enables the general public to build up their artistic sensibility and reveal new ways of viewing and articulating. Indeed, without the critic, art is merely content, consumable, digested without public thought. They provide a professional enthusiasm that allows discussion to flourish. But much of what exists on internet platforms is unheeded and unrecognised by established critics, curators, and tastemakers. As such, the responsibility falls to the unverified masses of commenters.

These micro-critiques offer a basis for understanding and community approval. Sometimes they charitably provide a much-needed contextual summary for the work.

They might even incorporate techniques of film criticism, using reason to describe its effectiveness.

Other times, the comments simply parrot someone's instinctual reaction and desire to praise...

Or demean.

Or provide social commentary.

Sometimes they are not worth reading at all.

Having this open space for feedback can articulate a communal appreciation, without a seasoned critic or institution around to do so. Yet, there is a visceral detraction of value that comes with this adjacent forum.This may be the leftover snobbishness accrued through gallery-going, but prestige might be eroded in this open caucus. We seem inclined to deride work that on its own volition has amassed acclaim from millions, while admiring work that has been decreed artistically important by a singular arbiter of taste. It might be time to declare this tendency fallacious - given that the outpouring of thoughtful appreciation in the comments of My house walk-through points to an attuned audience within the internet space, able to discern and decipher artistic ability.The casualised environment may be the gateway drug for such confident lay opinions. In the context of a virtual exhibition by an institution, a viewer may be inclined to negatively evaluate a work based on their own aesthetic fluency, temperament and expertise [4]. If someone feels intimidated by or sceptical of the art establishment, they may be harsher upon its works, wheeling out the my-niece-could-have-done-that rhetoric. It is the unexpected appearance of an instinctually moving work which brings PiroPito's video acclaim. A user is inspired to reveal their aesthetic abilities, borne from their digital literacy and recognition of a spatial outlier.

But back to the content of this container. My house walk-through - what can we say about it? What gap of criticism can we fill in, that the people have not, and that the overseers have felt unworthy of providing? What can one say about this enigmatic artist? Even his bio fails to satisfy the contemporary criterion of commercial self-description.

His other work puts his visions into broader view. Perhaps "DREAM CHAOS INSANE" is more helpful a description than one would think. Apart from the subject of this analysis, there are countless films on his page, all sharing a similar low-res, lo-fi swatch of reds and blacks, dense with pixelated detail.

His works utilise stop-motion, traditional and three-dimensional animation, digital manipulation of various kinds. His images are never static; they are alive with disorder, layers of obfuscation plastered over anything remotely representational, until we are submerged in a deluge of digitae. One is reminded of McLuhan's interpretation of Cubism, a movement which sought attention to be paid to its medium and construction [5]. While some of PiroPito's work mimics analogue processes - in some cases one feels they are looking down the barrel of a kinetoscope - the viewer is ever-aware of digital manipulation.In this way, PiroPito exists in a now decades-long tradition of internet art. For the avowed net artist, the intention is to deconstruct, reform and represent our environment, which is continually 'intercepted by information technology' [6]. Mass media usage elicits change not just in our habits, but in our perceptive tendencies, in accordance with a medium's particular affect [7]. The artist however is able to go from 'just internalizing these conditions', to 'thematizing them' [8]. Much as expanded cinema artists explored the possibilities of film, transmuting it from narrative to event, net artists take a medium of entertainment and also utility, and reveal its material substance [9]. As grain is to film, the pixel and its circulation is to the digital screen, and its possibilities are examined and expanded by artists making for the web.YouTube, as hub of overly personal, networked content, also becomes the subject of PiroPito's work. The context is not an unfortunate detriment to the piece, but inherent to its makeup. The piece is titled and framed as if it were another of the innumerable house tour videos one finds on the site. It's a convention of the platform, a trope beside the face reveal and apology video. My house walk-through is not misplaced in an arena of vapidity, its surreal content is placed in that container. This is for both shocking juxtaposition - to recognise the unreality of oversharing online - and to interrupt the typhoon of homogenous content. Linda Stone's conception of 'continuous partial attention' is a disease incubated on the video streamer [10]. In case the side panel of endless recommendations wasn't sufficient, the artist clutters his channel with unassuming Minecraft content, another platform staple, providing another bridge from the expected to the unexpected. 'Art as anti-environment becomes more than ever a means of training perception and judgement' [11] - if one arrives at the video expecting a traditional house tour, their shock might shatter their otherwise complacent attitude to content. Perhaps when we next watch our favourite online father of five, showing off his Fort Lauderdale palace and his exploited children, we will find that equally strange and horrific. It is not dissimilar from what artist Amalia Ulman undertook in her 2014 online performance Excellences & Perfections. By mimicking tropes of celebrity and amateur behaviour on Instagram, she was able to amass followers on a profile despite it being entirely contrived and parodic [12]. By successfully copying and later subverting convention, the artist is able to reveal the absurdity of accepted practices.The video's place on the internet, and its displacement from the traditional gallery space, might now seem less bemusing. PiroPito defies easy explanations, unless his proclamation that he 'love[s] unconscious' is sufficient for you. However the value of his work can be better understood when placed in the still-developing tradition of expanded internet art, as defined by Ceci Moss. It is a time when the already-amorphous image has lost all meaning and grounding, when 'something can be a jpeg online, what is it when you print it out and put it up in a gallery?' [13] The artist is confronted with a difficult decision. One could retreat to the safe confines of the museum, and continue the traditional pursuit of beauty. But there is opportunity to turn attention on the problem, on the still-nascent utilities and media within internet space, seeking and depicting its landscapes, as the great painters once did. So enveloped in media, our personal, professional, intellectual and social lives so intertwined with its makeup, it is the artist who is capable of waking us from our digital slumber. They can be the spark of insight, making us gaze anew at the virtual tools in our hands, of which we have so recklessly made ourselves inseperable.

Time to go home,
They holler when well past the door.

References
[1] Świerczyńska-Kaczor, Urszula, Creating an online art exhibition: The impact of online context on the Internet user’s experience and behaviour, (The Jan Kochanowski University, 2015), 225.
[2] Christou, Elisavet, "Art Exhibition Online: A Condition," in EXCESSIVE RESEARCH, (Digital Aesthetics Research Center, 2016), 13.
[3] McLuhan, Marshall, Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man (Corte Madera: Gingko Press, 2013), ProQuest eBook Central.
[4] Świerczyńska-Kaczor, Urszula, Creating an online art exhibition: The impact of online context on the Internet user’s experience and behaviour, (The Jan Kochanowski University, 2015), 228.
[5] McLuhan, Marshall, Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man (Corte Madera: Gingko Press, 2013), ProQuest eBook Central.
[6] Moss, Ceci, Expanded Internet Art: Twenty-First-Century Artistic Practice and the Informational Milieu, (New York: Bloomsbury Academic, Bloomsbury Publishing Inc, 2019), 10.
[7] McLuhan, Marshall, Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man (Corte Madera: Gingko Press, 2013), ProQuest eBook Central.
[8] Moss, Ceci, Expanded Internet Art: Twenty-First-Century Artistic Practice and the Informational Milieu, (New York: Bloomsbury Academic, Bloomsbury Publishing Inc, 2019), 10.
[9] Bubb, Jeremy, Back to the future: Multi-image screen narrative in a digital age, (Journal of Media Practice (Volume 13 Number 1, 2012), 59.
[10] Bubb, Jeremy, Back to the future: Multi-image screen narrative in a digital age, (Journal of Media Practice, Volume 13 Number 1, 2012), 47.
[11] McLuhan, Marshall, Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man (Corte Madera: Gingko Press, 2013), ProQuest eBook Central.
[12] Christou, Elisavet, "Art Exhibition Online: A Condition," in EXCESSIVE RESEARCH, (Digital Aesthetics Research Center, 2016), 13.
[13] Leckey, Mark in Moss, Ceci, Expanded Internet Art: Twenty-First-Century Artistic Practice and the Informational Milieu, (New York: Bloomsbury Academic, Bloomsbury Publishing Inc, 2019), 9.

Written by Ira Friedberg on the lands of the Gadigal and Wangal.
He can be found here.