The Virtual Space Theory

A question which often comes up regarding The Virtual Space Theory is its relation to abstract art. In order to establish the foundation for future discussions of such matters, this relatively theoretical post will attempt to first clarify the term ‘abstract’. Similar to the term ‘virtual’, the term ‘abstract’ comes up in many contexts; it is a recurring term in art-related discussions, yet tends to have quite a few different meanings. In this post I will differentiate between four such meanings of ‘abstract’, emphasize alternative terms that can be used for maintaining a distinction between them, and point out how The Virtual Space Theory mainly uses this term. Paintings by Wassily Kandinsky, the abstract painting pioneer, will provide most of the examples in this discussion.

Abstract as meaning ‘distilled’

Over a hundred years ago, when painters started to gradually let go of the centuries-old tradition of making paintings that try to look like the physical world, many alternative forms of painting were explored. One of these alternatives was to paint objects that might also exist in the physical world, but without trying to present them in full detail. Rather, such paintings aim at conveying the sense of their painted objects in a simplified or distilled form, trying to capture their characteristic essence rather than their correct visual appearance. Consequently, this distillation often meant that the sense of space created by the painting was lost as well, or at least challenged. An example of this is Kandinsky’s painting Moscow I.

Abstract as meaning ‘non-identifiable’

Another direction explored by artists was to make painted objects that are not quite identifiable. Such paintings employed many of the techniques of traditional painting, only that they did not do so in order to create objects that stand for ones that also exist in the physical world, but rather what might look like nameless blobs (which may only hint at something identifiable). And yet, using the terminology of The Virtual Space Theory, such paintings may still create virtual places in virtual space – except that the visual contents that are seen in the image’s space are non-identifiable. An example of this is Kandinsky’s painting White Line.

Abstract as meaning ‘non-pictorial’

Yet another form of painting which artists increasingly engaged in during the 20th century was to let go of making any kind of objects in space whatsoever – whether they are optically accurate, distilled, or non-identifiable. Instead, the focus was on making the canvas a visual object in itself. From the point of view of The Virtual Space Theory, the designated task or mode of such form of painting has shifted: it is no longer the creation of a virtual place to be seen through the painting, but rather the production of a flat pattern to be seen on the surface of the painting. As seen in Kandinsky’s Little Game, the result is still an image, but more precisely, it is a non-pictorial image.

Abstract as meaning ‘non-concrete’

This is the primary use of the term ‘abstract’ by The Virtual Space Theory, and unlike the previously mentioned ones, it refers to the image as a physical object in itself rather than to the visual contents seen in it. Due to technological developments over the centuries, our ability to see the virtual place of a pictorial image became gradually less bound to the physical object of the canvas on which it was originally painted. Ever more sophisticated techniques of mechanical reproduction have now reached the point that this physicality has been reduced to bits of data and an array of colored pixels. They are physical too, just not as concrete as layers of paint on a sheet of canvas are. This is the topic of an elaborate discussion in the book, but the main point here is that as a physical object, the image has become much less concrete, and much more abstract.

In many cases, of course, it is not so easy to determine in which of the above senses a painting may be abstract: distilled, non-identifiable, non-pictorial, and non-concrete forms of abstraction may often overlap, yet it is still useful to be able to tell them apart. This painting by James Whistler, for example, is highly distilled (it tries to capture only the essence of things), its contents are hardly identifiable (it is difficult to say what is painted in it), and it is on the verge of being non-pictorial (it is nearly just a flat pattern on a surface). And by the way, as you are watching it on your computer screen, it is also non-concrete (what you are looking at is not the physical object of the painting).

To the next post in this series…

Music videos are not always necessarily focused on the music’s performers, who sometimes use the video as an opportunity to provide a short cinematic experience in its own right. Its visual contents may be related to the lyrics, music, or atmosphere of the song, or it may present a theme that is important to the musicians, or it may even follow some totally unrelated idea. In either of these cases, the making of a music video sometimes involves the creation of new places altogether. The following is a collection of a few prime examples, some of which might best be watched in full-screen mode.

The first example is the brand new music video for Massive Attack’s recent song Splitting the Atom. Even though this blog is not a news blog, it is still a pleasure to occasionally be able to also include fresh creations in the discussion. In this case, a highly stylized visual depiction of a city, presenting intense action in a frozen moment, in which nearly the only visual dynamics are the evolving view angles that we are provided in order to witness it:

Whereas the above example is wholly based on digital production techniques, the following example is a reminder that other techniques remain just as valid. The music video of Muse’s song Uprising creates a city with its own disaster scenario (as well as its own monsters), but this time using the technique of filming a physical scale-model:

In the next example, the music video of DB Boulevard’s Point of View creates a city using a highly imaginative play on production techniques. It is made purely with computer graphics, and yet it uses these tools to give the impression that it was filmed using a scale-model made of pieces of cardboard. Even more interesting is that the character of the city – although made to reflect contemporary urban environments –clearly also incorporates its actual cardboard nature:

Finally, the visual contents of the music video of Goldfrapp’s Twist may not be quite urban, yet it presents a fascinating journey through a whole range of inventive places at different scales, unfolding before our eyes on a continuous roller-coaster ride. Shall we go on another round?

Since pop music is largely an urban culture, it is no surprise that many music videos use an urban setting within which to present their music performers. In most cases, the urban location is presented in the context of a straightforward documentation, as if we were witnessing the music being performed right then and there. Perhaps the most extreme example of this is the award-winning music video of U2’s Where The Streets Have No Name, which is a filmed performance of that song on a Los Angeles rooftop (and a tribute to The Beatles’ live performance of Let it Be on a London rooftop nearly twenty years earlier):

In some cases, however, the urban environment seen in a music video is not quite a documentation of a physical city – it has undergone some form of transformation. Technically speaking, the filming may have still taken place in an actual city, but what we see in the music video has been visually manipulated so as to create the experience of a new place which can no longer be considered quite the same city. As the following examples demonstrate, the extent to which such urban transformations occur may vary, and so do the techniques used to achieve them.

The music video of Cornelius’s Point of View Point shows a relatively mild transformation that is achieved mostly through the editing of the video, its manipulation of the sense of time, and its synchronization with the music:

The music video of Lauryn Hill’s Everything is Everything shows a transformation that is primarily that of context: the city streets are transformed into the grooves of a spinning record. This is achieved through image manipulations and the overlaying of additional elements, but its success is in making even the unchanged images appear to belong to this transformation just as well:

Finally, the music video of Robbie Williams’s My Culture, which is the most architecturally interesting one, is primarily a transformation of content. That is, the urban elements filmed on location are playfully rearranged into a new composition, resulting in a different place altogether:

If you know of additional examples of urban transformations that were not mentioned here (or other interesting music videos)… you are welcome to make suggestions!

Film stars do not necessarily always have to be actors – they can also be places. Paris and New York, for example, are very popular film stars, having appeared in countless films. Usually the film role of such places is to just ‘act’ as themselves, though sometimes they can play a different ‘character’, such as in the example of Berlin which was mentioned in a previous post.

In some rare cases, even a single house or a building can be a film star. This is the case of the Ennis House in Los Angeles, which was designed and completed in 1924 by Frank Lloyd Wright, America’s prominent 20th-century architect. Its most famous film appearance is as Deckard’s apartment in Blade Runner (Ridley Scott, 1982). In the film, this hilltop house assumes the role of a futuristic 97th-floor apartment:

This example demonstrates one of the design approaches taken by filmmakers for creating virtual places: redefining a physical place. In other words, a film is shot in an already existing physical place, possibly with some local modifications to suit the needs of the film. More importantly, it is then presented in a context which makes it appear like another place altogether. Technically, such as in the case of the Ennis House, the production process may also involve a stage-set version of the house, which eases design modifications as well as the placement of lighting and cameras. And yet the principle remains the same: a new virtual place in a film has been created based on an existing physical place.

The Ennis House has also starred in a long list of other films, TV commercials, and music videos, and has assumed various roles. Over the years, however, it became such an iconic film star house, that – similar to some human film stars – its real value is no longer just in its ability to act, but simply in ‘gracing the screen with its presence’. In the examples that follow, then, the house is presented unchanged, starring mostly in the role of its own self – Hollywood’s uninhabited film star house.

A series of TV commercials for Obsession by Calvin Klein, directed by David Lynch:

Music videos for Ricky Martin’s song Vuelve, and S Club 7’s song Have You Ever (and no, these videos do not represent my musical taste ):