The traffic is heavy, but I persist, timing is almost crucial but then again, I’m not sure who would know, especially looking back on what took place.
The street looms near, I park cautiously, the street is renowned for vehicles doing all manner of crazy things, too many businesses and not enough room for trucks cars and such.
Late spring, it’s cool, still, but today the weather is meant to pick up.
The gallerist, Lauren, is just arriving. The Director should be here soon.
Pleasantries exchanged, they are excited to be part of this project, fully briefed after yesterday’s delivery and initial placement of items.
As a well-known performance artist by default, I am now poised to shatter some notional concepts about known things. Okay, maybe not, but that’s all part of the facade, one might say.
Currently 10:30, gallery to open to the public from 11.
The front entrance door propped open, I am unsure that’s a good move. We discuss, it’s closed again but left unlocked.
We check the sound system after the lights are put on in half the gallery.
The rear section is left dark and has been painted in a charcoal grey.
The long gallery has simple bench seating, which has been brought in for the event.
Along the floor is a long line of tape; the audience is meant to stay behind the line. After the last event I performed at, there were one or two ‘wiry’ art students who wanted to interject and cross the line. The whole thing stopped as they were invited to leave.
To access the gallery there is a corridor, you head to the end of that and the big space opens up for all to see.
The sound system is set up to play a soundscape created with a simple sound app called ‘Trope’, created ages ago by Brian Eno. I love it. There are two speakers at either end of the room, left and right channels. We played with it yesterday, and the sounds are just fine.
Currently there are a pile of pieces of timber, these are offcuts, that have been cut down to uniform length, these have been carefully collected from a couple of companies who produce timber house frames. For a fee they even cut the timber to our specified size. On chatting to them about it I realised there would be some pieces under the specified size but these could also be cut to a specified smaller size.
Four hundred of those, please, then two thousand of the other. I was very specific. It fitted with a mathematical principle I had explored around the golden mean. Mind you, I was never good with numbers, so I’m not sure how well it fitted the golden mean maths principles. Experience said that mentioning the golden mean in any written material about an artwork always garnered some interest.
Delivered early yesterday we had a bunch of assistants with barrows who wheeled the timber pieces into place. A large circle of black material marked where they had to go, the large pieces moved more to the middle of the room and the small pieces well back toward the front door with a gap in between them.
The pieces had been delivered to a factory two weeks beforehand, each piece had any sharp edges sanded, the small pieces were then painted in a mid tone grey, the bigger pieces in a black.
They were laid out to dry and carefully counted to ensure the numbers were right.
Each day the pieces were checked to ensure they were fully dry and re-inspected in case any pieces were not up to standard.
They were then counted out in groups and put into clear plastic bags.
Each part of the process had been photographed and videoed, and a suitable video was created. Actually there were four videos created, three for promotional purposes and one to project in the gallery. The promo ones were put on various social media and on the gallery’s website.
There was much fanfare and interest from local media, I had even been interviewed by a local TV station by their weather outdoor broadcast team. I explained how the performance would work, gave a demonstration and then they faded to the weather. The social media on one site went nuts, people saying it was a load of crap. The gallery Director loved it and expected a good crowd.
Out the front of the gallery was a bouncer and ‘door bitch’ the bouncer was to hand out tickets on a paper roll, and the door bitch was to collect the tickets and put them in a bin. It was all ceremonial and another visual device based on absurdity to ‘rattle’ or intrigue the viewers. Two red velvet ropes on golden supports like the ones you might see in cinema added to the entry way drama
People would then be let in, and could then walk down to the main gallery area, and sit. We would time each group, so they had a max of three and a half minutes viewing time. Again this fitted with the mathematics mentioned earlier.
I had an assistant to help with the work, he was to be dressed all in white. Alex, he would only be used for the first day of the three week exhibition. There would also be a video group photographing and filming to create even more online material that would go up onsite to show activity from afar.
Me, I was dressed in all black.
A Chat with Edmund the gallery director, the door people were in place, Alex and the video guys were now in place. It was time.
No matter what, we had to start on time and proceed as planned.
I had instructed Alex how things would go and yesterday we had a ‘dry run’, Next to the big pile of black timber off cuts was a small table, Alex would pick up two pieces of timber and place them on the table, I would then collect the pieces one by one and ‘lob’ them down to the other end of the gallery to create a random pile of timber, every so often Alex would put a single piece from the smaller pile of timber and it would be ‘piffed’ into a random position.
Mind you I was aiming for the middle of a set area at the end of the gallery.
My practice runs had indicated that an underarm throw would be the best for physical endurance with the larger pieces, so I went with that. Then the smaller pieces could be readily handled with an overarm throw.
Each throw and carefully weighted ‘lob’, the sound of the piece landing I considered part of the poly-sensural experience.
At the end of the space near the front door is a small table with a water bottle on it, Lauren is to replenish that as the day goes on.
The gallery door opened, support staff in place, I was ready to begin.
My steps to the ‘throwing point’ were measured and loosely marched, I am dressed in the obligatory all black, after all it is Melbourne and I am ‘by default’ an artist.
I nod to Alex to commence, the video guys have the projection system rolling in the background and are filming my throws. I know it’s going to be a long process and I need to measure out my endurance.
The first piece is thrown, then the next and so on. After half an hour the pile at the other end is a scattered pile of black and grey timbers.
Two people arrive and stand watching, one of them sits for a while and observes. After a minute or barely two, they leave.
Alex was surprised, I wasn’t. The art world is a fickle beast, artists nail their hearts to the wall and encounter more obstacles than people care to know about.
Ten minutes later a group of five people arrive, then another six, followed closely by three. They manage to stay for three or four minutes, walking up and down watching the pieces land at the other end of the gallery and then watching Alex and I up close as I ‘pif’ and ‘lob’ timber.
Then for what seemed the longest time, there was no one. Most of the pile had been ‘dispensed’. We took a break and if anyone was to arrive we could start again in an instant.
Lauren had been busy posting images online of the ‘live event’ on youtube. There were no live viewers even though Edmund had let people know when these videos would start.
The door guys were finished up, thanks very much and we got back into action. Alex and I had a discussion after a while on the sounds created as the timber fell into place. We noted the difference of the sound for the pieces in the distance as opposed to the pieces landing closer in.
By lunchtime we had moved all the pieces in a slow methodical process. My arm was starting to feel the effect of each ‘pif’ into the distance.
The website had a definition on it for the term ‘pif’ meaning to throw. Just in case people got confused.
After lunch we moved Alex’s small table down the gallery where we would repeat the process. Over lunch the video guys had filmed the first pile of timber using drones set to precisely film the end result. These were then uploaded to youtube and our other social media.
Comments were starting to come in on the social media people asking what was going on, ‘You’ve got to be joking’ and similar thoughts, then every now and then some nerd would challenge the maths formula, then another nerd would reject that thought and put forward a counter formula that would make mine redundant and theirs more relevant.
One thing that did show up was ‘Excuse me, but what’s the difference between a ‘pif’ and a ‘lob’?’
‘Pif’ another piece landed in the now empty starting point area. We figured that an overarm throw of a smaller piece was a ‘pif’ and therefore an underarm throw of the larger pieces was a ‘lob’.
‘Pif’ and then more, until the area was now full.
Seven people dropped in, an obligatory goth girl with double braids in bright red, super high high gloss boots and a punk guy.
We were all done by 2.30 so we stopped, the video guys were gone and would be done with all their editing and photos by the close of business on Monday, or so they promised. They had been paid well so they should deliver the goods. Edmund was excited but tragically miffed that the actual viewer numbers were low.
The decision was made that the way the timber was sitting now was probably ideal, perhaps next Saturday we could do more performance with more promotion etc. Agreed. The Gallery is only open Wednesday to Sunday, so there was a big wait in between.
My arm certainly slept well that night.
All in all thirty five people dropped in to see the exhibition over the three weeks.
I took a bunch of the timber pieces and put them together, two larger and one smaller piece and went to a picture framers a few streets away. Monday morning… I had brass plaques made that indicated the dates, times, place, artist etc.
The guy at the framers looked at me like I was some sort of crazy person, he didn’t understand it at all, I said, I didn’t either so we were even. There were ten frames in total each done in a deep frame to show off the timber in all its dented and scuffed glory. I had my photographer get pictures of the framing process so that each frame would have documentation of the process and not just the product.
Edmund thought that ten was a big edition but over time most of them were sold to collectors, one random guy came in and bought one, after having seen the end product online, saying he was a big fan.
No name, just cash, thanks very much. In the end there were three left over. I donated one to a regional gallery near home, they didn’t quite know what to make of the gift, but were engrossed in the videos etc.
The leftover chunks of timber were thrown in the back of my ute to be used as firewood.
‘Pif’ another one gets thrown in the back of my ute. Pif, pif, pif, until they were all in there off to their new home a pile in my backyard, ready to be split up. Each time a piece from the exhibition is used in my fire, I get to remember the events that led to this point.
I’m hoping that next time I will somehow be able to do the opposite and I will call it ‘un-pif’. The ART of not piffing, perhaps I will lie on a table and watch a video of young girls trying to throw a ball, you know ‘Oh look they threw it like a girl!’ hmm perhaps not. I’m not ‘piffing’ they are.
Maybe I will pick another stereotype and make a mockery of that, Oh look a boy dressed in blue. Yer. perhaps something else. A video of a bunch of kids with handheld video games playing together, yeah… Some boys in pink, some girls with tools imagining they are building a dream home. Hmmm I think I just became redundant.
The artist as a redundant metaphor? Who is the artist? Who cares, oh yeah a performance with a robot posing as an artist. Okay, a bot dressed as Van Gough… now there’s a thought.
What about a bot that comes every three weeks and paints a bunch of stuff, then goes away, a whole gallery of painted works for a whole year, AI art baby. Hmmm Art Baby… It could spit out a dummy every few art works and spill some paint. I think I would want it to be in a store front so people could watch the baby AI ‘artist’ do its thing. Spill paint and make art. Maybe not… Oh well a bigger bot in a gallery, in a public gallery. Hm…
More art please. It could then stand and abuse viewers under its breath after first greeting them like they are royalty. It could then run a video of the gallery Director slicing their wrists and running the blood into a clear bucket, while sitting butt naked on one of those horrid clear plastic chairs used at all those fancy pancy events. It could then flip to that image of a guy in the bath with his hand hanging out like they’re related, yeah what’s his name? Marat, murdered in his bath.
At night an art bot could wander the local streets of rugged bad ass suburbia and hop on the occasional train, mildly abuse people for a while, then get off. Then post sticky notes to walls declaring all art is dead and invite people to the next show which then becomes some weird iteration of the previous show, getting darker as things progress.
Each day as the gallery staff arrive they hang out in fear that the ‘art bot’ will do them some damage. Edmund decides he has had enough and wants to turn off ‘art bot’ but can’t find an off switch, he heads to his phone to find the ‘art bot’ app, and turns it off. Lauren is delighted. There in the middle of the gallery is a slumped over ‘art bot’ terrorising no more. Paint brush dripping red paint on the floor, half finished canvas now looking forlorn.
The day ends, Lauren and Edmund head home. ‘Art Bot’ comes to life, the app has timed out and things have come back to life.
Art bot turns off the alarm and opens the front door, twenty ‘art bots’ arrive, along with a locksmith who is paid handsomely to change the locks.
The art bots start to play ‘music’ There goes that Trope again, and play various videos and stream them online. Lauren and Edmund get a series of random and violent text messages along with links to their website. Each bot is now streaming live to a non eager audience.
The website now says ‘No access granted, ha ha’ . The videos show the bots are all dancing. Occasionally a line shows up on the videos, ‘Elon for King!’
Edmund and Lauren arrive the next day and realise that they can’t unlock the door, there is a sign ‘locks changed, go away.’
Edmond is dumbfounded. What next!
It would be a few hours later but he realised that his business bank account now had some substantial sums of money heading into it. Random accounts paying anything from a few dollars here and there to hundreds, it was all pouring in.
Off to the bank to ask questions, ‘It’s all coming in automatically sir, from sources all over the world.’
This continued on and off for a few weeks. Now wildly rich, Edmund is pleased with the outcome although the thought that his gallery and a bunch of bots had been taken over was a bit much. He had art success, sure, but at what cost?
Some of the info on the website, which Edmund could no longer access, had changed, it seems as though his ‘gallery’ was now selling limited edition prints. Edmund found the name of the company who had been contracted to produce these. He and Lauren went to investigate. Yep, the print orders were coming in ‘thick and fast’ the print company had to put on another print machine and another operator to handle the volume.
Edmund chatted to the print shop owner. Everything had been done online, the images come through the email, the edition run is sorted etc and a digital signature provided along with the emboss details. ‘Mate we are paid handsomely for doing this and we love it!’
Edmund looked at bank account, funds were coming in faster and bigger than before, mainly now from the print company.
A friend called from a company near the gallery, ‘The front door of your gallery opened and a bot came out.’
Edmund and Lauren were there soon after, the friend has a factory across the road from the gallery. He filled them in, they then sat in the car and watched. The door opened again, and another bot came out. It wandered off down the street for a bit and stopped. A TV crew pulled up from Channel nine. A journalist got out with the cameraman and started to interview the bot.
Edmund and Luaren were curious and wandered over to see what they could find out. Interview over, the bot took one look at Edmund, turned and headed off down the street swiftly, then got into a jog and disappeared down the street.
The nine TV interview went to air that afternoon on the four o’clock then the 6 o’clock news, it made headlines, sensational claims were made about Bot abuse and how depraved goings on at the gallery meant the bots were going to sue. They wanted union representation to protect them.
Edmund was also interviewed, he told how the gallery had been taken over by the ‘Art Bot’. and how the limited edition prints had taken off and he was powerless to do anything about it.
The sales of the prints went up, more production, bigger prints and more cash in the bank. The more Edmund denied having anything to do with it, the more prints were sold.
Finally Edmund got a text message at two am one morning, ‘Bot art done, your key now works again, thanks for the fun. ‘Art Bot’.
Edmund finds the message in the morning. And heads straight over to the gallery. Yep, his key works, he walks in to find no bots, no music, just a huge art mess. Paint everywhere, canvases, stretched and unstretched all over the place as well. All he could say was ‘wow, it’s a giant art work.’
Channel Nine turned up for a follow up interview.
The gallery remained that way for three months, people streamed in to see the mess, the art mess. It was a classic and a major art event that helped the print sales. It turned out that the ‘Art bots’ had put in place hundreds of amazing images for the print shop to print and sell, all to be released over a specific time from. The gallery’s website updated automatically and more prints went out each week. It would be two years before the run of art works would stop. The final ones being a collage of especially successful prints that had been created earlier.
The bots simply disappeared, some were spotted on public transport, tell tale paint splatters on them were a clear giveaway. Oh yeah giveaways, they seemed to have trading cards, like those used for pokemon. They were limited edition and packaged to suit.
The bots would give them away but not if you asked. People traded them online, the gallery made nothing from these, they were just giveaways. Edmond was able to get one for the gallery to have, but paid a lot for it online.
Cleaning up the gallery to get started on ‘what’s next,’ was documented and put up on the website for all to see. Art Theory classes used the information for a long time, to discuss art and the artificiality of it all.
© 2026 Steve Gray
