Installation view, Mark Fingerhut’s “Halcyon.exe” at Sulk Chicago/Photo: Frank Geiser
The buzz from an intercom screams its welcome as I pass through the street entrance. I follow some sparse signage to a lonely staircase, passing by apartment doors which feel identical other than their three-digit numbered signs. I am acutely aware that the lead-up to my visit at Sulk Chicago feels more like meeting at a friend’s place for an informal get-together than a journey to one of Chicago’s most underrated art spaces.
As I enter through the door at apartment 209, these drab surroundings shift. I see a small space with windows covered by blackout curtains; wires are run in chaotic patterns along the walls and ceilings to exposed circuits, fans, lights, speakers and other gizmos I don’t immediately recognize. This space is lit by RGB uplighting that I associate more with small-venue concerts than art shows, illuminating a brick wall on which a large TV is being used as a computer monitor. The desktop background displays a grainy photograph—a small, blacked-out apartment entryway. An ominous icon in the middle of this void reads “Halcyon.” I take a seat on one of three roughly constructed wooden benches in the center of the room as the gallery director takes control of a small mouse and keyboard off to my side. “The ride takes about twenty-five minutes,” she says, then pauses before adding, “Oh, just so you’re aware, there’s an extreme strobe warning.” Then she double-clicks the icon in the middle of the desktop, and the environment around me explodes into life.
Installation view, Mark Fingerhut’s “Halcyon.exe”at Sulk Chicago/Photo: Frank Geiser
Mark Fingerhut’s “Halcyon.exe” can be understood alongside the work of artists who, like myself, grew up at the cusp of the digital age. Faded memories of an analog world permeate our understanding that everything has changed forever with the advent of ubiquitous connectivity, and art is no exception. In addition to this broad, idealistic understanding, artists now have access to cheap, powerful and readily available microcontrollers, prebuilt code libraries, globally sourced electronic components and powerful software tools, allowing them to unleash their creativity into the world in ways that weren’t previously possible unless one had access to a commercial studio.
“Halcyon.exe” takes full advantage of the most complicated and nuanced application of these materials I’ve ever seen one person use in a gallery space, and I’m in awe of the technical precision with which the artist commands them. “The ride” is a carefully executed dance between vibrant imagery playing on the monitor, a powerful, loud soundtrack and changes in the physical environment of the room mediated in real time by computer code. “Halcyon.exe” isn’t just an exhibition of pretty lights—at any given point in the ride you may feel an ocean breeze or a torrential downpour from fans and electronically controlled water-misters mounted to the ceiling. Scrolling text of the artist’s poetic writings are punctuated by glitchy computer graphics and rumbling vibrations which quite literally shake you into paying attention. Paying attention to what!? I feel a sense of urgency, as the soundtrack breaks into a section of heavy bass notes and crooning electric guitar sounds before leveling off into relative stillness.
Installation view, Mark Fingerhut’s “Halcyon.exe” at Sulk Chicago/Photo: Frank Geiser
Time seems to dilate as words flash on the screen, and twenty minutes later I realize just how carefully everything has been brought together. Fingerhut’s installation crafts a narrative that falls just short of providing its audience with any kind of concrete conclusion. The imagery can feel silly or even absurd, but Fingerhut also manages to make each element feel remarkably intentional. Subjects that feel disparate in the first couple minutes of the ride end up being, well… disparate for sure, but also connected within an emotionally charged, intensely personal story of love, heartbreak and longing. As the ride ends, I feel at peace with the craziness which has just transpired. When have any of those things ever truly made sense anyway?
Installation view, Mark Fingerhut’s “Halcyon.exe” at Sulk Chicago/Photo: Frank Geiser
A heavy quiet permeates the gallery as Fingerhut’s software reaches its final crescendo, then runs a script to restart the computer. I watch as the Windows logo flashes on the screen next to a loading icon, which then gives way to the same desktop I saw at the beginning of the ride. Restart, reset, reboot: any of these words fittingly describe my feelings as I am greeted by the banality and familiarity of a computer screen. The desktop, start button and mouse cursor feel oddly comforting as I struggle to avoid completely dissociating into the experience I’d just witnessed. “That was one of the most remarkable things I’ve ever seen,” I find myself saying to the gallery director.
We talk for a short while before I leave to begin my commute home. Passing those same apartment doors, that same staircase, that same entryway feels different now. I think about how little of ourselves is visible to a world passing by us, and I feel a sense of wholeness in those doors that I couldn’t appreciate before. As I exit the building I pause briefly in the entryway, struck by the thought of all the tiny, mundane, wonderful worlds those doors hold within them.
“Halycon.exe: The Ride” at Sulk Chicago, 525 South Dearborn, on view through August 10 during regular gallery hours or by appointment.
Frank Geiser is a visual artist and arts writer based in the south suburbs of Chicago. He is a professor of Visual Communication and Design at Purdue University Northwest.
