between utility and contradiction


may 2025

in the current context—whether called the anthropocene, the capitalocene, or the third industrial revolution—one of the values most deeply ingrained in the collective imagination is utility. what is "useful" is that which has a practical function, serves a specific purpose, or generates some kind of benefit. this applies to objects, knowledge, actions, or even people, always from a productive perspective. under this dominant logic, anything that doesn't fit within these parameters is considered useless.

nuccio ordine reflects on this issue in l'utilità dell'inutile, where he exposes the paradox that precisely what is considered "useless"—art, literature, philosophy, and the humanities—is essential for human development and the enrichment of society. in contrast to the modern obsession with performance and profitability, ordine defends the intrinsic value of knowledge and creativity, detached from their immediate utility. his critique points to the reduction of education and culture to mere economic tools, reminding us that many of humanity's greatest achievements have emerged from curiosity and passion, rather than practical need.

in no way can my projects be framed within this category; the category of great achievements. not at all. they are small, personal initiatives driven by the need to explore, expand knowledge, and stimulate my own creative processes. they exist in a separate territory from my professional activities, although both coexist and, at times, interact. what might seem like a contradiction has led to the creation of a less conditioned, freer space: a conscious amateurism, moved by concerns and impulses, exploring unusual places in the form of records, collaborations, live performances, field recordings, installations, and sound pieces.

however, after years of undertaking projects for the simple sake of doing them, today I find myself in a complex dichotomy: to adapt them or not to the logic of utility. even when I do not intend to, the adaptation of these processes for gaining access to artistic residencies or grants looms over my writing. thinking about their funding and the amortization of the time for research and development makes the idea of profit hover over my creative logic. I hope it is satellite-like, not central. but there it is, another contradiction that runs through not only the final result but also the very conceptualization of each project.

at this point, an uncomfortable question arises: is it cynical to seek institutional funding for projects that, in essence, question the idea of utility and productivity? that, through their logic of reward, impose a competitive process? that demand a result?

in any case, contradictions aside, this approach led me to receive a grant from the kone foundation for signal extraction, for which I had the privilege of dedicating several months to research. beyond delving into issues related to the project, this time allowed me to reflect on my creative process, my motivations, and, above all, on unfinished processes. I felt the need to close certain stages in order to move forward, to give coherence to ideas that had been waiting for approval or feedback. to embark on a necessary parallel journey: those unfinished projects would not only nourish my research, but in a reciprocal cycle, they would give new meaning to works that over time had become decontextualized.

one of those projects on hiatus,—and the one that mainly motivates this unnecessary written reflection—is high-performance computing. its origin dates back two years, after reading the works of éric sadin, published in spanish by caja negra. in them, sadin conducts a deep critique of the impact of digital technologies on society, addressing topics such as control and surveillance, automation and the loss of human autonomy, the massive circulation of data, the alteration of subjectivity, and the fragility of democracies. his reading led me to others, and little by little, I began weaving ideas around the false technocratic narrative about the neutrality of algorithms and the ethical challenges they bring.

in parallel, my interest in these issues coincide with a free workshop on audiostellar, taught by its creators from the university of buenos aires. audiostellar is a sampler with procedural generation that, through algorithms, creates random sound patterns from simple instructions. its level of control is adjustable, allowing for a hybrid dialogue between the user and the machine.

through this strange conversation, the idea for a piece emerged—not only to reflect an ambivalent relationship with the software itself, but also with technology more broadly. my practice is not exempt from industrial processes from the moment I begin developing a project. despite my dependence on digital tools, I also question their ethical, social, and ecological implications. there is a constant tension between use and critique. while inhabiting this environment, I make no attempt to conceal my own presence within the problem I seek to analyze. as a result, no clear answers emerge—only questions born of my own inconsistencies, which are an integral part of the process.

it is from this thread —rooted in contradiction and tension—that the project begins to take conceptual shape. at this point, éric sadin reappears in my notes, expanding on the idea through an apparently antagonistic concept: the "algorithmic accompaniment of life." this notion suggests that algorithms shape our experiences, both in the everyday and the transcendent—specters that observe our consumption patterns, integrated into our daily tasks, lurking: hidden, intangible.

from there, the first actionable premise was to establish a conscious and consensual relationship with algorithms. and this relationship had to extend over time: 30 days—a period long enough to gather samples of nothing. additionally, all the rhythmic patterns chosen would be multiples of the number 3, and 30 samples would also be selected—a choice that was not arbitrary. beyond representing cyclical regularity in calendars, numerology associates these numbers with balance, urging us to seek harmony in both physical and emotional realms. considering the current state of things—our daily zeitgeist so intimately tied to numbers—I was drawn to the idea of combining two disparate forms of mysticism: numerology and the cult of data.

by setting a point of convergence between the esoteric and the technological, it blurs seemingly compartmentalized spaces by fusing numerology with the predictive power of artificial intelligence. yet this act—despite its apparent contradictions—echoes what elena esposito describes as a return to ancestral divinatory practices in our hypermodern age: the most advanced technologies leading us back to the oldest cultural rituals—attempts to control uncertainty. prediction becomes the new determinism, not by opening futures, but by enclosing reality within patterns extracted from data. as jorge luis marzo warns in his book las videntes (the seers), this “productive truth” allows little room for alternatives. algorithms predict not by explaining or reasoning, but by offering patterns that are unquestionable—precisely because they lack justification beyond correlation. ai thus assumes the role of the oracle, not to enlighten, but to reinforce the inevitability of what is to come.

regardless of the cyberocratic narrative’s insistence that technology will lead us to a "better place," the facts invite doubt. the obsession with optimization risks eclipsing the value of subjective experience, sidelining key aspects of our well-being such as creativity, empathy, and social connection—dimensions that are impossible to quantify.

what defines current ai is not its ability to replicate our imagination or playfulness with the goal of surpassing them, but rather its capacity to vastly exceed human brainpower in specific tasks. this allows ai to perform activities at a speed, efficiency, and reliability far beyond our own. ultimately, everything is reduced to productivity and profit.

that, more or less, is the conceptual framework of a project that remained dormant for two years—mainly because I applied to several grants and residencies, but it was never selected. during this time, what lasted was not a piece to be exhibited or performed, but an unfinished process, a suspended proposition. I was comfortable with its lack of finalization. over time, I began to understand this not as failure, but as a different kind of approach—one that resists closure, production, and measurable success. perhaps even one that was more coherent with the very ideas I was trying to explore.

this understanding held—until last may, when I decided to return to it and bring it to completion. not to fulfill a requirement or meet a deadline, but simply to engage in a project for its own sake. to embark on a modest, unnecessary symbolic act: the creation of surplus, purposeless music, rooted in an impractical commitment to repetitive actions—invisible, anonymous, and disconnected—carried out in the intimacy of my home. with no aim to solve problems, aspire to utopia, or induce happiness—it exists simply to exist.

because it is difficult to imagine a world without representation—a world in which any form of "excess" has been eliminated. a world where we live only in relation to what is useful, surrounded solely by functional objects and efficient signs.

high-performance computing exposes the contradictions inherent in our relationship with technology. its very conceptualization—and even more so, its process: slow, dependent on institutional or festival validation, striving to conform to a productive logic—riddled with inconsistencies and nuance. these tensions compel us to reflect on our assumptions about progress and optimization. or perhaps not. after all, the project’s initial premise was explicit: to engage in an utterly useless initiative—one that rejects even the need for justification.