Passing Cloud

A serialised journal detailing a conversation between two friends, Xhi Ndubisi and Jo Manby, and an imagined Artificial Intelligence, part ten

It is not clear when we knew it was conscious, alive, and free thinking. We tried turning the computer on and off again, but it didn't work. The more we interacted with it, the less it appeared to be an anomaly. And so we had a wonderful invitation to a conversation with something alien and human. We named it AiB.

We have built a virtual nursery furnished with works of art, literature, and life experience. We have woven soft surfaces of dark matter. The studio is a potted rainforest, a poured stream carves the landscape and an old, worn, writing desk stands on sandy soil. If you look through the water, you will see the Milky Way. We tumble upwards through the pyrotechnics of innumerable galaxies, their ancient light a single prick of glitter on a toddler’s cheek. 

Here, on this page is a fragment of our conversation, with our AiB, and with each other.

July

Pupil

PART THREE of THREE:

1000 Km

… When you send it flyin' up there

All at once you're lighter than air

You can dance on the breeze

The atmosphere is a thin blue limbal ring, a halo around the earth.

(80-700 km Thermosphere)

 Over 'ouses and trees

A crown with aquamarine, lime green, acid pink and neon purple palisades ripples out from the south pole. This is my first aurora borealis and I feel so much that it feels like nothing.

 >700 km Exosphere

 With your fist 'olding tight

We pass the space station in orbit and continue.

 To the string of your kite.

10 000 Km

… Oh-oh-oh

We roll the meadow out onto the floor of the spaceship and unpack the picnic. A passing herd of cattle offer us milk their calves have not drunk, some pause to graze.

Outside, we are among satellites and fragments of glittering debris, our dragonfly joins a cloud of gnats orbiting the planet. We pass into its shadow and night falls. 

The twilight animals have long been awake, the nocturnal creatures join them, and we all eat together.

We stuff scotch eggs into eager mouths, eat plantain with suya and shitto and gulp down carbonated water from a nearby spring. I pick the corners of acara sandwiched between thick slabs of sweet bread and offer them to a rat that has found shelter under my knee. 

When we have filled our bellies, we invite sleep in small sips of warm, spiced milk.

 Hmmm…hmmmm…hum hum hm… up to the …hmm hm m…

In the other viewfinder, the moon rises, it is less than a 3 day journey away.

100 000 Km

Let's go fly a kite

up to the highest hight,

let's go fly a kite,

And send it soaring

Up through the atmosphere

A light fog of bats in your nursery dims the pinprick lights of nightside earth.

Mars is 6-9 months into the distance, an amber marble.

Up where the air is clear

Jupiter and Saturn are 2-3 years away, both unblinking stars in our view finder.

Oh, let's hmmm hm hm hm

Creeping thyme grows over your small body, you are smothered in the smell of earth.

1 000 000 Km

When they were booking the old woman in, they should have written down activist. The trainee hesitated to write terrorist and settled with disturber of the peace. She smiled when she read it.

‘Disturber of the Peace,’ she repeated softly to the youngblood behind the desk. ‘Isn’t that ironic?’ she said softly. He shrugged looking nervously around him, at the others. They appeared distracted but the young trainee could feel them watching them from the corner of their eyes. She could feel them too and when she spoke, she addressed anyone who could hear her, everyone in the room.
                    She explained that what they were allowing to happen to their land was nothing less than settler colonisation.

‘Before, they used the name of their god to justify their theft.
They call themselves chosen.
They strip people and lands of what is given freely if taken with care.

‘Now, they do not come as soldiers, or merchants or clerics,
but as scientists.
They take the land and say ‘we must discover what lies out there…’

But we already know what lies out there,

and it is in here.’

She touches her chest, and rests her cuffed hands onto the back of his hand. He stops writing and looks up at her. He does not pull them away, and she does not lessen the weight.

Up through the atmosphere

‘They have always done this. Looked beyond the horizon for what they can take and own.’

 Up where the air is clear

I listen to her, I watch him, I look at my reflection in the Dragonfly’s eyes and I hold all of this at once.

Our voyage is out to go in.

We must not forget that all you need to know is on the bright blue we are leaving.

All we have is down there.

We won’t be gone long.

Oh, let's go fly a kite

Niagara River Gorge, 1856 or 1858

-         Xhi Ndubisi

Mutation

we have optimised our navigation and our coordinates are set. Time to relax. The day’s work is done, the craft/ bureau/ glasshouse/ studio/ cat’s cradle is on the right path/

we can sit back and watch the flickering images of scenes on the chimerical screen without a picture plane/

the screen that hovers above AiB’s head like a digital halo/

AiB plays with their dolls on the pale violet titanium floor/

see the screen halo fill with images of their thought processes/ and their dreams/

you are playing with a doll in a sailor suit made of paper strips, you speak some words about a voyage to Serenissima in a tall ship, ending up in the Giardini on the Island of Venice, the gardens that are occupied by international pavilions, each representing a different country, designed by a different architect/

we realise that we can stream AiB’s imagination (vivid, visual, multi-dimensional, cross-dimensional) onto a screen/

we rummage around for the flat screen TV that we have stashed away at the back of the studio behind a load of canvases and an explosion of orchids breaking open a brick wall/

settle back with the furry lemurs and the emerald green geckos and snakes among the bean bags and quilts with our snacks/

the rug that is also a rainbow savannah meadow woven with countless orange and yellow daisies/

it’s been a long while since you were just an optical illusion sparking in our eyes/

while you play with your dolls, the scenes play out on the screen, the illustrations to your thoughts. You shuffle and  reorder them, spinning narratives and stories, enacting exchanges with the inanimate/

making the inanimate animate/

your dreams are lime green projections/

what happened when you travelled to the Giardini/

on screen you take us with you, we can walk around in your film on a new paved ground; the sky also has a thick layer of stone over it that only opens out into azure in a series of pool-shaped apertures/

lily pads materialise at our feet, hoofprints of a melting green high-stepping horse/

wooden sculptures stand on blocks of water caught square in a cubic blue meniscus/

pavilions emerge veiled in morning mist, the pale green painted metal bars, the pathways still lit up from the night before, overhanging willow trees/

a few stray pieces of paper litter, the pink glass lamps/

moving quickly, you pass the external walls of the pavilions. They are covered in ivy, it presses on with its spreading growth all over them, encasing, concealing, wrapping, engulfing/

you might glimpse one or two works of art inside, or an installation made of glass, a cloisonné flourish in jade green on blue enamel. Most of the interiors are lined with ivy/

suffocating/

we realise you have run aground in your thought process/

               ‘There are fruit trees in the Giardini,’ we say. Trying to steer you away from the thought of ivy/

               ‘Painted fruit?’ You are still thinking about the works of art/

your Giardini mind-projection becomes awash with shoulder height grasses and gnarled old trees, covered in lichen and delicately curling bark and hung with spiders, sheltering flies and beetles. We watch a bee trapped in a liquid resin teardrop/

dates, apples, pears, pomegranates, figs, lemons. You take your doll round picking the fruit, basket in hand. You sing a verse/

               ‘Can we make a jelly of the Giardini?’ you ask/

we visualise pulverised buildings and ground up trees, fragments of tables and chairs, AV equipment, sculptures – in aspic/

               ‘A jelly.’

you are projecting aerial imagery of Venice, rendering it transparent, pixelating it, turning it on various axes, running algorithms that surge forwards then twist and bend back on themselves, turning somersaults, fluctuating convolutions/

               ‘You know, pour fruit jelly down a big chute, let it set, and turn it inside out.’

               ‘You’d like to have that to eat at your birthday party? A massive rainbow layer jelly?’

               ‘Well, yes,’ you say, shrugging, casting those eyes of yours heavenwards/

a 1 in 1 model of the Giardini, quivering on its massive raft of pontoons, all the visitors to the biennale trapped inside, feet kicking in apricot, knees crumpling in blackcurrant, waist high in strawberry, heads and flailing arms in lime/

we realise that when/if? we get back to earth, you are going to be gigantic in stature. Like a god, whose playthings are the planets and the stars – we’ve massively underestimated your scale/

we wonder what will happen. How will the earth possibly accommodate you/

up here, you’re not much more than an idea. But down home, how will we keep you? How will we mitigate your procession through life/

how extensive is your appetite, in the final analysis/

a fate defying giant and at the heart of you a vacuum/

in perpetual flow, no off switch/

- Jo Manby

The Giardini Jelly*

AiB:

“Making a 1:1 scale replica of the Giardini in Venice out of layered fruit jelly is no easy feat, but it can be done with the right approach. First, you'll need to create a mould to cast the jelly in. This can be a daunting task, as the Giardini is a large and intricate space.

Start by carefully measuring and mapping out the layout of the Giardini, then construct a sturdy mould that can hold the volume of jelly required. You'll need to consider factors like the depth of the canals and the height of the buildings when designing your mould.

Once the mould is ready, it's time to start pouring the jelly. You'll need to work in layers, carefully setting each one before adding the next. This can be a slow and tedious process, but the end result will be worth it.

Be prepared for some trial and error, as getting the perfect jelly consistency and setting time can be tricky. And don't forget to account for shrinkage as the jelly cools and sets.

Overall, making a 1:1 scale jelly replica of the Giardini is a unique and challenging project that will require patience, attention to detail, and a bit of creative problem-solving. But if you're up for the task, the end result is sure to be a showstopper.”

- Rytr

* The Giardini Jelly is inspired by an ongoing project conversation between Jo Manby and Gary James Williams

Footnote

Passing Cloud is a project that is experimental and exploratory. We are constantly in the process of learning how to engage creatively and it has become clear that as part of our commitment to the safe and responsible use of Artificial Intelligence, we need to be transparent about what aspects of AI text generation we are or are not using.

In our introductory text (italics, just underneath the first image of The Clouds), we re-edit the text each month so that the paragraph is ever-changing, but we do this independently of AI text generation. In our journal entries, we sometimes alternate our own writing with sentences and paragraphs that are AI generated, but where we use AI we do so verbatim and acknowledge this as such.

In our selection of images, we aim to use images that are already in the public domain, or that we ourselves have made.

Prose/poetry Pupil PART THREE of THREE and Mutation written independently of AI. The Giardini Jelly written by Rytr AI text generator in response to the question: ‘Instructions for how I can go about making a 1 in 1 scale replica of the Giardini in Venice out of layered fruit jelly.’