Sitting in the garage workspace of his Outer Sunset home, George Rocha grabs an old skate deck from a pile of hundreds of boards stacked against the wall. Rocha reads the deck like a palm, feeling its worn textures and grooves. But rather than telling its fortune, he guesses its past.
One night after a San Francisco dance performance, artist Beth Fein considered just how much money went into productions, even on the smallest scale. She thought of the cost of the theater, the lighting, the costumes and everything. Fein saw opportunity for a new type of performance where the art of dance could be experienced without the manufacturing of sets and costumes.
It wasn’t until the artist lifted his handheld machine from my skin — as it buzzed like a dental drill — and wiped my ink and blood splattered arm clean that I realized I had just made a decision that would affect me for the rest of my life.
The technique allows animators to create a tangible world with real sets, but it’s a world with endless unknown and unreal possibilites.
For the people of Venice and Cyprus — the survivors at least — only a void existed. Civilization was abandoned and brutalized by a catastrophe capsizing everything familiar.