Nothing, Something, Everything

Photo: A Sojourner 2020 pocket in Paris France. Credit: Jonas Cuénin

 
 

Nothing, Something, Everything

Ono’s project, Nothing, Something, Everything weaves a vision of Earth’s future climate and our existence within it. A magnetic cylinder—cylindrical in form and always drawn to Earth’s magnetic poles, regardless of its location—serves as a symbol of our deepest longings. Yet at the same time, its opposite end always points away from Earth. A roll of Minox subminiature film, containing the 2016 Paris Agreement and other climate-related documents, reveals more about us than any message ever sent aboard the Voyager spacecraft. A vial of Paris air, sealed in a tiny capsule and untouched by human hands, silently preserves the spirit of the city where COP21 delegates once gathered. Through these offerings to the cosmos, Ono’s project urges us—those who live on this planet now—to look ahead, to inspire future generations, and perhaps even to speak to distant beings who may one day uncover these remnants of our world.

 

Masa’s work is a magnifier for a too close future where our planet will be unrecognizable. It is a desperate but poetic attempt to hang onto a reality that is changing at the speed of light in the face of worldwide political indifference. Masa is a creator of contemporary artifacts of the future that are in truth laments for our past. His 2020 project for the International Space Station was a brilliant and creative call to celebrate and save what is left of our endangered planet earth, an exceptional exercise in survival, a last minute effort to create a space of resistance, a space of hope.

—Alfredo Jaar

 

Project I: 1 cc of Paris Air

 

le dimanche 26 janvier 2020 à Paris, photo: Jonas Cuénin

On my second day in Paris, I awoke at 6 a.m. in what I believed had once been a maid’s quarters in a building on Avenue du Président Kennedy, near Passy Station. As I opened the small window facing the Seine, the aroma of freshly baked croissants and the sight of a bottle of Evian for my morning meal filled my senses. I stretched out my arms and sampled the air, the pocket swinging in the gentle morning breeze, tightly sealed like a precious memory.

At 2 p.m., my photographer Jonas and I met outside Restaurant Le Coq, with Kyoko joining us shortly after. Though it might seem cliché, I felt compelled to capture the Eiffel Tower — iconic and symbolic — as a representation of the industrial revolution that shaped the world we live in today.

Shortly after 3 p.m., we wrapped the shoot, and Maya invited me to a recital. On the way, I shared the morning’s air sample. Laughter erupted as my friends joked about how the ongoing transportation strikes had caused the worst air pollution in Paris. Still, the sight of people carrying baguettes, the delicious cheese, and the music played by my friends filled my heart with warmth. We shared Indian curry, and I returned to Passy. The Eiffel Tower, now dark, cast its shadow over the night.

The first confirmed COVID-19 cases in France were reported on January 24, 2020 — just a day before I landed in Paris. At the time, I had no idea of the magnitude of what was to come.

le dimanche 26 janvier 2020 à Paris, photo: Jonas Cuénin

 

During our discussion of the project in late December 2019, curator Xin Liu questioned why the air sample had to come from Paris, suggesting that it could just as easily have been taken in New York City. However, I felt that choosing a specific location for the sample carried conceptual significance. I chose Paris — the city where delegates convened for the 2015 United Nations Climate Change Conference (COP21). More specifically, I selected the very site of their gathering as the location for air sampling.

 

Marcel Duchamp, Ampoule Contenant 50 c.c. d’air de Paris/Ampoule containing 50 c.c. air of Paris, The Guaranteed Surrealist Postcard Series, postcard, print, 1937. Courtesy of Harvard Art Museum




In one of the articles published about Sojourner 2020 after the CRS-20 launch, a journalist noted that my Parisian Air was an homage to Marcel Duchamp’s 50cc of Paris Air (1919). It is true that both works originate in Paris, though the connection is coincidental. Still, what artist today can claim to be free from influence? I saw Duchamp’s piece at the Philadelphia Museum of Art in 2013, the year I arrived in the United States, when I still knew very little about art. I remember being stunned by the idea that his work could contain “everything.” It was my first and rare encounter with a shocking masterpiece.

In 2020, although the context is entirely different, one hundred and one years after Duchamp created his work, air from Paris has reached low-Earth orbit.

 

When I submitted an initial drawing of the artwork to NASA, I included a description that simply stated, “It is empty.” However, when they asked me to clarify the meaning of that emptiness, I added a few lines beneath the drawing. The revised description read: “Sample 3 is intentionally left empty. The pocket is sealed in Paris, where the COP21 delegates met in 2015 to discuss climate change. The pocket contains air sampled in Paris in the year 2020. Contains no liquid.”

On the ground, air is something we often take for granted, and it’s difficult to describe to others. Even though I called it “empty,” I understand that air is not truly empty. It is of course “something”.

 


 

Once I received the freshly manufactured pocket from Xin Liu in New York City in mid-January, I took a few days off from work and booked a ticket to Paris for three days. My itinerary included the following: sampling the air, a photo shoot, seeing the Boltanski show at Pompidou, visiting Cathédrale Notre-Dame, attending some gallery openings, and meeting with friends.

 
 

January 28, 2020

I am writing this mid-air, where the bread packaged on this plane has two dates stamped on it: 08/22/2019 and EXP 5/22/2020. I assume the bread was produced last summer and will remain “fresh” until May of this year. Still, I cannot help but wonder if something is off.

This morning, I woke up alone at 4 a.m. in the same loft, tidied the bed, took a shower, and walked to the bus stop near the Eiffel Tower before dawn. The streets were quiet, with only a few people around. I think Paris smells especially good in the rain—but then again, I say that about nearly every city I visit. It must be my thing: the sweet, earthy scent of a rainy day brings me joy. Most people I know dislike the rain, but when I meet someone who likes it, I tend to fall for her.

I was alone on the bus. At the airport, a young woman—whom I assumed was in training with her supervisor at the check-in desk—stamped “SSSS” on my boarding pass and smiled. (Getting “SSSS” on your ticket at any airport means you’ve been randomly selected for additional security screening before boarding.) “That’s fine,” I told myself. “I have no money to spend at Duty-Free, and I have time.” Still, I briefly wondered how I would explain the 1cc of Paris air in my bag if an officer asked. It might look suspicious.