I used to describe art as something that made you feel. I still believe that.
(I know a lot of things make you feel. But rectangle square.)
To that end, the mauhan.com project was always meant to be just that. Not a website. Not a portfolio. But a rectangle square. An art experiment. One that hopefully evoked feeling.
So after spending a stupid amount of time and energy on creating a hyper-realistic, hyper-manicured avatar of myself…
I threw it / him out.
It felt off. Too AI. I wanted this project to feel intimate, not synthetic. Self-aware, not surreal. I wanted it to hit. So I recorded myself, prayed to the Algorithm, and invited the Internet to come play:
Someone (me?) could write an entire blog post (Substack?) on the thrill (anxiety?) of the “hit send” moment. TL;DR we learn. And I learned that - despite my intentions - feelings belong to the other end of the Google Meet. On mauhan.com, it became quite clear quite quickly that the “feeling” was up for interpretation:
But it felt.
And truth be told, that’s all I wanted.
It felt good to say something without saying anything at all. Conveying an idea through form factor. I’ve always been obsessed with fucking with formats - playing with the architecture to challenge what something should be, and should do. Rewriting the form of delivery as part of the work itself. Changing the way “the room” works.
In middle school, I submitted a long-form narrative version of a “duck walks into a bar” joke for our state-wide writing exams. In my adolescence, I published a Coachella recap disguised as a missed connection love story. In my, uhh, professional life, I gave a conference keynote via memes. A portfolio website that operates like a Google Meet wasn’t so far off the beaten path.
And (thankfully) this one seemed to have landed. It felt. It feels. It’s feeeeeling.
“If I put this candle in an all-white gallery space, it looks like a piece of art. If I put it in a garage, it looks like a piece of trash… I could either design the candle and spend a lot of time telling you about the candle, or I could design the room that it sits in.” - Virgil Abloh
King Virgil always inspired me. His work revolved around context. He’d remix and object by changing the room it lived in. A gallery vs. a garage. Streetwear at Louis Vuitton. His genius was in reframing surroundings so the thing itself glowed differently.
So while Virgil designed the gallery; I’m just doing my best to turn the garage into Dia.
Okay, but why?
Yeah, good question…
I think a part of it was meant to be commentary. This idea of constant intrusion. Constant accessibility. Dialed up to 11. That you get unfettered access to me, to others.
Fine. Take it. Have a live feed into my living room. My office. My home. My face. Go for it. Come’n in.
And while the site was meant to tickle your brain a bit, it actually wasn’t meant to be an ‘aha!’ moment. But I'm glad it is. The shock is good. That little jolt. The double-take. Every random text I receive apologizing for dialing in (second only to the “Did I see you on How I Met Your Mother?!” texts. Mind your skeletons...).
That glitch is the it.
Truth be told, part of it was just… me. For better or for worse, I’m accessible. I like people. I like meeting people. I like being there for people. I find the good in people and get along with most all of them. I show up as available.
So this felt - well, right. On brand. Tongue-in-cheek. A wink. But nice. Soft. Not arrogant. Not meant to be, anyway.
And I suppose most people would write this thing up as social commentary. A monologue on our always on, always connected culture. But I don’t want to write that. (Viciné can).
Because I’m not selling anything. I’m just creating.
(Unless you’re buying. If so, get in touch.)
I hope you clicked.
I recognize it’s a bit cringe to do a write-up on your own website. But (a) this is conceptual art, (b) I’m trying to get comfy putting my voice out there, and (c) f you, it was clever.