Chirag-e-AI




Chirag-e-AI, LN Tallur’s opening exhibition at the Museum of Art & Photography
(MAP), draws from eighteenth and nineteenth century Indian sculptures and lamps from
the Museum’s collection. These are mythical figures, celestial beings and deities who are
worshipped, and he uses them as starting points to make a larger argument about the
systems of today and their operational logic. Tallur is fascinated by the possibilities
Artificial Intelligence (AI) proposes. His thinking and making constantly revolves around
the machinic nature of humans and the human-ness of machines, and this divide forms
the core of this body of sculptures presented at MAP. Questions of faith and form linger
through his works: what constitutes faith; what in turn are the forms of worship; and
what do these mean today? While faith was once solely placed in the supernatural, it is
algorithmic in its nature, today. Dictated by colossal computing processes — operating in
the shadows — our reliance on these processes is all-encompassing. What we see is just a
flicker of these processes and the questions that get provoked are about how these
processes operate.


The interface, then, becomes a crucial frame to think through these works; it is not just
a lens through which we see AI operating, but also one which is employed in making
the artwork. Tallur calls this interface “white space” — where the neutrality of the white
screen is false. When we look at a blank screen, we do not realise or see the computing
processes that go on behind it. Similarly, we do not realise the gargantuan material
processes that go into the making of these sculptures. The possible deception of appearances lies within the tension of amassing information and is present in the material
layering of the sculptures. The constituencies of plywood, stone, metal and software all
become pliable under the forces of Tallur’s narrative. He reads human intention in terms of
machinic precision, as obsessive greed — an underlying layer, which according to Tallur is
intrinsic to human nature. The constellation between this intrinsic human quality and the
appearance of neutrality provides an important conceptual thread to the exhibition. Tallur
uses the Turing test or what is also called the imitation game, to examine this narrative
further.


A brief description: There are three persons, unknown to us, who can play the game.
We identify them as X (a person), Y (a machine) and Z (the interrogator). Z is separated from X and Y. The objective of the game is for Z to figure out who the
machine is, as Z doesn’t know who (or what) X and Y are. Z questions X and Y on a
variety of topics, ranging from a basic identification of themselves, to existential questions
of who they are. X answers questions in all earnestness, where as Y is slightly more
cunning, using charm to navigate the more difficult ones. A behavioural test, for Tallur,
the Turing test becomes a fulcrum around which he develops his inquiries.


He quotes Walter Lipmann, an American political commentator and writer, to illustrate
this point on traditions, rituals and faith. “Almost always, tradition is nothing but a
record and machine-made imitation of the habits that our ancestors created.” ¹ A decoding
and encoding tendency to undo systems that are passed down runs throughout his oeuvre.
By fusing his fascination with AI and what the traditional sculptures and lamps are
suggestive of, Tallur proposes hybridities: of form and of our ideas on what, and who is
being venerated. He infuses these sculptures, not only with incongruously paired materials,
but also with the tension that resides within a human-machine binary. Alien in their
nature, these sculptures are still familiar: stacked, cut out, partially erased, glitched.