“A.I. of Our Broken Dreams” is our reflection on awakening and on being lost, in a world that keeps reprogramming itself, badly. As a species, and as individuals, we stand at the edge of a data lake, unable to read our own syntax. As always, only faster now, and with worse consequences.
The sculpture, a hybrid of classical angel iconography and pop-cultural myth, Spock from Star Trek as a fallen cherub, stands as a warning, embodying that moment between hope and the next error message.
He no longer gazes toward heaven, but inward, with empty eyes into those algorithmic abysses, ancient-Egyptian in their mystery, where our longing for progress once burned bright. The veins of fiberglass are the new neural pathways of belief, artificial, yet alive enough to deceive us.
And to consume us.
Like a digital fossil, he hovers on the brick wall of Café Gramsci: a reminder of our futile attempt to merge spirit and technology without losing ourselves.
An A.I. brain-fusion ritual.
Perhaps he is our last guardian, or merely the projection of a system that has long since moved on without us. For thousands of years to come.
Spock will not be able to help us anymore.
The last one turns the lights on.
F.A.C. is back to using candles.
[With heartfelt thanks to Maura Crudeli, for her humanity and her open mind, in a scene that so often forgets both.]
Carrara 2023
