02/2020

This essay was originally presented as an interactive talk given at The Stuart Hall Library on 24 Jan 2020. Expanding on the essay, ‘Acknowledging the Body in Online Art’, the talk was developed in response to the unique archive materials available as well as Iniva’s historic involvement in the critical debates surrounding the technological transformation of life, art, and politics at the end of the 20th Century.

Understanding and reading Donald Rodney's AUTOICON projects it into our contemporary moment of machinic surveillance, algorithmic data collection and prediction, online identity construction and digital death. This essay considers the ways in which the structural, informational, and interfaced bodies of the internet materialize in/through data. It seeks to question whether the digital body has the ability to escape the confines of the physical, as well as how digital memory is conceived, constituted, and what it has the capacity to be used for.

AUTOICON: the digital-body

As participants in a networked society, our own memories can not be so easily disentangled from that of the devices, software, and services we use. Our user data has become an informational document of our experiences; its accumulation, categorization, and commodification has been valorized above all. The bodies through which we interface with these technologies may wither while the archive, the database, is maintained. At first glance, Donald Rodney’s AUTOICON looks like a prescient embrace of this inevitability and the capacity of digital space to offer a life beyond death.

AUTOICON is an interactive CD-ROM based media work[1] consisting of a Java-based AI and neural network that allows users to interact, converse, and collaborate with it through a simulated, systematic dialogue. The responses can be in the form of text, audio clips, videos, and images; these are drawn from documentation on Rodney including interviews, his body of work, his medical data, and popular media. A generative montage machine serves to collect and collage the produced material according to a rule-based system drawn from Rodney’s own creative process.

Conceptualized from his hospital bed shortly before his death from sickle cell anaemia in March of 1998, AUTOICON was completed by a close group of friends and collaborators collectively referred to as ‘Donald Rodney Plc’[2]. Rodney had dealt with his disease for a large proportion of his life; he was diagnosed at an early age and knew that his condition would steadily grow worse until his death. Playfully imagined in the face of his own mortality, AUTOICON was to be a digital body - a living, evolving presence that would stand in the organic Rodney’s absence.

AUTOICON materializes Donald Rodney in/through data, a process of digitalisation made manifest in our own moment of machinic surveillance, algorithmic data collection and prediction, online identity construction and digital death. Rodney’s work helps us to consider the consequences this process has had for the body and our relationship to it as well as how digital memory is conceived, constituted, and what it has the capacity to be used for.

Surviving Mortality

On booting up the AUTOICON executable, the viewer - or user in this case - is met with a chat window situated on a repeating background created from a stark DNA sequence, a product of a blood test Rodney underwent. The basic form of interaction consists of the user typing in the chat window and receiving responses from the AUTOICON. These are a simulated, systematic dialogue; AUTOICON asks you questions and uses keywords to continue the conversation. It’s almost always asking you something back.

The responses can be in the form of text, audio clips, videos, and images. These, and the keywords used to pull them, are drawn from documentation on Rodney (interviews, his body of work, his medical data, and media material). There’s an attempt to capture Rodney’s style of conversation, with the back-and-forth working as a catalyst to creative diversions and tangents.

Over the course of these interactions, the montage machine constructs layered collages out of the material generated. In the now-defunct web version of AUTOICON, a web crawler would have additionally scraped the internet for results and pictures. Constantly shifting assemblages of image and text are produced according to a rule-based system drawn from Rodney’s own creative process.

AUTOICON follows on from several aspects of Rodney's practice, especially thematic threads laid out in a number of his later artworks. Medical and scientific iconography feature prominently in Rodney's body of work, a result of the extensive medical information he accumulated over the course of his battle with sickle cell anaemia, including photographs, x-rays, and DNA sequences. A document of his close relationship with hospital care and technology, Rodney’s experience with disease and his deteriorating physical condition would often act as the subject of his work as well as a metaphor for broader issues concerning contemporary British society, race, and politics.

In The House of My Father (1996-7) is a photograph of Donald Rodney’s hand in which sits a small sculpture of a house constructed from pieces of the artist’s own skin that had been removed during the course of an operation he had in order to combat his disease[3].

Rodney’s hand lies on a hospital bed and there’s a marked vulnerability and closeness to the photograph. There’s a fragility to the house Rodney’s built, the structure that he sees himself living in - a sense that’s multiplied by the photograph’s severe cropping: this is only a piece of him, broken and fragmented from the whole.

Another of Rodney’s works that shares thematic concerns with AUTOICON is Psalms, a modified electric wheelchair controlled by a neural network and equipped with sensors, a video camera, and a gyroscope. The wheelchair autonomously navigates the gallery, attempting to perform a series of repeated sequences as another occupant of the space.

Psalms, like In The House of My Father, was made for Rodney’s last solo exhibition, 1997’s ‘9 Nights in Eldorado’, dedicated to his father who had died a few years prior. Rodney himself was confined to the hospital at the time of his father’s death and unable to be at his side. Where In The House of My Father displays an intimate representation of and literal construction from Rodney’s body, Psalms visualizes that body’s absence through its own presence in the gallery space. 

As it makes its programmed loops across the exhibition floor, the wheelchair is not easily ignored or dismissed, its movements a stand-in not only for Rodney's own limited bodily autonomy, but also a critique of the effective and exclusionary invisibility faced by many whose bodies are diagnosed as non-conforming. Psalms is a specific presentation of Rodney’s own mortality, the point at which he will no longer be there.

Bentham's Auto-Icon and Rodney's Avatar

Beyond the development of Rodney’s own practice, AUTOICON’s memorialising act of digital integration was directly inspired by Jeremy Bentham’s project of the same name. Prior to his death, Bentham, philosopher and founder of Utilitarianism, organised the preservation of his skeleton which has sat on display in the main building of UCL since 1850. 

Following his dissection (this, along with the donation of his organs, was in order to facilitate medical education), Bentham’s skeleton was to be stuffed with hay and clothed, his head mummified, and then the body was to be placed and positioned within a viewing case. The mummification process went awry, however, leaving the skin on Bentham’s face discoloured and bloated - the head was replaced with one made of wax instead. 

Bentham had envisaged the display of ‘Auto-Icons’ as replacing other monuments of remembrance such as paintings or statues. In his accompanying manuscript ‘Auto-Icon; or Farther Uses of the Dead’, he asks, ‘Is not identity preferable to similitude?’[4]. In his act of appropriation, Rodney likewise brings the living into contact with the dead. Simultaneously - and not without a sense of ironic humour considering Bentham’s status as the inventor of the Panopticon - Rodney embodies himself through his medical information and biodata rather than wax or hay: out of a network of observation, definition and, for a great proportion of his later life, confinement.

AUTOICON was equally conceived of as a response to mid-90s’ conceptions of the internet as a location within which self-representation could be explored, stretched, and designed. In the creation of an avatar, virtual identity was run through with notions of escapism, not least from the confines and complications of race or gender[5]. Mike Philips, a key collaborator on the project, would refer to these ambitions as ‘ghostly and hollow… for the most part just pixels, vague representations that could not feel nor be felt’[6]. In its reframing of a medicalized, scientific iconography and image of the body, AUTOICON foregrounds Rodney’s lived experience as integral to its goal in creating an active, digital manifestation of his presence, identity, and creative process. A captured, categorized and depersonalized image, an index of the body awarded truth by the clinical nature of a medical record, is co-opted, its objectivist representation used contrarily to present a deeply personal subjectivity. Without Rodney’s disease, his digital body would not exist.

Just as in Psalms, Donald Rodney’s physical absence defines the work and yet AUTOICON is full of his presence, a means of conserving his identity and continued demand for political and emotional engagement. Included within the work are memories and obituaries contributed by Rodney’s collaborators. Rodney’s close friends produce an image of him that only they could make possible - they grieve his loss and celebrate the time they spent with him. These recollections, alongside the intimacy of hearing Rodney’s voice taped from interviews, serve to trace the living/lived body; Rodney’s data trail, his body documentary, is transformed into an image of affection.

In a process of digital mourning, Rodney is remembered and celebrated, and through this, the abstract, conceptual, and technological approaches taken in AUTOICON aim to materialize Rodney’s digital corporeality. A communicative act post-death, projecting Rodney’s work into a present moment where social life is exceedingly digitally monitored, configured, and stratified offers the opportunity to interpret questions and incongruities surrounding the contemporary digital-body politic.

Algorithmic Legacies of Discrimination

Information technology, identity and modes of self-expression form a knotted relationship in the contemporary digital economy. In an environment of algorithmic profiling, surveillance and machine learning, ‘who we are’ / ‘who we can be’ is actively reconfigured according to the latest trends in user data.

This abstraction is awarded truth as an indexical trace of you and your information, empirically observed and transcoded. This has often been referred to in media and academia as a ‘data double’, a ‘digital twin’, or a ‘data shadow’, and represents an impulse to reduce identity and experience to a machine-readable set of data points. As a result of his illness and perpetual hospital stays, Donald Rodney’s life was necessarily datafied in a symbiotic relationship with technology. Our involvement in an online space codified by digital surveillance technologies leads ours to be also, at every level.

Increasingly, digital devices, software, and services prioritize a recognition through data, collected into datasets and read as patterns of identity formulated and defined by algorithms and neural networks. Technology privileges a perceived norm when it comes to its configuration, calibration, and testing and the desires of this instrumentalized categorization find their root in histories of discrimination and eugenics[7].

In the early 19th century, new regulatory sciences were brought upon the body in order to define the criminal and the deviant - the paradigms of physiognomy (the practice of assessing a person's character or personality from their outer appearance) and phrenology (the measurement of the contour of the skull to predict mental traits) relied upon taxonomic archives of images of the body to authenticate their claims. Photography came to - as Allan Sekula puts it in his essay ‘The Body and the Archive’ - establish “the terrain of the other”, to reduce nature to abstract, mathematical truths that were supposedly already embedded in the body, waiting to be derived and possessed[8].

As outlined in the work of Wendy Chun, Simone Browne, Safiya Umoja Noble, and others: algorithms encode these legacies[9].

Figure 9 - Alphonse Bertillon, Tableau synoptic des traits physionomiques: pour servir a l'étude du "portrait parlé", ca. 1909[10]
Classification guidelines for facial features in the Bertillon system. Devised in 1879 by Alphonse Bertillon, then director of the Identification Bureau of the Paris police, the Bertillon system divides the face into discrete units of information in order to identify, classify, and extract criminals from within police archives.

Figure 10 - An expression reference sheet passed through the 2015 facial recognition system ‘Deep Dense Face Detector’[11]
The Deep Dense Face Detector, hailed as ‘a breakthrough in facial recognition’, is an algorithm that can spot faces set at a wide range of angles, even when partially occluded by other objects, such as the hands and head. The green squares around the subject’s facial features indicate 'true positive' detection results. Now, as then, technologies of facial recognition are primarily at work beyond our vision (CCTV, policing and surveillance methods).

The link is methodological: the assumptions that underpin the contemporary datasets and research approaches mean that existing and historic unequal power relations are reproduced and reinforced by new technologies. Machine vision perceives in patterns, not uniqueness. Ignoring difference in order to filter out noise and deviation means that a body is only recognized, only authenticated, so much as it repeats a standard derived type. 

This amplifies the discrimination behind the algorithm, the neural network, machine learning. In Wendy Chun’s conception this is where pattern recognition becomes pattern discrimination. The era of big data - in its goal to predict and possess the future - is organizing itself through methods of the past, predicting a future of that past: closed off, it wants no disruption, and to perceive no nurture only nature[12].

Figure 11 - Francis Galton, 'The Jewish Type', c. 1885[13]
Francis Galton attempted to quantify physiognomic description, constructing generic images or ‘types’ from photographic and statistical data in order to visually classify races, criminality, likelihood of disease, to support entrenched social hierarchies and ultimately demonstrate the priority of nature over nurture.

Figure 12 - Composite faces classified by a deep neural network as most/least likely to be gay, 2018[14]
These composite faces and average facial landmarks are intended to be representative of the idea that deep neural networks are more accurate than humans at detecting sexual orientation from photos of the face. Notable male hetrosexual features include baseball caps (the darkened top portion of the face on the top-left) and notable homosexual male and female features include glasses (and, by extension, poor eyesight).

Data Body Preservation

Contemporary participation in the data archive can be read as an involuntary performance of the body - one that is automatically analyzed, redefined and shared in opaque ways. This is a cyclical process: in the personalized technological milieu, your data is collected in exchange for access to platforms, media, and modes of self-expression online, leading to an inseparability of self expression and subjectivity from data surveillance.

The nature of where and how this data is produced and captured is dynamic - creating or arresting a picture of a whole is difficult and problematic. The production of many mutable and temporary data assemblages across various networks has meant a shift or an evolution in the concepts of online individualism away from visual or auditory representations and towards mass collections of fragmentary data. If we return to the spectre of the data double, it’s more apparent that there are multiple and shapeshifting doppelgangers, not an entity but a process in the data flow.

In the shift from the contained material body to another of information, what does it mean when our personal content, our data, continues an independent existence after our physical selves have passed? When the networked computer and the companies that own the network are agents in the act of remembering, memorializing, and mourning? What is the human to be held onto in this reproduction? 

The proliferation of the internet into everyday life has had ramifications for our cultural relationships with death, with social media pages especially becoming tangled up in the processes of preservation, evident in the multitude of memorialization and death policies developed by social media and other major data-driven tech companies[15]

Through the tracking and storing of our data, we can supposedly be ‘remembered forever’, or at least for however long the companies who own our data determine that we’re worth remembering. In this way, the internet has become a complex and ambiguous site of digital mourning. There exists a body of information that isn’t buried along with you but continues on ‘living’ at the leisure of communication giants, the profile (the face) may be scrubbed on request but ghosts of experience remain to haunt the neural network. At the level of personal loss, however, there lies an arresting effect in death and more specifically in memorialization, with the capacity to fix certain aspects of informationalized identity in place. In much the same way we might pour over a photo album or look through someone’s old belongings as a way of remembering them, it isn’t the data itself that creates a figure but our own experience, emotion, and personal recollection.

Opacity and Frustration

When I was conceptualizing my analysis of AUTOICON I was hoping to easily fit it around aspects of the contemporary digital body-politic. I approached it with binarily opposed questions about figuration and abstraction in data to see whether it was able to offer clarity and coherence in its rendering of Rodney.

When I first had the opportunity to get the CD-Rom version of AUTOICON out of the Stuart Hall archive, I encountered it with a certain sense of reverence and also, to be honest, morbidness. I had already read a significant amount about Rodney and AUTOICON specifically and I approached the CD as if it were a corpse (twice over: the networked web version is no longer online).

My first interactions with the AUTOICON were in earnest, I spoke to it as if it were Rodney and attempted to talk in the way I thought it wanted me to. Soon enough I grew frustrated by aspects of the work that I saw as outdated and rudimentary, and began to game the interaction: I could see the folders in the backend of the CD and I was using filenames almost like cheat codes to produce specific responses, images or videos.

I was attempting to gain access to the body at the heart of the work, to acquire and know it fully, and I was frustrated when it didn’t yield. I felt like it was withholding; that it had information left unseeable to me. But this frustration eventually became self-reflexive: I was not looking at and interacting with a stark reproduction, a fully comprehensible and transparent Donald Rodney. A sense of illegibility became important to my understanding of the work.

AUTOICON is suffused with a meta awareness of formal codes which it manipulates into art; data collection is divorced from its intended uses, maneuvered instead towards creating a heightened sense of intimacy between the work and the user. By going against an impulse towards reduction of subjectivity to quantification in data, AUTOICON is a bespoke archiving of the body, personality, identity, and memory of Donald Rodney. I wasn’t there to exhume a corpse or to rescue an idealized image of Rodney from his untimely death - or to reduce him to a CD-ROM.

Experiencing AUTOICON is much more about having the opportunity to share in Rodney’s collective memory, a loving image made possible only as a result of its production by those who would miss him the most.

References

[1] ^ The web-based form of AUTOICON is no longer preserved on the Iniva website. Exactly when it became unavailable is unclear, only the CD-Rom copies of the piece remain. In time these too may become unusable; CD drives have gradually been phased out of most laptop models and the architecture on which AUTOICON is built (Quicktime 4), though installable from the disc itself, was discontinued in 2016.

[2]
^ AUTOICON was produced by STAR, Science Technology Arts Research, University of Plymouth (Geoff Cox, Mike Philips, and Angelika Koechert), Sidestream (Adrian Ward), and Gary Stewart of Iniva, with contributions from Eddie Chambers, Virgnia Nimarkoh, Keith Piper, Richard Hylton, and Rodney's partner Diane Symons. In his later practice, Rodney would increasingly delegate roles in the organization and production of his artworks, a process of collaboration referenced in the decision to integrate the montage-machine so prominently within AUTOICON itself.

[3] ^ A spare piece of the skin used in this work was featured in the original interface for AUTOICON. If this interface - which can be seen in images related to the work on Plymouth University’s i-Dat Open Research Lab website - had it been fully implemented, engaging with AUTOICON would’ve been organized around the virtual act of touching a piece of Donald Rodney, of feeling his skin, an intimate reiteration of the works fragile origins and an affirmation of its status as a form of digital embodiment.

[4] ^ J. Bentham, Auto-Icon; or, Farther Uses of the Dead to the Living (Unpublished, 1842), https://nla.gov.au/nla.obj-2810913207/view, p. 3.

[5] ^ The tying of online space to fantasies of transcending the physical body and the social categories attached to it was pervasive in the mid-90s digital representation. Key to the ideals of avatar construction was the virtual performance of being an Other, of escaping ‘outside’ the body and into cyberspace, leaving behind the subject who sits at the keyboard; despite the replication of cultural and social biases and frames of experience and the inevitable return to a life lived in the body. Understanding and questioning these ambitions was the main focus of the blogpost I wrote during my time at the Stuart Hall Library, ‘Acknowledging the Body in Online Art’.

[6] ^ M. Phillips and G. Cox, ‘Donald Rodney - Autoicon: The Death of An Artist’, Emergent Futures: Art Interactivity and New Media, ed. by A. Molina and K. Landa (Valencia: Edicions Alfons el Magnanim, 2001), https://i-dat.org/wp-content/uploads/2000/05/Rodney.pdf.

[7] ^ There are countless examples of how we come into contact with data surveillance technologies in our everyday lives that expose the intrinsic biases at the root of their development. Biometric authentication operates on the presumption of whiteness, an extension of a similar history in terms of photography, film, and art (Kodak’s Shirley Cards from the 1950s, for example). This is the process behind opening your phone with facial recognition or your fingerprint - or being recognized by face-tracking cameras and tagged automatically in social media photographs (Facebook’s ‘Deepface’ facial recognition system catalogues and repurposes a user’s biometric data in this way). Twitter’s image-cropping algorithm, intended to automatically focus image previews around what it determines as the most important aspects of an image, has been shown to fail to recognize non-white faces.

[8] ^ A. Sekula, 'The Body and the Archive', October, Vol. 39, 1986, p. 7.

[9] ^ C. Apprich, W. Hui Kyong Chun, F. Cramer, H. Steyerl, Pattern Discrimination (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2018); S. Browne, Dark Matters: On the Surveillance of Blackness (Durham: Duke University Press, 2015); S. Umoja Noble, Algorithms of Oppression: How Search Engines Reinforce Racism (New York: New York University Press, 2018).

[10] ^ Alphonse Bertillon, ‘Tableau synoptic des traits physionomiques: pour servir a l'étude du "portrait parlé", c.1909, Gelatin silver print, Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art, New York.

[11] ^ S. Sudhakar Farfade, M. Saberian, Li-Jia L., ‘Multi-view Face Detection Using Deep Convolutional Neural Networks’, ICMR '15: Proceedings of the 5th ACM on International Conference on Multimedia Retrieval, 2015, p. 647 (Figure 3).

[12] ^ W. Hui Kyong Chun, ‘Authenticating Figures: Algorithms and the New Politics of Recognition’, Figurations: Persons In/Out of Data Conference, 16 December 2019, Goldsmiths, University of London. Keynote address.

[13] ^ K. Pearson, The Life, Letters and Labours of Francis Galton, Vol. 2 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1924), p. 294 (Plate 35).

[14] ^ M. W. Kosinski, Y. Wang, ‘Deep Neural Networks Are More Accurate Than Humans at Detecting Sexual Orientation From Facial Images’, Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, Vol. 114, Issue 2 (February 2018), p. 268 (Figure 4).

[15] ^ Facebook introduced memorialized accounts in 2009 - creatable after sending a 'proof of death via a special form' and later allowed users to appoint a 'legacy contact' who have the rights to manage their page after their death as well as introducing an option to have an account permanently deleted upon death. On a memorialized profile the word ‘remembering’ is shown next to a person’s name but they no longer appear in public suggestions or reminders.

Google’s death policy defers you to their 'inactive account manager' which, once set up, shuts down an account or transfers it to a nominated person after a given period of 'inactivity' (the implicit meaning behind this is to position inactivity as equivalent to death online). You can go through the process of closing a deceased person's account and 'in certain circumstances' have content from a deceased user's account provided to you. Google says that in 'all of these cases, our primary responsibility is to keep people's information secure, safe, and private'.

Twitter’s death policy allows an authorized person (be they nominated or a 'verified' immediate family member) to request deactivation of the account. However, they state that they are 'unable to provide account access to anyone regardless of their relationship to the deceased'. Twitter has additional policies regarding images or videos of deceased individuals: 'Twitter takes public interest factors into account when reviewing reports related to images and videos that depict deceased individuals. In limited circumstances, we might not remove this media, even on receipt of a valid report, e.g., police shootings or other newsworthy events.'

Bibliography

Apprich, Clemens, Hui Kyong Chun, Wendy, Cramer, Florian, and Steyerl, Hito, Pattern Discrimination (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2018).

Aranke, Sampada, ‘Material Matters: Black Radical Aesthetics and the Limits of Visibility’, e-flux, No. 79 (February 2017), https://www.e-flux.com/journal/79/94433/material-matters-black-radical-aesthetics-and-the-limits-of-visibility/.

Bentham, Jeremy, Auto-Icon; or, Farther Uses of the Dead to the Living (Unpublished, 1842), https://nla.gov.au/nla.obj-2810913207/view.

Betterton, Rosemary, An Intimate Distance: women, artists, and the body (London: Routledge, 1996).

Body Visual: (Helen Chadwick, Letizia Galli, Donald Rodney), ed. by Nicola Triscott (London: Arts Catalyst, 1996).

Browne, Simone, Dark Matters: On the Surveillance of Blackness (Durham: Duke University Press, 2015).

Cheney-Lippold, John, We Are Data: Algorithms and the Making of Our Digital Selves (New York: New York University Press, 2017).

Dekker, Annet, ‘Introduction’, in Lost and living (in) archives : collectively shaping new memories, ed. by Annet Dekker (Amsterdam: Valiz, 2017), pp. 11-27.

Gonzalez, Jennifer, ‘The Appended Subject: Race and Identity as Digital Assemblage’, in Race in Cyberspace, Ed. by B. E. Kolko, L. Nakamura, and G. B. Rodman (New York: Routledge, 2000), pp. 27-50.

Glissant, Edouard, ‘For Opacity’, in Poetics of Relation, 1990, trans. by Betsy Wing (Michigan: University of Michigan Press, 1997), pp. 189-194.

Hui Kyong Chun, Wendy, ‘Authenticating Figures: Algorithms and the New Politics of Recognition’, Figurations: Persons In/Out of Data Conference, 16 December 2019, Goldsmiths, University of London. Keynote address.

Donald Rodney: Doublethink, ed. by R. Hylton (London: Autograph, 2003).

Kolko, Beth E., Nakamura, Lisa and Rodman, Gilbert B., ‘Race in Cyberspace: An Introduction’, in Race in Cyberspace, Ed. by Kolko, Nakamura, and Rodman (New York: Routledge, 2000), pp. 1-14.

Kosinski, Michal W. and Wang, Yilun, ‘Deep Neural Networks Are More Accurate Than Humans at Detecting Sexual Orientation From Facial Images’, Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, Vol. 114, Issue 2 (February 2018), pp. 246-257.

Lange, Christy, ‘Face to face : the photographic portrait in the age of facial recognition technology’, Frieze, No. 196, June-August 2018, pp. 134-137.

Nakamura, Lisa, Digitizing Race: Visual Cultures of the Internet (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2008).

Pearson, Karl, The Life, Letters and Labours of Francis Galton, Vol. 2 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1924).

Phillips, Mike, and Cox, Geoff, ‘Donald Rodney - Autoicon: The Death of An Artist’, in Emergent Futures: Art Interactivity and New Media, ed. by A. Molina and K. Landa (Valencia: Edicions Alfons el Magnanim, 2001), https://i-dat.org/wp-content/uploads/2000/05/Rodney.pdf.

Phillips, Mike, ‘Donald G Rodney: Autoicon’, Mediaspace, No. 5, 1998, pp. 6-7.

Sekula, Allan, 'The Body and the Archive', October, Vol. 39, 1986, pp. 3-64.

Snell, Karoliina, Saariketo, Minna, and Saugmann, Rune, ‘'Data doubling': Process, power and agency in data flows’, Figurations: Persons In/Out of Data Conference, 16 December 2019, Goldsmiths, University of London.

Sluis, Katrina, ‘Accumulate, aggregate, destroy: database fever and the archival web’, in Lost and living (in) archives : collectively shaping new memories, ed. by Annet Dekker (Amsterdam: Valiz, 2017), pp. 27-42.

Sudhakar Farfade, Sachin, Saberian, Mohammad, and Li-Jia, Li, ‘Multi-view Face Detection Using Deep Convolutional Neural Networks’, ICMR '15: Proceedings of the 5th ACM on International Conference on Multimedia Retrieval, 2015, pp. 643-650.

Umoja Noble, Safiya, Algorithms of Oppression: How Search Engines Reinforce Racism (New York: New York University Press, 2018).