Tara Donovan’s Stratagems at ICA SF

by Chief Editor

The Future of Art in the Age of Digital Obsolescence

As technology evolves at unprecedented speed, artists are increasingly turning to obsolete media not as relics, but as raw material for exploring memory, perception, and cultural change. Tara Donovan’s Stratagems at the Institute of Contemporary Art San Francisco exemplifies this shift—transforming thousands of discarded CDs into luminous, immersive sculptures that challenge how we see, remember, and relate to technological progress. This approach is not isolated. it signals a growing movement in contemporary art where decay, repetition, and light become tools for commentary on our digital age.

From Analog to Ephemeral: Art Responding to Technological Turnover

The rapid turnover of consumer electronics has created a new archeological layer of culture—one composed of floppy disks, VHS tapes, and now, compact discs. Artists like Donovan are excavating these materials not for nostalgia, but to reveal their hidden aesthetic and philosophical potential. In 2023, the Tate Modern featured Analogue Synthesis by Rosa Barba, which used decommissioned film stock to explore time, and decay. Similarly, Refik Anadol’s data sculptures transform obsolete server logs into flowing visualizations, proving that what we discard can become the foundation of new artistic languages.

This trend reflects a broader cultural shift: as cloud storage and streaming render physical media obsolete, artists are stepping in to preserve not the data, but the *sensibility* of those formats—their texture, weight, and interaction with light. The result is a genre of art that is simultaneously archaeological and futuristic.

Light, Repetition, and Perception: The Evolving Language of Installation Art

Donovan’s work continues a lineage of artists who use repetition to alter perception. From Yayoi Kusama’s infinity rooms to Tara Donovan’s own earlier works with styrofoam cups and index cards, the principle remains: multiply a simple unit enough times, and it transcends its origins. What’s evolving is how light is now integrated as an active collaborator. In Stratagems, natural sunlight moving through the glass walls of ICA SF causes the CD surfaces to shift in color and intensity throughout the day—making time itself a co-creator of the artwork.

Recent exhibitions reinforce this direction. At the 2024 Venice Biennale, Sarah Sze’s Timelapse used thousands of small objects and projected light to create shifting constellations that responded to viewer movement. Meanwhile, teamLab’s immersive installations in Tokyo and Singapore use sensors and real-time rendering to build environments that evolve with presence—blurring the line between sculpture, architecture, and living system.

These works suggest a future where art is not static, but responsive—shaped by light, motion, and environmental change, much like the digital systems it often comments on.

Urban Landscapes and the Sculpture of Data

One of the most striking aspects of Stratagems is how its vertical CD formations echo skyscrapers, especially when viewed against the backdrop of San Francisco’s Transamerica Pyramid. Donovan intentionally draws this parallel, noting that her structures suggest “infinite vertical expansion” without serving a functional purpose. This mirrors a growing trend in art: the visualization of data as architecture.

Refik Anadol’s Machine Hallucinations series, exhibited at MoMA and the Venice Biennale, turns vast datasets—such as urban traffic patterns or coral reef health—into towering, fluid digital sculptures projected onto building facades. Similarly, Jer Thorp’s data-driven installations at the Museum of Modern Art have transformed email archives and Wikipedia edits into flowing, cloud-like forms that resemble both storms and cities.

As cities grow smarter and data more abundant, artists are increasingly acting as interpreters—translating invisible flows of information into tangible, sensory experiences. The future may see more “data monuments” in public spaces, where sculptures rise not from stone or steel, but from the accumulated traces of human activity.

The Ethics of Obsolescence: Art as a Mirror to Consumption

Beyond aesthetics, works like Stratagems raise urgent questions about consumption and waste. The average lifespan of a CD is estimated at 20–100 years under ideal conditions, yet billions were produced in the 1990s and 2000s, many now sitting in landfills or drawers. Donovan’s choice to use thousands of them highlights both their visual richness and their environmental footprint.

From Instagram — related to Donovan, Stratagems

This aligns with a growing eco-art movement. Agnes Denes’ Wheatfield – A Confrontation (1982) planted two acres of wheat on landfill in Manhattan—a direct commentary on misuse of space. More recently, Olafur Eliasson’s Ice Watch placed melting glacial ice in public squares to make climate change visceral. In 2023, the Victoria and Albert Museum acquired a dress made entirely from discarded smartphones by designer Richard Quinn, signaling that fashion, too, is confronting tech waste.

Art that repurposes obsolete technology does more than create beauty—it invites reflection. What does it mean that we produce so much, use it so briefly, and then discard it? By elevating the discarded, artists challenge us to reconsider value, longevity, and responsibility in a hyper-consumptive world.

Where Art and Technology Converge: The Rise of Hybrid Practices

The most innovative contemporary artists are no longer choosing between analog and digital—they are blending them. Donovan’s use of physical CDs to create light-based experiences bridges this gap. Her work is analog in material but digital in origin, and the final experience is shaped by natural light—an ancient medium—filtered through contemporary architecture.

This hybridity is evident in practices like bio-digital art, where artists such as Anna Dumitrium use bacteria and AI to create living portraits, or in augmented reality installations like those by KAWS, where physical sculptures come alive through smartphone apps. The Whitney Museum’s 2023 exhibition Programmed: Rules, Codes, and Choreographies in Art, 1965–2018 traced this lineage, showing how rule-based systems—whether manual or computational—have long driven artistic innovation.

Looking ahead, One can expect more artists to work at the intersection of craft and code, using obsolete tech not as a rejection of progress, but as a way to humanize it. The future of art may lie not in choosing between the hand and the machine, but in revealing how they shape each other.

Did you realize?

The first commercial CD was produced in 1982, and by 2000, over 20 billion had been sold worldwide. Despite their decline, CDs still account for nearly 30% of global music revenue in certain niche markets, according to IFPI 2023 data—proof that obsolescence is rarely absolute.

Pro tip:

If you’re an artist or designer interested in working with obsolete media, start small. Collect a single type of discarded item—floppy disks, cassette tapes, or even SD cards—and experiment with how it interacts with light, shadow, and repetition. Often, the most powerful transformations begin with the simplest constraints.

Tara Donovan • Stratagems

Frequently Asked Questions

Why are artists using obsolete technology in their work?

Artists use obsolete media to explore themes of memory, time, and cultural change. These materials carry sensory and historical weight that digital files often lack, making them powerful metaphors for how we relate to progress and loss.

Can art made from old tech be considered sustainable?

Yes—when it repurposes waste, it reduces landfill burden and raises awareness about consumption. However, sustainability depends on sourcing; ideally, artists use donated or recovered materials rather than newly produced ones.

Is this trend limited to visual art?

No. Musicians like Oneohtrix Point Never and Holly Herndon use outdated software and hardware to create sound, while writers and filmmakers incorporate analog glitches and VHS aesthetics to evoke nostalgia or critique digital perfection.

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