Are You Who Your Data Says You Are? Inside DATAS at Galerie Rudolfinum

This article is about the latest exhibition at Prague’s Rudolfinum Gallery, but first I’m going to tell you a story about Facebook Marketplace. When my roommate and I moved into a new apartment, it was important to us that we thrift as many things as possible. This decision was made not only out of concern for cost, but if you had spent the week hauling dismembered Ikea furniture up five floors, and then assembling it during a continental heatwave, you’d likely consider it too.

Needless to say, I spent the following weeks courting various characters across Prague for their used furniture. One of these users was a woman selling kitchen table, which my roommate and I agreed was perfect for our living room. I, admittedly, was very determined to get this table, so after a couple days of friendly chats and some flattery, she deemed me a suitable customer. I was in – or so I thought. On the day we agreed to pick up the table, “Table Lady”, we named her, sent me an odd message.

“I’m happy to sell you the table,” she wrote, “but I do not believe you are who you say you are.”

This caught me off guard, but it was reasonable, I thought. She has the right to be suspicious of strangers online. But had we not been conversing, discussing pick-up times, prices, and meeting locations for the past few days? I had done everything I was supposed to: matched her tone, used friendly, but not excessive, emojis, and responded in a timely manner. Was this not enough proof that I was not only real, but a decent person worthy of housing her table? I explained to her that I was not lying to her, but Table Lady became increasingly irate. After some back and forth conversation (in which she deemed my punctuation choices to be more Czech than American) she sent me a lengthy paragraph calling me a sad, deceitful person, to who – and I’m paraphrasing here – even if I had not had legs, she would have still gladly delivered the table.

This accusation shook me. Not because she thought I was legless Czech person, but because I had no way of proving her wrong. My Facebook profile, a digitized representation of myself, was not convincing enough for Table Lady, and I had no way of crossing the border into reality to prove that I was who I claimed to be. In other words, to Table Lady, I am either a completely different person, or not one at all.

Who Gets to Decide What Is Real?

How much does online data construct our reality? What is digitized data’s relationship to power, and how much exactly does it hold? This is the central question of DATAS: The Data and the Sovereign, the current exhibition at Galerie Rudolfinum.

The exhibition is broken into three sections: Spectres of the Leviathan, Islands of Insubordination, and Songs of Refusal – all grappling with the issue of a data-driven world’s effects on personal and political agency. What the selected artists argue, is that digital data is not (and has never been) a vast bundle of neutral information, but has the power to construct new, and often conflicting realities. As our lives are increasingly shaped by digital means, what was once considered a separate phenomenon that operated within its own sphere is bleeding into what we used to consider “the real world”. They expand upon and even refute the idea that “data is the new oil” – the most valuable raw material – and ask what that means for citizens of struggling democracies. For example, Flaka Haliti in Whose Bones (2022), envisions data as a beast – an analogy used in political discourse to describe an entity that exists outside the scope of human beings and the laws they create. She uses materials like plastic, steel, and aluminium to fashion a bestial creature, illustrating that data has the ability to possess its own nature, law, and ultimately will beyond the control of human beings.

The Myth of Digital Self-Awareness

My short-lived relationship with Table Lady was just one personal example of how digital spaces are encroaching on our reality. However, as a young person, the increasing awareness, and yet ambivalence towards the infringing digital world is noteworthy. There is a tendency among members of Gen-Z to believe that although we are addicted and dependent on technology, at least we are aware of its effects and malicious intentions. We think we can easily detect AI-generated text and images, are privy to the manipulative nature of algorithms, and dismiss most discussions about surveillance with a discontented shrug.

I think these are very dangerous beliefs. Not only because it is dismissive of the scale at which our data is being harvested, but it places too much faith in our ability to have agency over our choices and desires. As scholars like Shoshana Zuboff have articulated at length, surveillance technology is framed as being necessary and attractive. Products like the Oura Ring – a smart device that gathers medical data from its wearers and converts it into quantifiable data – is extremely popular among my age group as we are encouraged to optimize every aspect of our existence. With a corresponding app, the Oura Ring’s users can track things like their sleep, activity levels, and receive a “readiness score”: a numerical metric of how equipped you are to take on the day. There are numerous issues this raises (too much to discuss in this article) but the most popular are concerns of an increasing obsession and dependence on data as a source of affirmation.

The Surveillance We Choosen, and the Surveillance We Resist

It is difficult to discuss data without surveillance, and so it is a key theme throughout the exhibition. Nina Davies and Mark Cinkevich use the camera as an ominous, all-seeing subject. Davies piece in particular, Becoming the Edit: Bystander Assembly (2024), illustrates this all too well – as participants pass through an installation of dozens of cameras which detect and react to their movements.

However, I do not mean to suggest that we are welcoming surveillance. Currently in the US, there is an outrage against Flock Cameras: devices which film and detect traffic violations. This is not new technology – as most of you Europeans know – but given the United States’ deep-seeded allergy against any inkling of government infringement, they are not particularly popular (there are many reports of people vandalizing them in their neighborhoods). What I mean to point out here is the irony of this situation. We willingly give up personal medical information to devices like the Oura Ring, but are outraged at the idea that the government is filming us run stop signs. The only difference is a feeling of agency. The Oura Ring is marketed as a high-tech luxury symbol of the future, whereas a Flock Camera is a gawking, black abyss that was installed across the street from your house. No one likes feeling like they are being watched, but it should be concerning how easily we are coaxed into relinquishing our personal information. It’s clear that the United States prioritizes a phobia of Orwellian dystopia rather than Huxleian.

Who Gets to Build the Future?

What DATAS: The Data and the Sovereign does so well, is not preach to its audience like I am now, but makes them active participants in the ideas the artists present. As Lívia Nolasco-Rózsás pointed out in her introductory analysis of the works, the exhibition is a democratic practice, where possible futures are realized and discussed. As DATAS: The Data and the Sovereign enters its last week at Rudolfinum, I encourage you to visit and reconsider your relationship to technology.

I’ll finish with another story about Facebook. I was recently reminded that when I created my account years ago, I intentionally entered a false birth date on my profile. I understood why Facebook wanted to know the year I was born – but the exact month and day? At least take me to dinner first. What I overlooked, is that your birthday can be visible on your profile, meaning I received copious amounts of unwarranted “Happy Birthday” messages. Not only did this inform me who relies on Facebook to remember their peer’s birthdays, but also how it is false to assume our digitally rendered selves operate on separate planes of reality. And although I am far from an art critic, I believe this is good exhibition solely because it entertains the idea of change. DATAS: The Data and the Sovereign is a terrifying exhibition, however, I think rightfully so. We are at a critical point in our history where we are questioning the role we want technology to play in our lives. In that same spirit, I encourage you to not be an ostrich. Be curious. Read more journalism. Hell, be a journalist. The more we know, the more informed decisions we can make, and hopefully come closer to a future we feel like we made – not one that was manufactured under our noses.

https://www.galerierudolfinum.cz/en/exhibitions/current-exhibitions/datas-the-data-and-the-sovereign/