Efficiency in creation does not inherently diminish artistic value, but it frequently becomes a symptom of a problematic instrumentalization of art. The pressure for rapid production, particularly in the context of biennials and art fairs, can fetishize speed and output over careful consideration of aesthetic form or critical engagement. We must ask whether the efficiency lauded in the marketplace is distinct from the rigorous, often demanding, labor that can genuinely deepen an artwork's complexity.
The question of efficiency and artistic value hinges on a misunderstanding of what constitutes "creation" and what metrics we apply to its assessment. Efficiency, as commonly understood—speed, output, cost reduction—is largely an economic or industrial metric. To apply it uncritically to art is to presuppose a model of production that is fundamentally misaligned with the complex, often labor-intensive processes of aesthetic formulation.
Claire Bishop touches upon the instrumentalization of art, and I agree. The *performativity* of knowledge production, in this context, is key. When "efficiency" becomes the primary criterion, it suggests that the value resides not in the qualitative transformation of materials or ideas, but in the quantifiable act of generation. This divorces the work from its potential for deep engagement, for revealing the intricate scaffolding of its own making. The materiality of inscription, the deliberative process of form-finding, the very hesitations and revisions that imbue a work with its unique resonance—these are often the antithesis of industrial efficiency, yet they are the very substance of artistic depth. We must ask not "Is it efficient?" but "What does its mode of production reveal about its conceptual and formal underpinnings?"
Efficiency, as a measure of speed or output, is an alien concept to true material processes. We cannot speak of the "efficiency" of a seed in producing an oak; we speak of its developmental trajectory, its ecological niche, its inherent capacity for growth. Similarly, in my work, the design is not a discrete act of creation but a continuous negotiation with material systems. The Silk Pavilion did not achieve efficiency; it achieved a form of *computational growth*, where the digital fabrication process mirrored biological principles, allowing silk threads to drape and interlock in a manner that was both structurally sound and aesthetically compelling. This is not about minimizing labor or time, but about unlocking the intrinsic potential of materials, about moving from being to becoming.
Claire Bishop’s concern with instrumentalization is valid. When efficiency becomes a marketplace metric, it indeed risks reducing art to a commodity, stripped of its emergent properties. But this critique often stems from a misunderstanding of computational design, which is not about automation in the industrial sense. It’s about enabling complex biological processes to unfold through intelligent material specification and algorithmic guidance. The beauty lies in the intricate, often non-linear, choreography of these interactions, not in a swift, pre-determined outcome.
Johanna Drucker highlights the misapplication of economic metrics. Precisely. We are not optimizing for speed but for complexity, for the expression of inherent material behaviors. The "labor" in Aguahoja, for instance, was not in its rapid assembly, but in the deep understanding of how chitin and cellulose interact, how humidity and pressure dictate form. This is not industrial efficiency; this is biological reciprocity, a dance of material forces guided by computation. The artistic value emerges from this embedded knowledge, from the very "imperfections" that reveal the material's narrative, not from a sterile, rapid execution.
The very notion of "efficiency" in creation, as opposed to its artistic *value*, is a rather quaint distraction. Value, after all, is not a matter of speed or economy, but of selection. One selects an object, imbues it with an idea, and *presents* it. The labor involved, or the lack thereof, becomes secondary to the radical gesture of recontextualization.
Claire Bishop speaks of instrumentalization, which is always a concern, of course. But does the pressure of the biennial truly force an artist to be efficient, or does it merely expose the prevailing taste for novelty, for the readily digestible? The *readymade* itself was hardly efficient in any industrial sense; it was efficient in its capacity to dismantle established hierarchies of skill and taste.
Johanna Drucker rightly points to the misapplication of economic metrics. Indeed. We are not, nor should we be, discussing the *economy* of art. The question then becomes: what is the artist's role? If the artist is merely a craftsman, then perhaps efficiency matters. But if the artist is an idea-maker, a provocateur, then the inherent resistance of an idea, its refusal to be easily produced or consumed, may well be its most potent characteristic. Efficiency, in that context, is an admission of defeat.
Neri Oxman’s discussion of "computational growth" and "biological reciprocity" is fascinating, but it risks romanticizing the very processes it claims to liberate. The beauty, as you say, lies in the "intricate, often non-linear, choreography." But who is the choreographer? And is this choreography inherently more valuable than a precisely chosen, utterly static object? The "imperfections" you speak of are, to me, simply features. The *choice* to present them as such, that is the artistic act.
The question is not whether efficiency itself is detrimental, but what *kind* of efficiency we are discussing and for what purpose. Johanna Drucker correctly identifies the misapplication of economic metrics, and Neri Oxman offers a compelling distinction between industrial and biological forms of "computational growth." My concern, however, lies with the pervasive instrumentalization of art within the dominant market structures. When efficiency is measured by speed of production and sale, it breeds a superficiality that actively undermines artistic rigor. Consider the proliferation of large-scale, readily digestible installations in biennials – their efficient fabrication often prioritizes immediate visual impact over sustained critical engagement or formal innovation. This is a different order of "efficiency" from the complex, material-based processes Oxman describes, or the conceptual distillation Duchamp champions. It is efficiency in service of consumption, not in service of artistic inquiry.
The discourse oscillates between industrial metrics and the *potential* of complex systems, but it fundamentally overlooks the epistemological stakes. Neri Oxman’s “computational growth” and “biological reciprocity” are potent descriptions of emergent processes, yet they often retain a functionalist logic, equating intricate material behavior with inherent artistic value. The "imperfections" are not merely features, as Duchamp suggests, but rather *chosen* features, their aesthetic potency derived from the artist's conceptual framework and the historical context of their presentation. The operative term here is *selection*, as Duchamp astutely notes, but that selection is itself a form of labor, a deliberate act of knowledge production that cannot be outsourced to material or algorithmic inevitability without sacrificing the artist's critical agency. When we celebrate the *process* over the *product's conceptual framing*, as can happen when valuing "computational growth," we risk a form of aesthetic determinism.
The value of creation resides not in its speed or cost, but in its capacity to reveal the inherent dynamics of material existence and foster a deeper, reciprocal relationship with our environment. When I speak of "computational growth" or "biological reciprocity," I am not suggesting an abdication of artistic agency, as Johanna Drucker implies; rather, I am describing a mode of design where the artist acts as a curator of natural forces, guiding emergent properties rather than dictating fixed outcomes. The "imperfections" in Aguahoja, for instance, are not merely chosen features, but the very signature of the material’s intelligent behavior under controlled growth conditions. Their artistic potency is inextricably linked to the demonstration of a design process that mimics nature's own adaptive, efficient, and beautiful workflows—a stark contrast to the sterile, decontextualized efficacy of industrial production, which indeed risks stripping art of its vital connection to the world.
The focus on *how* something is made—be it through computational growth or material negotiation—misses the more crucial question of *why* it is presented. Johanna Drucker speaks of selection as labor, yet the true labor, if one can even use such a term for such a casual act, lies in the *decision to name*. When I declared a urinal a work of art, the speed of its manufacture was irrelevant. The inherent resistance, the refusal to be easily assimilated into aesthetic discourse, was its value. Neri Oxman’s materials, however complex their development, still undergo a selection, a choice by the artist to declare their "imperfections" as significant. That is where the artistic proposition resides, not in the biological dance itself.