What is it about these things that makes us so obedient, and so oblivious to that which lies outside them, such as actual people? I once asked a man who was bellowing into a cell phone in the coffee shop in San Francisco why he was talking so loudly. A bad connection, he said. It had not crossed his mind that anything else mattered at that moment. Like computers and television, cell phones pull people into their own psychological polar field, and the pull is strong.
Whenever I am over at a friend's house, and the phone rings during the final half-hour of a movie, or in the middle of a conversation, or during a three-minute dreamcast game, I am amazed that they would stop what they are doing to answer the phone, rather than allow it to go to voicemail. What could be so important that it couldn't wait three minutes, thirty minutes, or even an hour? I would estimate that 75-90% of my calls are solicitations, and the rest are non-urgent calls from friends (who should know that instant messages are the best way to reach me anyway), so I rarely answer my phone.
Refresh: The Art of the Screen Saver. Curator James Buckhouse explains the appeal of the screen saver:
What if that windowed office never comes? What if your only window out, your only aperta finestra, to your dreams, poetic sense of self and your cultural connection to the world was your computer screen? ...
The screensaver indicates that while you are no longer working at the computer, the computer continues to cycle tirelessly. The screensaver works as an avatar, standing in for your presence while you are out. The screensaver hints at what you might be thinking about when you are not thinking about work.
Why is it that an artist's or curator's description is more likely to diminish interest in a piece or exhibit than increase interest? This seems to happen more often in the visual arts than in other disciplines.