2002 Images captured from Webcams

Collaborative Book Project

The CAMS book is a collaboration with experimental writers and poets.  These writers were given a selection of images captured from webcams.  The writers were asked to write “around” the image rather than about it.  The book was included in the CAMS exhibition at Gallery 16 in San Francisco.

CAMS Book

The CAMS Project

The Cams Project, Suspect Thoughts: a Journal of Subversive Writing, Body Language, Issue #13, editor Dodie Bellamy. July – December 2004 

The Cams Project Suspect Thoughts

Seven Cameras and Nothing On

Bellamy, Dodie; text. Anderson, Elliot; images. “Seven Cameras and Nothing On.” Nest, No. 18. Fall 2002: 190-200.

Nest Magazine

Exhibition

CAMS, AAF Art Fair. New York, NY., 2008

CAMS,  LA Los Angeles International Contemporary Art Fair.  Los Angeles, CA., 2007

CAMS, Aqua Art Fair in conjunction with Art Basel Miami. Miami, Fl., 2006

CAMS, Solo exhibition, Gallery 16, San Francisco, CA., 2004

CAMS is a captured photo seires, exhibition and collaborative wrtiing project. 

How did it happen that I became a voyeur of interiors? On hot New England summer nights I would walk the neighborhood with my mother peering into neighbor’s windows, checking out their odds and ends, their decorating schemes, their appliances. At Christmas we’d drive around gazing into picture windows inspecting silver trees slowly changing from amber to red to green to blue and around again. Was it Builder’s Showcase, the Sunday morning TV show that would flash slides of the paneled and plushed interiors of new split-entry Garrisons for my post-church delectation? Real estate was my pre-pubescent sex. I imagined all sorts of living arrangements. These architectural fantasies have led me to this—ogling public interior lives on the net.

I glean images from web cameras – adult erotic webcams. Webcams allow me to pull up a chair and leer into a living-room. I survey these cameras out of the corner of my eye as I word-process. An empty room builds an anticipatory erotic charge. I grab. Homey erotic dancers appear for my net-voyeur’s pleasure. Contorting to exhibit their body parts, they twist through the frame momentarily creating aesthetically aroused compositions. I grab. I grab from the video spew anything that gets my art-erogenous zone going.

The banality of these images creates a quotidian intimacy between the click of my mouse and their decor. I always fantasize what the camera hides or what lurks around corners and behind cupboards beyond its eye. Are the floors hard or soft wood? Are the faucets dripping? Is the carpet stained?

The bodies and interiors I gape at are archi-erotic fictions to me—I construct as I go along watching. To corroborate my fantasies of real-estate I have collaborated with these fiction writers and poets to create this book.