Oceano Mare is an audiovisual installation that acts as an ellipse in the midst of noisier events, drawing the outlines of a safe space for the public. Its never-ending ambient stream and bubble-like quality make it a peaceful area where people can choose to take as much time as they want to escape what's troubling them.
The installation is inhabited by an artificial intelligence that composes and plays piano solos inspired by impressionists such as Debussy, Fauré, Ravel & Satie. But machines are rather new at learning things, and these romantic neurons working so hard to recreate metaphors of the ocean's ebb and flows soon become overwhelmed by the amount of load on the machine which in turn raises the system to states of hypertrophy, making it subject to glitches.
Though glitches aren't always as dramatic as they sound. In this case their chaotic nature serves a purpose, a trade, it's all about giving up on the right data to find a state of equilibrium to keep playing the music. In Oceano Mare, these glitches surround you, and what once was just "test video data" becomes a never-ending ocean with its own kind of poetically broken waves.
My favorite thing about this installation is that it never stops unless you unplug it. Everything it composes and everything you see is created for you only and then destroyed on the spot. It's like a lifetime inside the heart of a dying machine.
Oceano Mare's code was written parallel to late nights listening to Ravel's piano solo works and reading a novel of the same name by italian writter Alessandro Baricco. While the stories that Baricco tells are often about inexplicable illnesses and human sentiment who find deliverance in the aspects of the sea, Oceano Mare's narration is marked by powerless moments of contemplation in front of such immensity, creating feelings of latency of which I am very fond of.