Anopticon

Now when surfaces of inscription begin to record, to describe, to work not for but on us. Optics traverse a troubled time. Picture a hexagonal room. A man, the warden, sits inside. He is able to see small portions of the sky. The room has no doors, but there are tiny slits in the corners. The prisoners run freely in the corridors that splay out of the hexagon’s vertices. The warden never knows whether he is being watched.

< Who watches the watchman? >
The anopticon shifts the responsibility of surveillance from the warden. Now, the walls are watching him. But this is not a relaxing situation at all. In fact, the warden is now paralyzed with paranoia. To be is to be seen, said the good bishop. Now the warden knows never to be sure of the reality of his own existence. He doubts himself constantly. He projects an image of himself. The warden paces around the room, punches the walls, somersaults as if to communicate to potential watchers his disdain for their potential interest. He will behave the same all the time.

Surveillance has not been removed from the warden, but it has been redirected. The eye looks inward, it has become the site of a struggle that takes place underneath the visible, within. The warden is trained.

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GUILLAUME MENGUY

Anopticon