Beneath the Surface: Conversations on Under the Volcano
The following dialogue is a distillation of several conversations I’ve had over the years—with curators, fellow artists, and friends—about Under the Volcano and the ideas that continue to shape my work.
Q: Ok, you have the ants covering up a circuit-board city. Why?
RC: The city represents humanity’s current contribution to the earth—the industrial age. If you look at the Earth as a living organism, which I do, then this period appears like a prolonged illness. One that we had to experience in order to reach a new stage of evolution. The circuit board isn’t just a metaphor for human industry—it’s a relic of a mindset. The ants, by contrast, represent a kind of healing intelligence. Their behavior is ancient, communal, and efficient. In the installation, their movement gradually buries the city. I see this as a symbolic cleansing, a way for nature—and perhaps the digital age—to quietly undo the excesses of the industrial world.
Q: That sounds hopeful, but a little ominous too. Is the city being erased?
RC: Not erased—absorbed. What we build doesn’t vanish, but it gets layered into the Earth’s memory. I’m not suggesting we forget or regret it. Instead, the work invites reflection on how our creations impact the ecosystem and how they might be integrated rather than imposed. The ants are not destroying the city. They’re transforming it.
Q: What makes the ants digital in your metaphor?
RC: It’s about systems. Ants operate through decentralized intelligence. No single ant knows the big picture, but collectively they build remarkable cities. That’s how digital networks function—millions of tiny inputs feeding a larger, often invisible, system. The ants, like data packets, are constantly moving, reacting, and adapting. I see them as a living metaphor for a kind of post-industrial intelligence—organic, flexible, and non-hierarchical.
Q: Is this also why you let the viewers participate?
RC: Exactly. That was the real shift in my work with Under the Volcano. I had used living creatures before, but this was the first time I invited human visitors to become active agents in the system. I gave them tools to move the environment—to build bridges, dig paths, redirect the ants’ movements. Especially children—they were fearless and curious. That interaction created a dynamic I couldn’t predict. The piece became something more than I had designed. It was evolving in real-time.
Q: Were you trying to teach something?
RC: Not in the didactic sense. But I do believe in building experiences that allow people to think differently about their place in the world. In this case, people weren’t just watching the ants—they became part of the same ecosystem. Everyone under the volcano was implicated. That realization—that we are in the system, not outside it—is powerful.
Q: What does the volcano represent?
RC: Pressure. Latency. The sense that something is always brewing just beneath the surface—whether it’s ecological collapse or human transformation. The installation is calm, even quiet, but there’s this underlying urgency. Things are shifting. It’s also a nod to Malcolm Lowry’s novel, where the volcano becomes a metaphor for inner turmoil, unspoken crises, and the fragility of civilization.
Q: And this was your first use of robotics?
RC: Yes, a modest beginning. I built a simple robotic mechanism to allow visitors to follow the ants and peer into their activities as voyeurs. It was primitive compared to what’s possible now, but it opened a door. Since then, robotics and AI have become essential tools in my work—not for spectacle, but for their ability to model complex systems and invite real-time feedback. Under the Volcano was the seed of all that.
Q: How does this installation connect with the direction your work is going now?
RC: It was foundational. I’m still exploring systems that evolve through participation—whether that’s ants, viewers, or AI. These days, I’m building installations that use voice and conversational intelligence to bring people into dialogue with systems they don’t fully understand, but are shaping all the same. The goal is to create spaces where agency, awareness, and wonder can coexist. Under the Volcano was my first real glimpse of that potential.
Q: What do you want people to feel when they see the installation?
RC: Ideally, a mix of awe and responsibility. It’s beautiful, but it’s also a mirror. You see the ants, the city, the sand, and maybe you see the world a little differently. Maybe you see yourself a little differently. That’s enough.
Interactive Multimedia Installation
DeCordova Annual Exhibition, 2000
“Under the Volcano” marked a turning point. It was the first time I consciously included the viewer as a co-creator—offering not just an experience, but a role. Visitors, especially children, were given tools to engage with a living system: a transparent habitat where ants moved sand instinctively toward water. The ants followed ancient biological codes; the humans followed curiosity. Together, they shaped a landscape.
The piece asks: when are we observing nature, and when are we a part of it?
While I’ve long worked with living organisms as metaphors for human behavior, Under the Volcano shifted the focus from metaphor to interaction. It blurred the lines between observer and participant, art and ecology, intention and instinct. The title evokes both pressure and presence—referring not only to the subterranean life of ants but also to the human condition: our precarious, often unconscious dance on the edge of eruption.
That small step led to a deeper investigation into systems that evolve through interaction, which has now expanded into AI and responsive installations.
This was also my first foray into robotics—an early exploration of machine-mediated environments.
“Under the Volcano” stands as a foundational work—a precursor to the generative, emergent systems I’m now developing through AI, voice, and embodied interaction. It’s not just about ants or robotics. It’s about agency—biological, mechanical, and human.
