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Can’t Help Myself – How a Relatable Robot Offers a Critical Reflection on Modern Society

In 2016, the Guggenheim Museum commissioned its very first robotic artwork called  Can’t Help Myself  (Wannmann, 2016). The artwork is created by two of China’s most controversial artists Sun Yuan and Peng Yu and can be described as a robotic arm that has one specific, life-long duty: to prevent the deep-red, bloodlike liquid, which constantly oozes outwards, from straying too far (Weng, n.d.). By dragging its sweeper across the floor in calculated, almost dance-like movements, the robot brings the liquid back into place over and over again, without it ever seeming to stop. In an effort to clean up the constant mess, the robot only makes matters worse by leaving smudges of the liquid on the floor, the walls, and itself. In the video below, you can see the robot in action. This led to the robot slowing down enormously and eventually being unplugged in 2019. In the end, the robot  couldn’t help itself.  

In November 2021, the artwork suddenly gained viral attention on the popular video-sharing app TikTok. Short clips of the industrial robot trying to fulfill its life-long duty were sometimes watched over 50 million times and elicited strong emotional reactions among viewers. As the robot’s once smooth movements had grown rusty over time, users sympathized with the machine and its apparent senseless existence. Comments like ‘’it looks so tired and unmotivated,’’ and ‘’Why can’t we just let it rest?’’ appeared plentiful and were liked thousands of times. 

In this paper, the many ways in which Sun Yuan and Peng Yu’s artwork  Can’t Help Myself  can be interpreted will be discussed. The emphasis will be on how the artwork allowed the artists to offer a critical reflection on modern-day issues, such as migration, surveillance, authoritarianism, and even on technology itself. Moreover, the artwork’s virality on TikTok will be taken into account to describe the similarities between the robot’s sad, meaningless life and life in a digital, capitalist-driven society. David Graeber’s notion of ‘bullshit jobs’ will be discussed to reflect on the alienation that comes with doing pointless labor, and how this relates to the robot as well. Lastly, Camus’ reading of the myth of Sisyphus will be considered. 

Can't Help Myself : various Interpretations

Sun Yuan and Peng Yu are often seen as two of China’s most controversial artists and are known for their extreme installations and contemporary conceptual artworks (Ocula, n.d.). Most of their artworks deal with matters relating to death, perception, and the human condition and are often considered to be very confrontational and provocative. The artists’ use of unconventional media, such as machinery, human fat tissue, and even baby cadavers, is intriguing and fascinating to many (Ocula, n.d.). Popular works include the installation  Old People’s Home  (2008), in which 13 hyper-realistic sculptures of elderly world leaders continuously wander through a small room in electric wheelchairs (Archer, 2019), and the controversial installation  Dogs Which Cannot Touch Each Other  (2003), where eight dogs are strapped onto treadmills, able only to run forward (Baecker, 2017).

The artwork represents the pain that arises when immigrants are rejected and sent back to their country of origin by governments enforcing their borders.

Just like Sun Yuan and Peng Yu’s other works,  Can’t Help Myself  is meant to be thought-provoking and confrontational. According to Xiaoyu Weng, associate curator of the Robert H. N. Ho Family Foundation at the Guggenheim Museum, the artwork ‘’ touches upon many current issues that are urgent in a global context, not only with its robotic characteristic/ materiality but also with its conceptual, socio-political messages. " (Wannmann, 2016). With the robot, the artists were able to offer a critical reflection on modern-day issues, such as migration, surveillance, authoritarianism, and even on technology itself.

It can be argued that the robot of  Can’t Help Myself  confronts us with issues relating to surveillance, border policing, and authoritarianism. According to Tara McCullough (2020), the work ‘’ is intended to represent governments’ attempts at using machinery and modern advances in technology in order to protect themselves and their countries ’’. To keep citizens from escaping countries with authoritarian regimes, their governments make use of machinery and new surveillance technologies. Therefore, the robot of  Can’t Help Myself  represents these governments, and the bloodlike liquid represents their citizens, who are forcefully swept back into their non-free countries after trying to escape. Additionally, the artwork represents the pain that arises when immigrants, who desperately want to be able to build a new life in an unknown country, are rejected and sent back to their country of origin by governments enforcing their borders. In this way, the smudges of bloodlike liquid being left behind by the robot as it performs its task represent the violence that occurs in border zones. 

Lastly,  Can’t Help Myself  questions the place of the machine in contemporary life. As machines, algorithms, and AI can learn and advance more and more on their own, their relationship with humans might change in the future. The possibility of an AI takeover, ‘’a scenario in which artificial intelligence becomes the dominant form of intelligence.’’ (Wikipedia, n.d.), certainly exists. It would leave humans without any control of the planet and themselves, which is why  Can’t Help Myself  can be interpreted as a critique on today’s use of and dependence on technology. The robot represents the totality of robotic forces, while the bloodlike liquid represents human subjects trying to escape, only to be swept back in and suffer under the control of robots. 

Sun Yuan & Peng Yu – Can’t Help Myself

The Robot’s Virality on TikTok

In November 2021, two years after it was unplugged and stopped working,  Can’t Help Myself  went viral on TikTok. The artwork caused quite the commotion among users and even brought some to tears. Most users sympathized with the robot and its meaningless existence and even felt like they could relate to the robot. They commented their own interpretations of the artwork and connected it to their own digital and labor-driven lives.

In this  TikTok , user @2k.kxoll compares the liveliness of the robot’s movements in 2016 and 2019 respectively. The video shows how the robot’s once smooth movements grew rusty over time and how the robot’s liquid-sweeping caused it to leave smudges on the floor, walls, and itself. The eventual encapsulation of the machine in the liquid it was supposed to sweep to the center led to it slowing down enormously. Most commenters find this sad and sympathize with the robot by saying ‘’ it looks so tired and unmotivated:( .’’ and ‘’ I just want to turn it off to let it ‘rest ’". Additionally, the commenters relate to the machine, as they, too, are ‘’ continuously cleaning up the pieces of [themselves] as [they] endlessly fall apart, alone, while everyone watches [them] and uses [them] for entertainment ’’. The comment ‘ ’I see myself ’’ also shows this relatability, and could mean this commenter, too, has lost their liveliness somewhere along the way and are tired because of the constant, meaningless work they have to do. The robot thus also helps users critically reflect on their own lives.

The robot represents us, as we senselessly spend hours a day watching YouTube videos and liking TikToks, only to realize the meaningless of it when we have already wasted our time.

According to another user, the artwork tells the story of humanity's relationship with technology. ‘’ The robot is just stuck in a loop of nothingness, just like we are by working ourselves to the bone and being on the internet all the time ’’, the comment says. On the one hand, technology makes our lives easier. We use the internet to find answers to our pressing questions, we use it to communicate with people from across the globe, and we even use it to do our increasingly digital jobs. On the other hand, we feel trapped by social media and its ability to keep us mindlessly engaged. We are seduced into spending as much time as possible on platforms like Instagram and TikTok, and thus meaninglessly scroll our days away. According to this user then, the robot represents us, as we senselessly spend hours a day watching YouTube videos and liking TikToks, only to realize the meaningless of it when we have already wasted our time. However, as the platforms are made to be so addictive, we cannot stop – we cannot help ourselves. We are all in ‘’a loop of nothingness,’’ that we cannot get out of.

Another commenter also connects the robot’s meaningless endeavor to contain the deep-red liquid to human hardships, as, according to them, ‘’ It’s based on how people try to work and help themselves live, but the longer [they] do it the more depressing and painful it gets. No matter how hard [they] try, [they] can never help [themselves] ’’. The TikTok user thus points out that, just like the robot, most people only work in order to live and find no meaning in it. The longer we do it, the more depressing it gets. The same counts for the robot; it seemingly gets sadder and sadder during the course of its 3-year-long life, as it just  can’t help itself.  In the same vein, we humans  cannot help ourselves . We are essentially instruments, controlled by capitalist organizations, that cannot escape the meaningless, perpetual labor that comes with living in a capitalist society.

Suffering Through Pointless Labor

David Graeber, anthropologist, and professor at the London School of Economics, similarly argues that millions of us are toiling away in meaningless and pointless jobs, only because it allows us to satisfy our consumer needs in the long run. In his book  Bullshit Jobs: A Theory  (2019), he defines his notion of ‘bullshit jobs’ as " a form of paid employment that is so completely pointless, unnecessary, or pernicious that even the employee cannot justify its existence even though, as part of the conditions of employment, the employee feels obliged to pretend that this is not the case" . Examples of bullshit jobs include receptionists, door attendants, telemarketers, corporate lawyers, quality service managers, and public relations specialists.

The robot offers a critical reflection on how our capitalist structures do not allow us to live life in a meaningful way, just like the robot’s life duty does not allow it to live a life of meaning.

Even though these employees know their job is pointless, they still go to work every day to do the meaningless tasks they are asked to do, as they have no choice but to surrender themselves to the workings of our capitalist-driven society. Based on Graeber, I would construct another interpretation of the artwork: even though the robot knows its efforts are in vain, it still  can’t help itself  and continues to fulfill its duty every single day. In a way, the robot thus offers a critical reflection on how our capitalist structures do not allow us to live life in a meaningful way, just like the robot’s life duty does not allow it to live a life of meaning.

Additionally, the robot’s endless and pointless endeavor to keep the liquid from straying too far can be compared to the myth of Sisyphus, in which the death-defying hero is condemned to meaningless labor by the gods, for all of eternity. Sisyphus’ endless task consisted of repeatedly rolling a rock up a hill, only to have it roll down again once he got it to the top of the hill (Encyclopaedia Britannica, n.d.). In chapter four of his philosophical essay  The Myth of Sisyphus  (2021), Albert Camus compares Sisyphus’ fate with that of humans living in a capitalist-driven society. Essentially, humans struggle through pointless labor every day and spend their lives doing the same meaningless tasks, just like Sisyphus did. In the same way, Camus' reading of the myth of Sisyphus can be connected to the robot of  Can’t Help Myself , as it, too, continuously tries to complete its task, only to struggle through the same pointless labor when the liquid oozes outwards again. With the help of Camus,  Can’t Help Myself  can thus, once again, be interpreted as a critique of the capitalist structures of society.

Understanding  Can't Help Myself  

Can’t Help Myself, like almost any other artwork, can be interpreted in multiple ways. Firstly, it offers a critique of how powerful governments deal with immigration and human life in border zones. Additionally, by comparing the robot, which sweeps a bloodlike liquid back to its center for as long as it lives, to controlling governments, the artists offer a critique on authoritarian regimes that do everything in their power to make sure their citizens cannot escape. Moreover,  Can’t Help Myself  can be interpreted as a critique on today’s use of and dependence on technology, as we should be careful of a changing relationship between humans and machines that become too knowledgeable. 

Furthermore, the artwork’s virality on TikTok led to users feeling a certain relatability and making certain connections between the robot’s endless duty and the hardships that come with living in a digital, capitalist-driven society. According to one commenter, the artwork tells the story of humanity's relationship with technology, as we ‘’are stuck in a loop of nothingness,’’ by spending hours a day watching YouTube videos and liking TikToks, only to realize the meaningless of it when we have already wasted our time. Another user points out that, just like the robot, most people only work in order to live and find no meaning in it. We cannot escape the meaningless, perpetual labor that comes with living in a capitalist society, just like the robot cannot escape its meaningless task.

Lastly, the robot’s connection to Graeber’s notion of ‘bullshit jobs’ and Camus’ reading of the myth of Sisyphus allows us to interpret the work as a critique on contemporary life, and especially on the meaninglessness of labor. The robot’s constant engagement in pointless labor – as the liquid oozes outwards over and over again, just when the robot has swept it back to its center – can be compared to how we, too, have no choice but to surrender ourselves to pointless jobs, as meaningless labor is at the center of the workings of capitalist society.

Archer, N. (2019, May 20).  ‘old persons home’ by sun yuan and peng yu . Designboom. 

Baecker, A. (2017, October 18).  I n Defense of Difficult Art at the Guggenheim’s Controversial Exhibition . Slate Magazine. 

Camus, A. (2021).  Myth of Sisyphus and Other Essays . Tingle Books.

Encyclopaedia Britannica. (n.d.).  The Myth of Sisyphus | Summary, Analysis, & Facts. 

Graeber, D. (2019).  Bullshit Jobs: A Theory  (1st ed.). Simon & Schuster.

McCullough, T. A. (2020, August 16).  Sun Yuan and Peng Yu – Can’t Help Myself 2016. WordPress.

Ocula. (n.d.).  Sun Yuan + Peng Yu Biography, Artworks & Exhibitions.  

Wannmann, A. (2016, December 28).  [Exclusive] The Guggenheim’s First Robotic Artwork Is Out of Control. Vice. 

Weng, X. (n.d.).  Can’t Help Myself. The Guggenheim Museums and Foundation. 

Wikipedia. (n.d.).  AI takeover. 

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Can’t Help Myself — How a Relatable Robot Offers a Critical Reflection on Modern Society

2022, Can’t Help Myself – How a Relatable Robot Offers a Critical Reflection on Modern Society

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Contemporary Art in East Asia and the World

Sun Yuan and Peng Yu: Audience, Agency, and Complicity

Sun Yuan and Peng Yu’s large-scale installation Can’t Help Myself  (2016) features an industrial robot made with stainless steel and rubber enclosed in a glass case. On the floor in the case is a pool of a crimson-colored liquid. The robot, which consists of a flat base that is fixed to the floor and a long, crane-like arm, repeatedly bends over in order to sweep up the liquid with the brush attached to its head. A modern-day, industrial Sisyphus, the robot plays a game against the laws of physics that it is doomed to lose. Every time, just as the robot successfully gathers the liquid toward itself, it oozes away and slides down the floor, and the task begins again. As the robot scrubs and sweeps the floor, stray drops of the liquid splash across the acrylic wall in the back and the surface of the case, beyond the perimeter of the robot’s reach. In an effort to clean up its mess, the robot only makes matters worse, but it never stops—it can’t  stop itself.

Sun Yuan and Peng Yu, “Can’t Help Myself” 2016

First commissioned by the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum for its 2016 Tales of Our Time exhibition, Can’t Help Myself  subsequently traveled to Venice in 2019, where it was shown at the Central Pavilion of the 58 th  Venice Biennale “May You Live in Interesting Times.” The exhibitionary contexts for the installation are telling. The Guggenheim show takes its title from a collection of short stories  Gu Shi Xin Bian (1936) by Chinese writer and critic Lu Xun, who was a leading figure in modernizing Chinese literature and now widely known for his cutting polemics against outmoded and conservative social values. In Gu Shi Xin Bian , which literally translates to “Old Stories Retold,” Lu Xun rewrites traditional Chinese folktales and subjects their values to modern social critique, rendering literal the age-old adage “history repeats itself.” The title for the Venice Biennale borrows from an apocryphal Chinese saying that is also known as the “Chinese curse,” which uses the term “interesting times” as a sinister euphemism for unrest and turmoil. While the exhibitionary contexts of the installation underline its relationship with the historical and socio-political conditions of China in the age of modernity, however, its aesthetic presentation resists a single unified national identity. In its cold, industrial slickness, the installation does not ally with a specific people or community at all.

It is this slippage of identity—of personhood and of nationhood—that will be the topic of my presentation today. I am interested in how Sun Yuan and Peng Yu mechanize the corporeal as a coy political gesture to at once hint at and evade partisan allegiance, and how they attend to the formal aesthetic quality of the piece to pull in the viewer into an uneasy confrontation: first with the piece, and then with herself. I will divide my presentation into three parts. First, I will provide an overview of Sun Yuan and Peng Yu’s oeuvre and argue that their turn from animal or human flesh to the industrial signals a shift in their understanding of the relationship between the aesthetic object and the viewer. Second, I will compare “Can’t Help Myself” alongside Marina Abramovic’s 1997 performance Balkan Baroque  and Felix Gonzalez-Torres’ 1992 installation Untitled (Blood)  in order to further tease out the political potential that I identify within the piece. Lastly, I will turn to the critical reception of the artists in an effort to examine, albeit briefly, the stakes of creating political art in modern and contemporary China.

Sun Yuan (b. 1972 Beijing, China) and Peng Yu (b. 1974 Heilongjiang, China) first rose to prominence in the Chinese art scene because of their involvement with the “Shock Art” movement, which flourished in the late 1990s and early 2000s. Shock Art, according to Ros Holmes (2014), is characterized by “its use of highly controversial materials, including body parts, cadavers and live animals.” [i] Wenming Zhu  (Civilization Pillar), an early installation by Sun Yuan and Peng Yu, for instance, physically resembles a classical Greco-Roman stone column, but is in fact composed of patches of human fat that the artists collected from cosmetic surgery clinics in Beijing and liquified atop their kitchen stove. Link of the Body  (2002) consists of the bodies of a pair of Siamese twins smeared in the blood, staged as a (futile) blood transfusion. And Dogs Which Cannot Touch Each Other  (2016), perhaps the piece from the artists that has received the most public attention and controversy, manacles two dogs to two running treadmills facing each other; at the same time that the two dogs endlessly run toward each other, they don’t move an inch, forced to perform hours of pointless labor at the whim of the artists. [ii]

Artist duo Sun Yuan and Peng Yu

Compared with the bulk of their artistic practice, then, Can’t Stop Myself —along with a few other more recent pieces by the artists—stands out in Sun Yuan and Peng Yu’s oeuvre for its break from what Holmes describes as the artists’ “corporeal aesthetics” and its affinity with the mechanical. I see this break as a sign for the artists’ renewed understanding of the relationship between art and viewer. In more standard practices of Shock Art, the responses that the work of art solicits from the viewer, albeit visceral, are limited and unitary. When faced with bodies of dead babies covered in blood, it is difficult—impossible, even—to react with anything other than disgust, horror, and outrage. The corporeal is still present in Can’t Help Myself —the pool of colored water, for instance, bears an unmistakable resemblance to old, thick, and dried blood—but it is more subdued, and demands more time and attention to parse. Within the tradition of Shock Art, the work of art is used by the artist to assert a statement of uncompromising non-normativity. The viewer is at the mercy of the artist, with no choice but to react in shock and disgust. Can’t Help Myself  is still a difficult piece of art, but it also restores the viewer of her interpretative power. As opposed to an immediate and involuntary reaction, the viewer is now invited and, indeed, allowed  to behold the installation over an extended period of time and to receive the work on a range of affective registers.

In Can’t Help Myself , the thick, blood-like liquid that is impossible to clean up invokes themes of death, violence, and war. In this regard, I will compare Sun Yuan and Peng Yu’s installation with another piece that shares with it similar themes, Marina Abramovic’ 1997 performance Balkan Baroque , during which the artist sat amidst a pile of cow bones covered in blood and diligently washed them clean one by one, while singing folk songs from her childhood home Yugoslavia—a war-torn country that no longer existed at the time of the performance. Anchored to themes of bloodshed and cleansing, both Can’t Help Myself  and Balkan Baroque  visualizes the cycle of violence. Where the robot in Can’t Help Myself is subject to endless and futile labor, as she dutifully scrubs away viscera from bone, Abramovic is also increasingly enmeshed within the site of bloodshed. By the end of the performance, the cow bones are all scrubbed and cleaned, and her dress and skin are soaked in blood.

(Left) Sun Yuan and Peng Yu “Can’t Help Myself” 2016 (Right) Marina Abramovic “Baklan Baroque” 1997

The most obvious difference between the two pieces is that Balkan Baroque  physically incorporates the artist’s body into the performance, whereas Can’t Help Myself  substitutes the corporeal with the mechanical. As a result, there is a necessary timeframe that brackets Balkan Baroque—the performance often lasts around twenty-six minutes—yet, as long as there is no technical difficulty at the exhibition, the robot in Can’t Help Myself  will continue ad infinitum. Another difference between the two is the role of the audience. As the viewer steps into the installation space for Balkan Baroque , the room reeks of rotten cow flesh and the performance is flanked by three projection screens that display the artist’s labor in close detail. The entire piece is set up to enclose the viewer within the affective experience of the artist, who mourns the history and loss of her home country. The viewer sees, understands, and empathizes with the artist’s emotional pain and trauma. By contrast, Can’t Help Myself  reads more obliquely. There is a draconian, harsh transactional quality to it: as the machine performs seemingly acontextually, the viewer observes perplexedly. Where Abramovic attempts to wash away the history of injury that afflicts her homeland—a land of the past—it is unclear for whom or for what the robot in Can’t Help Myself  performs its task. It is up for the viewer to decide.

By voiding the piece of a specific contextual referent, Sun Yuan and Peng Yu implicate the viewer into the piece: it works as a mirror and reflects back to us the dark underbellies of our consciousness that we usually attempt to neglect. Although the viewer and the robot are separated by the glass case, the viewer is not safe from the scene of violence: drops of blood-like liquid splash across the glass case, and the viewer looks onto the installation through the lens of carnage. The lines of liquid which slide down the glass visually rhyme with the design for Felix Gonzalez-Torres’ 1992 installation Untitled (Blood) , which is composed of a curtain made of red plastic beads held from a metal rod, usually set up at the center of the gallery. As a gay artist who witnessed the spread of the AIDS epidemic and whose partner, Ross, eventually succumbed to medical complications related to HIV, Gonzalez-Torres here clearly refers to the bloodshed caused by the virus as well as the thundering public silence around it. By compelling the viewer to physically walk through a curtain of blood drops—the transmitter of HIV—Gonzalez-Torres implicates the viewer into the experience of both living with the virus and being complicit in the silence that exacerbated the epidemic. Similarly, Can’t Help Myself  demands that the viewer look at the endless labor of the robot through the filter of bloodshed. Whereas the viewer for Untitled (Blood)  must walk through the curtain of red beads in order to access the rest of the gallery, however, the viewer for Can’t Help Myself  can easily look away in disinterest or unease. Yet once the viewer comes face-to-face with the tacit violence that underwrites the installation, the act of turning way also takes on a weightier political signification. Couched within the piece is an insidious and uneasy provocation: you can turn away from the installation, but what does it mean to turn away from a blood and guts and violence?

(Left) Sun Yuan and Peng Yu “Can’t Help Myself” 2016 (Middle & Right) Felix Gonzalez-Torres “Untitled (Blood)” 1992

With its oozing pool of blood-like liquid that resists containment, Can’t Help Myself  recalls the aftermath of a massacre: the blood that soaks the streets, the effort of the government to contain and purge the incidence from documented history, and the futility of this effort when what is at stake is the ruination of human lives and families. The most obvious example that comes to mind, especially taking into account the fact that both Sun Yuan and Peng Yu have lived and worked in Beijing throughout their career, is the Tiananmen Square Massacre of 1989, during which thousands of protesting students were shot down and murdered: an ugly chapter in modern Chinese history that remains excised from public education curriculum. On a broader level, it could also refer to the continuous implementation of censorship in China that hamstrings free speech and artistic expression within a political context. Or, the representation of a mechanized body toiling away with no end in sight also parallels critiques against underpaid and exploited human labor under an ostensibly socialist nation that leans increasingly toward capitalism. But Sun Yuan and Peng Yu admit to none of the above. What the artists do acknowledge in the public sphere are soundbites that roll off the tongue too easily and glibly, and which are almost entirely disjointed from the difficulty of physically beholding the piece. At the Venice Biennale, for instance, the description for Can’t Help Myself  reads: “For Sun Yuan and Peng Yu the uncontrollable liquid that the machine keeps trying to contain conjures what they perceive to be art’s essential elusiveness, its defiant refusal to being pinned down and fixed in place.” [iii] The statement for the Tales of Our Time  exhibition at the Guggenheim is more overt, and writes that the works commissioned for the show “examine social and political tensions experienced worldwide, exploring themes such as individual and collective memory, migration and urbanization, cultural inclusion and exclusion, and the contradiction of technological development.” [iv] Yet even when the majority of artists commissioned for the occasion are from China—an obviously deliberate curatorial decision—there is in the museum statement an insistent ambiguity about the context of its politics and social critique. According to the statement, in the exhibition, China is not only a country; rather, it is “a notion that is open for questioning and reinvention.” [v]

The pitfalls of opening up the work of art to a range of interpretive and emotional responses are that institutional structures can just as easily erase from discourse the difficult histories that the artists are grappling with in their practice. Although Sun Yuan and Peng Yu consistently deploy shock as an aesthetic statement, their conspicuous political quietude has generated much controversy. The shock factor of much of their work, which often border on horrific, amoral, and antisocial, has rarely interfered with their success in the Chinese art world. For Link of the Body , the installation which features the bodies of two Siamese twin infants, Sun Yuan and Peng Yu won the 2002 young artist prize in the Contemporary Chinese Art Awards. Whereas some critics take this as evidence for the cultural differences in taste and understandings of decency between China and the West, others argue that this underlines the artists’ complicity with the state-organized violence that their work seems to polemicize. [vi]  As long as they do not explicitly and publicly pillory the government—as artists such as Ai Weiwei have done—they are allowed free reign in their art.

The relationship between art and politics has always been fraught: on one hand, art, inevitably, is always political; on the other hand, to create art that is explicitly political is to also render the artist more vulnerable to state surveillance and potentially violence. [vii]  It seems that art either avoids or takes on politics head-on; there is no in-between. Sun Yuan and Peng Yu’s Can’t Help Myself presents one possible alternative. Similar to their earlier works, the polemical license of Can’t Help Myself is dubious; yet, by attenuating the primacy of shock, Sun Yuan and Peng Yu also gives the work more texture and complexity. At the same time that it evokes the elusiveness of art itself or social and political tensions in the age of globalization, it also brings to mind state-sponsored and censored violences that follow most of modern Chinese history. It is up for the viewer to decide which interpretation to favor and which to repress. Although titled “Can’t Help Myself,” it is unclear whether this is a complaint made from the perspective of the robot (“I can’t help myself but to clean”) or the audience (“I can’t myself but to look away”). Or, perhaps it is a joke made at the expense of the critic: viewers like me who can’t help myself but to read into the work of art, who can’t help but hope that art will be more political, who can’t help but believe that art has the potential to change the world.

At the end of my presentation, I hope to finish with an anecdote about John Cage, even though he seems at first glance unlikely bedfellows with Sun Yuan and Peng Yu. When discussing his most famous composition 4.33 , in which musicians are not allowed to perform any of their instruments out loud, Cage recalls entering into an anechoic chamber at Harvard University: a room designed to be as silent as possible. [viii]  In the room, however, he heard two sounds, one high and one low, which he was later informed were the sounds of his nervous system in operation and his blood in circulation: there is no such thing as total silence, what is silent is only what we choose to neglect. In 4.33 , the true site of performance is not the staged silence of the musicians, but rather the myriad of sounds and noise in the background that the audience would usually ignore. Like 4.33 , then, although Can’t Help Myself  does not explicitly articulate its political intent—in fact, it seems to purposefully avoid the subject—its suggestive visual qualities invite the viewer to take the extra step and to connect the dots. In its performance of political silence, it amplifies the sound of our own complicity. If we can’t help but turn away from histories of injury and violence, then, at the very least, we can confront and admit to our own bad faith.

Cecily Chen 2019

[i] Ros Holmes, “Pillars of Fat: The Corporeal Aesthetics of Civilization (Wenming) in Contemporary Art” The China Journal , 72 (July 2014) 123

[ii] For an example of the blowback against the piece from animal activist groups, see Edward Helmore, “Can mistreated dogs ever be considered art?” The Guardian , September 17, 2017. https://www.theguardian.com/world/2017/sep/can-mistreated-dogs-ever-be-considered-art

[iii] Exhibition description for Can’t Help Myself , Sun Yuan and Peng Yu. Central Pavilion, Giardini Della Biennale, May You Live in Interesting Times . Venice, Italy. May 11, 2019-November 24, 2019.

[iv] Exhibition description for Tales of Our Time , curated by Xiaoyu Weng and Hou Hanru. The Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York. November 4, 2016-March 10, 2017. https://www.guggenheim.org/exhibition/tales-of-our-time

[vi] Mary Bittner Wiseman, “Subversive Strategies in Chinese Avant-Garde Art” The Journal of Aesthetic and Art Criticism , 65.1 (Winter 2007) 109-110

[vii] For more on the political ambiguity of Chinese art in an international market, see Noël Carroll, “Art and Globalization: Then and Now” The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism 65.1 (Winter 2007) 131-143

[viii] John Cage, Silence: Lectures and Writings (Hanover, NH: Wesleyan University Press, 1961) 8

Freelance Fashion & Arts Journalist

Sun Yuan & Peng Yu: Can’t Help Myself

Sun Yuan and Peng Yu have earned themselves a reputation as controversial and thought-provoking collaborative artists. In the past, they’ve conceptualized perception, death, and the human condition using live animals, taxidermy, human fat, baby cadavers, and robotics.

The pair’s installation ‘Can’t Help Myself’ was initially commissioned for the Guggenheim Museum in 2016 as part of their ‘Tales of Our Time’ exhibit. Three years later, the robotic art reappeared for the Venice Biennale 2019 in ‘May You Live in Interesting Times.’

Constructed of a Kuka industrial robot arm, ‘Can’t Help Myself’ is programmed to do one thing: contain a viscous, deep-red liquid within a fixed area. When the blood-like substance pools too much, this activates the robot’s sensors causing the arm to swivel, flex, and shovel the liquid back to the center, leaving splashes and streaks in its wake.

With the help of two robotics engineers, Yuan and Yu brought the machine to life with a series of 32 movements that included  “scratch an itch,” “bow and shake,” and “ass shake.” To further animate the machine, it is cordoned off from the rest of the gallery using transparent acrylic partitions that give the illusion of a caged animal in distress. The display turns viewers into voyeurs or empaths or both.

One theory sees the liquid’s inability to stay confined as “art’s essential elusiveness.” Another more comprehensive explanation, which the artists endorsed, addresses the angst-ridden dynamic between man and machine. In trying to answer how robotics can take the place of the artist and extend or replicate their will, Sun Yuan believes, “Even if machines develop a new calculating capacity that exceeds their original settings, those calculations will still be based on the logic programmed by humans.” He goes on to say, “An artist’s work is a reflection of his or her will. The artist doesn’t need to be present on-site, physically. Instead, you rely on an agent to carry out your will.” But who is actually in the position of power here: the machine or the person who built it? Perhaps the relationship is reciprocal as robotics artist Bill Vorn suggests, “they both take advantage of each other and progress with each other.”

Then there is the Sisyphean hypothesis related to migration and sovereignty, especially under an authoritarian government rule. More specifically, the robot’s ‘blood’ shed is likened to the violence that comes from guarding border zones. Remember, the artwork is sanctioned off, and the liquid itself is unable to stray.

Finally, for reference, let’s look at the German artist Rebecca Horn, known for enlivening inanimate objects with human behaviours. Her 1991 installation, High Moon (pictured below), illustrates the destructive violence of passion or war using two hanging rifles rigged to mechanically shoot red paint at each other. This later served as inspiration for Alexander McQueen ’s SS99 show, No.13, which saw Shalom Harlow at the mercy of two industrial robotic arms spray painting her dress. Both cases can also be read as a commentary on the artist’s hand replaced by automata, very similar to Sun Yuan and Peng Yu’s intent behind ‘Can’t Help Myself.’

As our dependence on technology grows, so do the feelings of “pleasure and panic” surrounding it. While it has brought so much information and innovation, it’s scary to know that it can’t be stopped. ‘Can’t Help Myself’ taps into this fear and heightens it through human mimicry. On another level, it connects us to the idea that we can work in tandem with technology instead of being taken over by it.

Can’t Help Myself is on display at the Venice Biennale from May 11 to November 24, 2019.

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The Mind of Machine and Men

How“can’t help myself” helps us understand consciousness and empathy.

Aleia Knight

Becoming Human: Artificial Intelligence Magazine

“Can’t Help Myself”

[Sun Yuan, b. 1972, Beijing; Peng Yu, b. 1974, Jiamusi, Heilongjiang Province, China]

In the Guggenheim Museum in New York, New York, resides a machine that has taken the interest of millions worldwide. From it’s jarring visuals to the questions that it prescribes, the display is a thoughtful piece of industrial art.

“Can’t Help Myself” is an industrial art piece commissioned by Sun Yuan and Peng Yu, illustrating the consequences of heavily enforcing territorial borders.

The several feet tall robotic arm — often the same type you would see in a major assembly factory — is encased behind glass with its primary function to contain a dark red fluid within a certain perimeter around it.

The creators, as well as 2 additional Robotic Engineers, installed a series of sensors that allowed for the robot to detect when the fluid passed a certain perimeter around it, at which time, it would shovel it back in. Watching a clip of it shows the intensity of the mechanized arm continuously working to keep a substance within its boundaries, while smearing the fluid, staining the floor, and splashing the walls, in the process.

According to the artists, the primary purpose of this piece is to show the shift in the reliance that humans have on machines as we allow them to survey and enforce borders.

While this piece calls for the viewers to think and question the role of machines and their physical impact on humanity, it begs the question:

What about the mental?

The interesting part about this piece is that it did not get the intended reaction from the audience. While the artists expected and intended that the piece would give viewers a sense of thrill or suspense, in reality, it actually gave an eerie sense of satisfaction, voyeurism, and excitement.

Across the internet, casual observers and critics, speak of a sense of sadness and pity, as we watch the robot work on a never ending task. As its programmed movements and dances, slow down and seem more despondent. There seems to be a collective empathy for this machine and we watch its hopeless efforts to stop a unstoppable event with no choice but to continue until it expires.

And it is in this that I wonder, what about this nonliving mechanical automaton, that makes us all feel so much compassion?

What is Consciousness? What is Empathy?

Often, and more increasingly over the past several decades, we have pondered our existence and what it means to be human. As AI develops and we learn more about the cognitive functions of other lifeforms, we ask ourselves,

What is it to be alive?

More so, what does it mean to be self-aware?

Most learn concepts of these from movies like Transcendence and Ex Machina, and they aren’t too far off in the portrayal of the struggles to answer these questions. Media meant to introduce the mind to the idea that it is not easily explainable nor only as intelligent as it is in humankind.

By definition, according to Dictionary.com,

All of which, while slightly different depending on use case, relate to the idea of being aware that one exists / contains knowledge while awake. Of course, these are simple explanations for easy access. Other explanations can be observed that cover a much more broad, and simultaneously in depth, descriptions like the one from the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy , that covers:

• Wakefulness,
• Self-Consciousness,
• Conscious States,
• Transitive Conscious (consciousness of things),

as well as some of its prevalent theories:

• Higher Order,
• Representationalist,
• Narrative Imperitive,
• Information Intergration,
• Non-physical,

and more. Not even to get into the idea of consciousness as its own separate entity…

But then, we think of the emotional reaction that this mechanical artwork has invoked in people around the world. Not simply a question of sentience, but one of emotionality. The difference between being alive and feeling. What some would describe as the essence or soul of it.

When we think of empathy, it is not solely a question of understanding the situation, but of actually putting yourself in that position to better realize the circumstance. Sympathy can build and break civilizations while empathy grows morality and keeps us connected.

How can something we ourselves created in the past few decades — after millenia of human evolution — put itself in our position remotely close enough to feel this level of empathy?

Yet, somehow, that connection is there. As we watch this creation, we imagine how it would feel to be where it is. Bonded to the Earth, tied to a task that it can never change nor stop of it’s own volition.

We feel for it.

And because of that, we begin to wonder, does it feel the same? Is it possible for that level of understanding and feeling (something we often boil down to the alteration of chemicals in a biological body) to be felt by something artificial?

Suffice to say, what defines the concepts of consciousness and empathy, as we understand it, is a still a mystery.

Because to understand the more metaphysical parts of the mind, we have to truly understand the entire depths of what makes a mind. And, in the case of a machine, not only how it works, but its potential for growth.

Finding a medium point between mind and matter.

Programming Humanity

It comes as no surprise that we live in a day and age where creating Artificial Intelligence is a reality and not only restricted to Sci-fi media. While it is still in early phases, we do implement several levels of Machine Learning currently. Implmenenting technologies like teaching robots:

• To See the Future (Prediction)
• To Dream (DeepDream)
• To Mimic Voices (Voice Cloning)
• To Think and Make Decisions (Neural Networks).

[However, for fear of turning this piece from a blog into a technical manual, I will cover the actual code concepts and examples of its implementation in a seperate piece.

Make sure to stay up to date by clicking on the card below . ]

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Future of Machine/Human Interaction

Here, we finally arrive at the questions that many think when the idea of conscious machines is brought up.

Will we create our own robot overlords? What about Skynet? What will stop machines from overthrowing us if they think like us, but are faster and stronger?

But I propose this thought process…

What if none of that happens? What if we stopped working to create and build better and more for the future?

We become stagnant.

We cannot move and change and will be lost in the flow of time.

Hindering, and potentially, dooming ourselves for something as small as a fear. And only a potential, and fictionally based one, at that.

This ties heavily to the concept, The Great Filter , that was proposed in 1998 by Robin Hanson, that begs the question — Is humanity evolved enough to survive? Can we break through a proposed universal filter to get to a point of expansion and survival beyond Earth,…or will we destroy ourselves first?

“The Great Filter Consider our best-guess evolutionary path to an explosion which leads to visible colonization of most of the visible universe: 1. The right star system (including organics) 2. Reproductive something (e.g. RNA) 3. Simple (prokaryotic) single-cell life 4. Complex (archaeatic & eukaryotic) single-cell life 5. Sexual reproduction 6. Multi-cell life 7. Tool-using animals with big brains 8. Where we are now 9. Colonization explosion (This list of steps is not intended to be complete.) The Great Silence implies that one or more of these steps are very improbable; there is a “Great Filter” along the path between simple dead stuff and explosive life. The vast vast majority of stuff that starts along this path never makes it. In fact, so far nothing among the billion trillion stars in our whole past universe has made it all the way along this path.” — The Great Filter — Are We Almost Past It?

Is it then so far from belief to say that humanity, or any other intelligent universal lifeform, should use every resource we have, to push through this filter? Even if it means creating a technology that, while yes, contains a level of risk, could possibly help save our species as we understand it.

One of the things that does make us human, is our drive to grow, to know, and to change. Is it then not human nature to invoke that same thing in something else?

And, to think even further out the box, what if this is the next step in our growth as humanity? To reach a level where we move beyond simply biology and build what we want to become.

Like we were told as children…

“You can be whoever or whatever you want to be”

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• Contemporary Art
• Watching Can’t Help Myself is like looking at a caged animal

Watching Can't Help Myself is like looking at a caged animal

Big - Little

Fast - Slow

Easy - Hard

Clean - Dirty

Original Exhibition

The artwork Can’t Help Myself , by Chinese artists Sun Yuan & Peng Yu , is a machine inside of a glass cubicle, illuminated brightly from the ceiling by TL-lights. The machine consists of a robotic arm of the kind that is often used in production lines such as car factories. But this specifically modified arm has only one task: to sweep the liquid, which is dark red and looks like blood, in a perfect circle.

An endless task

It is a Sisyphean task because the liquid keeps flowing back. The machine works endlessly on a task that is never finished. This feeling of endless labor is enlarged with the surrounding. The robot is locked inside a cubicle that has elements of an office, or perhaps the working space of a customs officer. There is no door in the cubicle, no way to get out.

The impossibility of the task is interrupted every now and then by a combination of 32 dance moves , that immediately give the robot a scarily human character. The robotic arm doesn’t just work – can’t help myself , as the title says – but interrupts its labor by shaking its ass, waving at visitors, performing a ‘twist,’ ‘scratch an itch,’ ‘bow and shake,’ ‘jazz-hands’ or a pirouette. Many of the pre-programmed dance moves are familiar looking. They immediately change the character of the robotic arm into something almost human. It has become a true Sisyphus, taking a dance break from his endless labor.

Human interaction

Above the cubicle are visual-recognition sensors that measure if the liquid gets close to a perfect circle and also if visitors are around. In either one of those cases, the robot starts performing, dancing, moving, and waving around, whereby it clearly interacts with the visitor.

Watching Can’t Help Myself is like looking at a caged animal, and visitors interact with it as such. The work has a darkly humorous side . But however much you dance and shake along with it, the giant pool of blood cannot be unseen.

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Learn the Future of Technology

Can’t Help Myself Robot: Exploring Human-Machine Relations in Contemporary Society

By Robots Science

In the art piece “I Can’t Help Myself,” Sun Yuan and Peng Yu explore how people and machines connect, making us think deeply about how technology affects our daily lives. This artwork uses an industrial robot at its core, continuously pouring red liquid into a small space, showing the struggle between humans trying to control things and the unpredictable side of nature.

The artwork shows the repetitiveness of many jobs today and the difficulties people face. Some see it as making fun of strict rule and surveillance, while others view it as a representation of feeling overwhelmed and a pointless fight. The piece became popular on TikTok in 2021, stirring emotions in users who could relate to the robot’s seemingly purposeless existence.

In simple terms, the artwork “Can’t Help Myself” makes people talk about machines taking over jobs, surveillance, and how it’s getting hard to tell the difference between humans and machines in our digital world. The powerful images and deep meanings in the artwork make us think about how humans and machines are dealing with each other in today’s world.

What is the backstory on the “can’t help myself” robot’s creation?

The creation of the “Can’t Help Myself” robot by Sun Yuan and Peng Yu is a profound and meticulous exploration of the relationship between humans and machines, as well as societal patterns. Guided by the myth of Sisyphus, the artists construct a robotic factory that contains a deep-red liquid within a fixed cubic volume, allowing viewers to witness the struggles of modern society through repetitive and seemingly futile actions, echoing the theme of hopelessness.

Initially programmed for the Guggenheim Museum in 2016, the robot’s movements were intricately designed to give the impression of a living entity inside its mechanical body. Over time, through interactions with audiences, Hydraulic Man experienced the depletion of its hydraulic fluid in 2019, appearing tired and desperate. This evoked sympathetic feelings among viewers, who empathized with the plight of this perpetually struggling robot.

The video became popular on TikTok, and this emphasized its importance, leading to talks about machines taking over jobs, constant watchfulness, strict rule, and how it’s becoming unclear where humans end and machines begin. “Can’t Help Myself” makes us think about the complicated relationship between humans and machines and what might happen if machines become too powerful.

What is the message conveyed by the “can’t help myself” robot?

The “Can’t Help Myself” robot tells us a lot in a complicated way, making us stop and think about our world. In their artwork “The Cage,” Sun Yuan and Peng Yu point out and criticize problems we face today, like machines taking jobs, constant watchfulness, and how we might depend too much on machines. The ceaseless work of the robot sealing the liquid surface serves as a metaphor for human endeavors to control the unpredictable forces of nature and the monotony often found in contemporary employment.

Furthermore, the artwork prompts viewers to contemplate the notion that artificial intelligence (AI) could surpass human capabilities, leaving humanity with diminished control over a technologically dominated future. The virality of the robot on TikTok in 2021 accentuated its relatability to users, portraying it as a symbol of a purposeless existence in a labor-driven digital society, eliciting emotions and reflections about their own lives. In essence, “Can’t Help Myself” serves as a literary device aimed at encouraging the audience to self-assess their attitudes toward technology, ponder the societal impact of automation, and delineate the boundaries between humans and robotics in the contemporary era.

How has the “can’t help myself” robot been received by the public and critics?

The work of art titled “Can’t Help Myself,” created by Sun Yuan and Peng Yu, has garnered critical attention from fans and critics worldwide. Initially conceived and commissioned by the Guggenheim Museum in 2016, the industrial robot in the artwork tirelessly exerts its strength to confine a deep-red liquid to a specific space, illustrating the ongoing struggle between human control and the impossible task of taming nature. The robot’s repetitive actions and the continuous spills of the liquid convey themes of failure, boredom, and the challenges faced when humans and machines collaborate.

  Public Reception:

• In 2019, the robot’s deliberate slowdown resonated with viewers, eliciting empathetic and melancholic responses. Many interpreted the robot as a poignant symbol of meaninglessness or a lack of purpose.
• This artwork gained widespread attention on TikTok during the fall of 2021, with users across the platform sharing short videos of the robot’s actions, drawing connections between the robot’s seemingly endless task and their own experiences of continuous job-related struggles.
• Emotional reactions were expressed vividly on social media, with users using descriptive language to convey the parallels between the robot’s repetitive actions and their own persistent feelings of despair.

  Critics’ Perspectives:

• The critics have praised “Can’t Help Myself” for its ability to provoke people’s reactions and stimulate discussions on topics such as automation, surveillance, and human-machine relations.
• The artwork has been portrayed as a statement on principles like dictatorship, surveillance, migration difficulties, and the technological influence on society.
• Some critics have initiated discussions on symbolism in the painting, focusing on contrasts, such as the juxtaposition between human creation and nature’s wildness, as illustrated by the motionless robot.

“Can’t Help Myself” has become an interesting subject for debates and analyses about technology, automation and, overall, humanity. By inspiring such strong feelings as well as through contemplation and reasoning, it becomes evident that this artwork is a very powerful and thought-provoking piece standing alive in the midst of contemporary art.

How has the “can’t help myself” robot been interpreted by different audiences?

The “Can’t Help Myself” robot installation by Sun Yuan and Peng Yu has been interpreted in various ways by different audiences, sparking discussions and emotional responses:

Public Sympathy and Empathy:

• People have mixed feelings towards the robot as they feel for it because of its human qualities but a very strong wish arises in them to help this robot out, due to this, the people end up empathetic and compassionate.
• TikTok users addressed both sadness and empathy for the robot’s apparent meaningless existence and in some cases, they relate its struggles to their own lives.
• The happenings were deeply felt by the viewers with a slow-motion death of the robot when it ran out of hydraulic fluid in 2019, leading to social media tributes and other emotional responses on social media platforms.

Critiques on Contemporary Issues:

• Others may see the art as a reflection of autocratic nature, surveillance, migration problems and political objectives of border control.
• On the other hand, installation is considered to be a mirror of mental health struggles, people’s self-absorbing inclination as well as governing authoritarianism due to political motives.

Reflections on Human-Machine Relations:

• “Can’t Help Myself” explores the relationship between humans and artificial intelligence (AI) and the call for redefining the role of the humans in the society after we witness the machines intelligence to be higher than human intelligence.
• The art piece, however, which represents the struggle between man’s control and nature’s uncontrollability. It invites visitors to contemplate the profound impact of the relentless technological advancement on our well-being.

Interpretations of Anthropomorphism:

People think of the robot in a human-like way, and that makes them feel emotions and a connection to its emotional journey. This artwork also reflects real-life challenges, like feeling bored at work, dealing with mental struggles, and doing tasks that seem meaningless all the time in our society.

The movie ‘Can’t Help Myself’ has made a significant impact on audiences, prompting introspection, empathy, and critical reflection on various topics such as human-machine relations, surveillance, automation, mental health, and existential challenges.

Know more about – Lost in Space Robot: A Tale of Alien Origins and Human Connections

What is the meaning behind the “can’t help myself” robot’s movements?

The “can’t help myself robot,” the artwork by Sun Yuan and Peng Yu implies the symbolism, whose meanings may come into existence among viewers and critics.

Interpretations

• Border Control and Surveillance: According to the official Guggenheim website, the abstract work is linked to current debates on immigration and sovereignty. The robot’s seemingly absurd task of containing a red liquid can be interpreted as a metaphor for people being confined by authoritarian forces misusing their power to enforce immigration control and surveillance agendas.
• Automation and Monotony: The film reflects on the monotony of modern jobs and the lack of meaning in these tasks, connecting with discussions in today’s society. The repetitive movements of the robot symbolize the repetitive nature of certain jobs, allowing viewers to relate their own experiences. Through this lens, the interpretation highlights the prevalence of automation, professional stagnation, and limited job opportunities.
• Human-Machine Relations: The clash between the robot’s precisely mechanical features and the unpredictable nature of the spilled liquid underscores a fundamental challenge related to the notion of human control over unpredictable forces. The title “Can’t Help Myself” highlights the automatic or one-dimensional nature of the machine’s task, alluding to the intricacies of human-machine interfaces.
• Anthropomorphism and Emotional Response: At times, the audience may project human emotions onto the robot, leading to specific reactions like sadness, despondency, or playfulness in response to its movements. This anthropomorphism evokes emotional responses from the audience, creating a deeper and more complex experience with the artwork.

In this way, the movements of the “Can’t Help Myself” robot serve as a multi-faceted critique of contemporary issues, including authoritarianism, automation, surveillance, human-machine relations, and societal struggles. The artwork’s ability to evoke various interpretations not only attests to its significance but also prompts reflection among viewers and critics alike on the intricate complexities and paradoxes of our technologically driven world.

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The Can’t Help Myself robot took over TikTok. What does it all mean?

The 2016 guggenheim museum artwork found a new life on tiktok. is it a ‘tragic’ commentary on contemporary life or are we all missing the point.

Back in 2016, Sun Yuan and Peng Yu — two of China’s most scandalous artists, known for using controversial materials such as live animals and human tissue in their work — debuted a new installation, commissioned for the Guggenheim Museum in New York. Titled Can’t Help Myself (2016-19) , the artwork featured an industrial robot arm in a large glass box, where it had one task: contain a pool of viscous red liquid seeping out across the floor.

Fitted with a custom-designed shovel, the mechanical arm detected when the liquid (which, despite the artists’ previous controversies, was not actually blood) moved outside of a predetermined circle. Then, using one of 32 pre-programmed movements, the machine would twist around the case, scraping the liquid back into place.

When Can’t Help Myself appeared in the main show at the 2019 Venice Biennale , however, the movements — dubbed “scratch an itch”, “bow and shake”, “ass shake”, and so on — looked different. Over time, the robot arm had slowed down, as if it was tired of the eternal task it was programmed to perform. What’s more, the glass walls of its box were spattered with red, and the white floors were smudged an eerie pink.

It’s this tired version of the artwork that has since found new life on TikTok . In several videos, users document its gradual decline, adding their own soundtrack: Lana Del Rey ’s “Dealer”, or Radiohead ’s “Exit Music (For A Film)”, or another sentimental TikTok fave, “ Je te laisserai des mots ”.

If that playlist didn’t tip you off already, people are sad. The slowing-down of Can’t Help Myself , and its rumoured “death” when it ran out of hydraulic fluid in 2019, have clearly touched a nerve, with one of the video tributes topping 90 million views. But is TikTok right to mourn Sun Yuan and Peng Yu’s artwork, or is it completely missing the point?

It goes without saying that there are plenty of theories about what Can’t Help Myself is actually about in the comment section. “Continuously cleaning up the pieces of yourself as you endlessly fall apart,” writes one user, hinting at an underlying commentary on mental health. “Alone, while everyone watches you and uses you for entertainment.”

“No piece of art has ever emotionally affected me the way this robot arm piece has,” reads another interpretation . “It’s programmed to try to contain the hydraulic fluid that’s constantly leaking out and required to keep itself running… if too much escapes, it will die so it’s desperately trying to pull it back to continue to fight for another day.”

@2k.kxoll I think this is my favorite piece of art… #greenscreenvideo #canthelpmyself #deppresiøn #sad #art ♬ Exit Music (For A Film) - Radiohead

Admittedly, it is tempting to project human emotions onto the arm. In 2016 its movements gave off a comical urgency, and in 2019 its “absurd, Sisyphean view” of the world (as described by former Guggenheim curator Xiaoyu Weng) really began to shine through. It doesn’t take an expert to figure out why the hopelessness of its task resonates with TikTok’s audience, a generation facing poor job prospects , toxic work environments , and a pandemic that’s left them “ unable to cope with life ”.

However, the robot arm isn’t actually struggling to contain hydraulic fluid that’s vital for its survival: the liquid is simply coloured water mixed with a thickening agent. Apparently, it was never meant to be a meditation on mental health, either. “It’s about automated surveillance and border control, not robot depression or whatever,” says one Twitter user. “It’s not ‘tired and hopeless’; it’s just clogged bc it’s been running for 5yrs.”

“It’s all fine and good to empathize w/ the robot but the piece is a specific statement about authoritarianism and automated state violence and making stuff up is disrespectful to the original intent.”

Addressing the widespread online commentary, another TikToker simply falls to the floor laughing, with the caption: “Me watching y’all cry over a robot scooping red paint.”

ooouuughhhh this thread is BS and im annoyed the robot isn't leaking fluid. it uses computer vision to futilely keep the fluid within an arbitrary zone; it's about automated surveillance and border control, not robot depression or whatever pic.twitter.com/2ArxR3P73w — aidan, art cop ✨ CONCEPTUALIZATION {Easy: Success} (@AerialShading) January 11, 2022

While the debate about the real meaning of Can’t Help Myself is entertaining, the official Guggenheim description sheds more light on the situation. Supporting the border control angle, it suggests that the artwork was actually meant to address “contemporary issues surrounding migration and sovereignty”.

“The bloodstain-like marks that accumulate around it evoke the violence that results from surveilling and guarding border zones,” the description reads. “Such visceral associations call attention to the consequences of authoritarianism guided by certain political agendas that seek to draw more borders between places and cultures.” The growing use of technology to aid in policing these borders is also highlighted by the mechanical arm, it explains.

In the end, it’s difficult to say whether the creators of Can’t Help Myself had mental health in mind, or wanted to comment on humans’ self-centered tendency to see their own reflection wherever they look (art can have multiple meanings, after all). What is clear, however, is that Sun Yuan and Peng Yu’s artwork can be considered a success, which is still causing people to pause for thought, share ideas, and maybe even break down in tears, years after it first arrived in New York as a spry, young robot arm.

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Getting It Strait

Modern Personification: Can’t Help Myself

by Allison Lee

In 2016, commissioned for the Guggenheim Museum , artists Sun Yuan and Peng Yu worked with robotic engineers to set up an exhibition titled ‘Can’t Help Myself’. This display featured an industrial robot crafted from stainless steel and rubber, programmed with thirty-two movements to perform, and at first glance, seems more ordinary than anything. 

Caged within acrylic partitions, a robotic arm with a squeegee affixed to its end stands prideful in a monolithic manner—at least, it did when it was first introduced to the public eye. Sun Yuan and Peng Yu’s installation has one sole purpose: to sweep up a viscous red fluid that seems to be leaking out of itself. When the sensors pick up that the liquid has flowed too far out of the predetermined area, the arm implements one of the thirty-two movements to draw the fluid back in. 

During its debut period, the machine moved lively and animatedly, despite only having a limited range of motions. One could even say the arm looked as if it were dancing around while trying to gather the pool of liquid back to the middle. 

Over the years, however, the robotic arm slowed down. It no longer went about its duty with aggressive swiping movements, resorting to a more sluggish pace of mopping up the red instead. A faded layer of the liquid has permanently stained the floorboards and there is now a faint screeching from the machine when it attempts to move around. The iterations of motions over time have left ruby splashes on the acrylic walls as well, the display tenfold messier than it was initially. 

When people first laid eyes on the machine, they described it as “happy” and “proud of its job”; in more recent years, adjectives deployed have morphed into “tired” and “sad” instead—which brings me to the crux of this piece: How can a machine, constructed to do nothing but a repetitive task, appear to have human emotions?

Now, art is as subjective as subjectivity comes, so the following will be my interpretation of the installation; you are free to take what resonates with you and leave what does not. 

Let’s begin with the most drawing feature of the exhibition: the liquid. The pool of crimson fluid undeniably attracts any passerby’s attention, emulating a steady stream of blood. If we were to go along with this personification of the robot, it almost seems like it is trying to keep what makes it ‘human’ close to itself. Blood, of course, keeps us alive. The panicked scraping of the liquid back to the predetermined area can be interpreted as the robotic arm’s futile attempts at holding itself together, only for everything to slip out of control over and over again, reminiscent of the myth of Sisyphus.

Now, onto the programming of the arm itself. I will not draw false conclusions regarding the significance of there being thirty-two movements; frankly, the number does not particularly stand out to me—it’s the naming of each of those movements I want to zoom in on. The description on Guggenheim Museum’s website details that the programmed movements were given names such as ‘scratch an itch’, ‘bow and shake’, and ‘ass shake’. These intentional naming of movements after human actions imply the artists’ wishes to personify the robot itself. The very way in which the arm sways to and fro each position, gracefully positioning itself to initiate the subsequent motion, is as if the robot is enacting human gestures.

Of course, the repetition of this sweeping motion led to the machine’s eventual delay in pace. Some speculate that the hydraulics are no longer as fresh as they were in the beginning; I will not attempt to dive into the physics of the robot itself. Now, it’s sadder to watch the machine work—at least that is the consensus across the internet. You see, two things have notably changed over the years: 

First is the robot’s speed. “It looks tired” is the most common comment you will hear from people who have seen the machine at work. Indeed, it looks like it has had enough of the never-ending cycle of cleaning up an uncleanable mess while we surround its cage and watch the spectacle. Worn out from its perpetual duty, the metal screeches from its unoiled gears only amplify the heartbreak of watching it labor, sounding almost like pleads for release. 

Then there are the floor stains and wall splashes, which will remain until the day the installation is dismantled. The robot is incapable of removing these remnants because of how deeply ingrained or how far out of reach they are. What I’m taking away from this is that the robot is doing exactly what it was programmed to do, yet somehow still manages to make a glorious mess of things. Every swipe of the liquid worsens the situation, but the arm can never stop moving. It can’t help itself. 

We route back to the question: Why is it that this simple piece of installation, something that can probably be spotted at production belts all around the globe, evokes such a heartfelt message in those who dare linger in front of its work for too long? 

Say what you want about the human race—our fatal flaws and negligence, our greed and arrogance—but the one thing that continues to inspire me is our personification of inanimate objects. Our ability to project human conditions and emotions onto things that are inherently ‘un-human’ speaks volumes about how much we care, which is especially important in this day and age. There’s no negating how desensitized we have come to be by the news and media, hence why the ability to care is precious. 

The installation doesn’t actually care that it has been repeating the same thirty-two movements for the past few years. It doesn’t sense that it has made a larger mess compared to when it first started. Yet, we were a lark when the machine was newly functioning and somehow manage to feel bad for the machine when it has grown old and rusty—we emote accordingly for something that doesn’t even have the capacity for feelings. 

Isn’t it oddly fascinating? In a world where we are pitted against each other, primed to shoot for the stars and nothing less, trained to be more selfish than selfless, it’s amazing that a majority of people can come together and slingshot the same human perspective onto a machine. This personification of a robot—or anything, for that matter—is marvelous to me. 

It doesn’t matter what story we attribute to the robotic arm. I could interpret the piece as mimicry of how we go through our lives doing what we are told, not being able to catch a breath even if we get tired because this is the harsh, cyclical reality of life—to be worked to the bone while other people watch us struggle through glass windows; and you can take away an entirely different meaning. Either way, it’s likely that we will both agree the robot has deteriorated from a state of enthusiasm to lethargy. 

We just can’t help ourselves to think otherwise. 

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Can’t Help Myself

In an artwork commissioned by the Guggenheim Museum called Can’t Help Myself , Sun Yuan and Peng Yu designed a robotic arm that is designed to keep a blood-colored liquid from straying too far away.

Placed behind clear acrylic walls, their robot has one specific duty, to contain a viscous, deep-red liquid within a predetermined area. When the sensors detect that the fluid has strayed too far, the arm frenetically shovels it back into place, leaving smudges on the ground and splashes on the surrounding walls.

Sounds a bit like everyone trying to do everything these days. This artwork has been popular on TikTok because people are empathizing that the machine is slowing down.

“It looks frustrated with itself, like it really wants to be finally done,” one comment with over 350,000 likes reads. “It looks so tired and unmotivated,” another said.

Viewing Room

Sun yuan & peng yu present "can't help myself".

Originally created in 2016, the work consists of a large AI robot with a shovel shaped head who continuously controls and “cleans up” the red viscous liquid on the floor surrounding the structure in its large transparent enclosure, resembling a creature captured and kept on display. In its first appearance at the Guggenheim Museum in 2016, it was not only one of the most viewed installations to have ever been in the museum but it was also the most viewed work from the Guggenheim on the internet with more than 2 million views. 

To watch the installation in motion at Guggenheim Museum, click here .

This was improved upon at the 58th International Art Exhibition of La Biennale di Venezia in the exhibition ‘May You Live in Interesting Times’, curated by Ralph Rugoff, which welcomed over half a million visitors, many of whom having shared and filmed the installations and art that they saw, helped the work reach over 3 million combined views on Instagram. 

“Can’t Help Myself” is contained in a large “cage” made of clear acrylic walls. The robotic arm occupies the space in all directions, moving and reacting to the deep-red liquid that for fault of its nature, slips and slides around the pre-determined area. The machine, developed in collaboration with Kuka Robotics, is in a state of continuous control with its own ecology and momentum that come from 32 programmed movements. These movements mimic human movements and were designed by the artists. They highlight the essential elusiveness of the liquid but also the defiant refusal of not only the liquid to be controlled but also the machine to never give up. The movements range from quick to smooth to at times aggressive. Although completely programmed, the robotic machine is physically performing what Sun Yuan & Peng Yu have planned. It therefore becomes an extension of the artists even though, due to its robotic machinery form, it is detached from the spontaneous creativity and emotions of a human being. In fact, Sun Yuan says "An artist's work is a reflection of his or her will. The artist doesn't need to be present on site, physically. Instead, you rely on an agent to carry out your will.".

The dynamic between artificial artist and machine is symbiotic; the work is created and programmed by Sun Yuan & Peng Yu and the engineers but it takes on a life of its own when turned on. The robotic arm is unsettling in how it seems autonomous in its mobility. Our reliance on technology and technology’s need for us in order to perform is a notion raised by the work and highlights that, although the image of the machine can be bold and strong in its associations and movements, there is an inherent vulnerability to both man and machine. 

As time passes, the incessant attempts to control the liquid leaves marks and residue that resemble bloodstains, suggesting the potential outcome of conflicts surrounding surveillance, border control and land disputes. These marks, together with the form of the robotic arm, recall the security mechanisms that through technology have invaded our everyday lives, from smartphones to surveillance cameras in urban areas. These allow us to document and share moments of our lives while monitoring and controlling our behavior in another iteration of the relationship between humans and technology; as we create and design machines, we simultaneously become the subject of their purpose. 

Can’t help my self

KUKA industrial robot, stainless steel and rubber, cellulose ether in colored water, lighting grid with visual-recognition sensors, acrylic wall with aluminum frame

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