#decopunk

Round 1, Match 66 — Decopunk vs. Med-Tech Visions

Decopunk, also known as Ottensian Dieselpunk, is a subset of the -punk sci-fi genres (specifically Dieselpunk), centered around the Art Deco and Streamline Moderne art styles of the 1910s to 1940s. It has a sleeker and shiny aesthetic compared to Dieselpunk, which has a tendency to be more gritty and dark aesthetic to it. Often times, Decopunk will use slightly more modern technology compared to the times it's supposed to evoke like VHS tapes. Decopunk shares a lot in common with Dieselpunk aesthetics, but with more of a focus on the Art Deco style that was popular around the time. A perfect visual example of the Decopunk aesthetic would be the original BioShock video game.

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Med-Tech Visions is the aesthetic associated with a certain style of digital scientific stock images. It is seen most commonly on the websites of both internet and print news sources whenever medical news is presented (but other area of sciences like math, computing and astrophysics may also have it). It can also be seen illustrating science magazines and the cover or editorials of biomedical journals. It usually presents a very slick, digital pseudo-CGI image of organs or cells. It is common to have one element highlighted in a different color. The design style makes heavy use of a slick 3D style. With a color palette usually based in the blue or cyan end of the spectrum with contrastively highlighted elements, if any, are typically in warmer colors like red, orange or yellow. Inverted versions of this palette may also be encountered. Pinks, purples, and magentas, although not entirely absent, are rare, usually being featured within gradients. Green is highly unusual within the scheme unless the imagery is referring to plant biology. Particularly common visual hallmarks include DNA helices, brains and neurons, various other organs, bones and muscles, electrograph lines, viruses, and individual cells of all sorts. Materials on topic like computing, mathematics, chemistry or astrophysics may be significantly more abstracted. These images are also a lot more likely to use pink shades. Although these sometimes verge close to vector graphics laser grids, they are usually still figurative enough to remain outside what would be considered Abstract Tech or Metalheart.

"The battle of lazylī" May 6, 2036

> May 6, 2036:

> Current location: The colony of Bireti, specifically on the continent "Norteña" in the megacity of lazylī

Through the punk lens, you can see a lot of potential for change in both a perfect world, or one that is falling apart. These subgenres of science fiction offer some of my favorite world building dynamics such as technological advancements, new world order, and extraterrestrial influence.

Please enjoy the brief descriptions as I break down these subgenres. Credit to all artists (I could not find many names, but none are mine).

DecoPunk.

Art Deco.

This time, I won't include the illustrations I usually show to clarify that I am NOT talking about that particular aesthetic—since it is easy to distinguish from the one that typically replaces it in modern times: Dieselpunk. Personally, I don't care for Dieselpunk all that much—or at least it doesn't really grab my attention—because it tends to stay within the same narrow lane. However, what I AM referring to is this:

The main difference between Art Deco and Diesel Punk is the way they are presented, since the latter refers to the explicit use of energy powered by diesel engines, whether in public transport vehicles, war tanks, or even some space travel devices, depending on the universe. The idea is that it looks like a machine that works based on a noisy engine and a huge cloud of smoke. It has been used in several board games about wars and in a few movies and video games of alternate universes. However, as I said, I don't really like this that much, not because it's bad, but because, at least from my point of view, it has certain limitations. I mean, you can only make a diesel engine ugly enough until you decide to give it a slightly more eye-catching design, and it's at that point that you're entering the territory of Art Deco.

On the other hand, Art Deck is an artistic design movement that began to gain momentum during the 1930s. Although its appearance may seem simpler or even more straightforward compared to other cultural styles, it is, in fact, incredibly complex. It originated from various artistic movements in Paris and was adopted by the United States, taking advantage of a significant economic boom. Interestingly, illustrators often incorporated elements that were becoming popular among the upper classes from other countries. These elements included Chinese and Egyptian architecture, and even certain Mesopotamian architectural styles, such as pyramidal structures that hadn't been built for millennia.

This is how we end up with a design that's quite striking and also stands out for its incredible mix of cultures, suggesting that those who possess it are not only embracing and celebrating what came before, but also presenting it in a modernized, and some might even say futuristic, light. However, this doesn't make it perfect. And that's one of the reasons I like Art Deco so much. While it could be seen as a beautiful way to represent diesel punk without the need to breathe clouds of smoke, the truth is, it also has a dark side.

At the end of the day, we're talking about a society that embraced it because it's incredibly materialistic and superficial. At least, the initial impression of Art Deco is that it's purely aesthetic, focused solely on beauty, almost as if it lacks any depth and merely borrows cultural elements from earlier periods. Of course, this depends on perspective, and personally, I prefer to see it as a tribute to previous civilizations. However, it can also represent unchecked, unrestrained progress, as if they learned nothing from past empires and felt superior because of it.

It has a huge variety of designs and uses, and it is not limited exclusively to diesel engines. Therefore, what follows are a series of examples of things that I really like that use Art Deco and that also show a huge range of possibilities that you can use it for.

From my point of view, there is no better representation of Art Deco than the 1925 film Metropolis, a visual, aesthetic, and even technical beauty. Although it depends on the version—whether the city takes place in the year 3000, 2000, or 5000 years in the future, whether it is the last city in the world, or whether it has connections to others—the truth is that the story remains a moral tale about what, for me, is possibly the best story about social classes.

It has everything, and the truth is, it reflects very well what, from my point of view, is Art Deco above all else—the visual, the aesthetic, what is presented at first glance. If you analyze it in detail, you'll realize the gigantic machinery that keeps everything running. I mean, look at the city above, which is basically what I'm talking about, but then you get to the city below, the one that represents the working class, and it's just pistons, machines, chimneys, and gigantic levers.

BioShock is another one of those works that employs Art Deco to convey a specific message; the game takes place in 1950, yet the city has remained stuck in the 1930s for quite some time. The beauty of it all—as I mentioned—is that it isn't limited exclusively to the "punk" aesthetic; the way it integrates various technological themes encompasses genetic modification, quantum mechanics, industrial engineering, body horror, and, of course, plasmids.

One achievement of the book and the two video games set in the city of Rapture is the convincing illusion that the place is real—or at least once was—thanks to its incredible detail and the fact that the city's history is essentially the story of its creator, Andrew Ryan. This makes the location—submerged deep beneath the sea—even more unique. It uses its own isolation and the mindset of the people of the time, which makes the city itself remain a time capsule about some of the worst practices that were experienced in the 1930s. No fictional city compares to Rapture; not even its sister city, Columbia—suspended in the heavens—possesses the same charm.

On a more positive note, we have the Gotham City of the Batman films that began with Tim Burton. These films have the advantage of maintaining the aesthetic of Batman's birthplace, the 1930s. However, they also blend it with a multitude of elements that give the city a timeless feel. I'm not even sure what era it's supposed to be set in, because the different gangs, weapons, electronic devices, and artwork seen throughout Gotham City make the film feel like it's set in its own universe, detached from everything else. Of course, I'm not sure if this is intentional or not, but at least for me, that's what using a vintage aesthetic like Art Deco in an 80s film conveys.

One thing I’ve always wondered is what would happen if a city of such massive scale suddenly collapsed—much like the great civilizations it seeks to pay homage to. The Fallout franchise offers a compelling answer to this—though, admittedly, we really only see it in the first two games, with rare exceptions in the third. Beyond that, the portrayal becomes a bit more complicated because the developers chose to lean into "Atompunk" satire rather than true Art Deco aesthetics; it’s a shame, really, because one of the things I enjoy most is the unsettling atmosphere found in those cities.

I love the fact that because most of the buildings are made entirely of glass, that was the first thing to shatter when the nuclear bombs fell, which is why the buildings now have this aggressive aesthetic, as if they were more metal rods than anything else. Not to mention the fact that, for some reason, most of the architecture always features gigantic sculptures or heads that protrude from the pillars and entrance arches of each large building. It's so prevalent that even the Enclave, one of the rival factions in the second game, has an oil rig as its base of operations, which still maintains those enormous heads.

Curiously, the fact that art also serves as the epitome of civilization makes its destruction even more shocking; in this instance, we witness the shattering of luxury. Industrial machinery taken space in places where it was mostly human friendly. Half-life 2 had that, or at least before it was changed. The developers decided it would be best to set the city in Eastern Europe because the Soviet and classical European architecture offered an even greater contrast with the Combine—the game's antagonistic faction—yet I still can't help but picture this version of City 17 in the middle of what used to be Manhattan or New York.

It's strange because we're used to seeing these types of buildings with at least some kind of luxury or at least as a symbol of their own cities, now we not only see them destroyed and blackened, some even abandoned, but we also see an even bigger replacement: the citadel in the middle of City 17. At least in this version.

As you may have noticed, what appeals to me isn't simply the aesthetic just looking good, but the immense symbolic weight involved. Dieselpunk usually harks back to wartime—specifically, the machinery and technology produced during World War I and World War II. Yet, when taken to the extreme through Art Deco, it stands as the epitome of the civilization it emulates—or, at least, the one it once emulated.

Especially because it is a window into a different time—and into how the future was once envisioned—it represents a window of opportunity for excess; without this type of architecture, people might not picture the cities of tomorrow as gigantic mega-metropolises that are simultaneously claustrophobic and megalophobic—visions seen in everything from films like Blade Runner to video games like Cyberpunk. And the truth is, among all the things that amuse me, it is very unlikely that we will ever reach this type of housing.

Let me explain. In fiction, we tend to think that megacities or futuristic technologies will be sustained by an inexhaustible, or at least sustainable, power source. To a certain extent, to allow for this lifestyle, there's a saying that if we find a more renewable energy source, we'll exploit it to the point of creating a new standard of excess. This is because the new energy source is less dependent than the one we previously abandoned. Not to mention the simple fact that building these things isn't as simple as just stacking stones on top of each other, due to their immense size and the type of material they're made of. It also depends a lot on how many lives you're willing to sacrifice just to build a measly building. Let me tell you an anecdote: it turns out that the Empire State Building in New York was one of many within the gigantic production that the city had. Hugh Ferris was one of them.

While it's true that he wasn't solely responsible for all of New York's architectural and urban planning, it would be foolish to think he was the only one. He was definitely one of the driving forces that has remained most in the collective memory. More than anything, because the drawings he was making are truly terrifying, and I've shown these images to several people, and they've all agreed that they wouldn't want to live there. Not only that, but they're also terrified by the mere thought of seeing one of those lights on the road and thinking that it's a car—something that is, by nature, about six times larger than the average human being.

It makes you wonder, then, what on earth they were thinking when they planned all this, because I honestly don't find much sense in its architecture other than showing off and boasting about the architectural capabilities we humans possess, or at least the people of that era. The funny thing about all this is that one of the first buildings for this type of project was precisely the Empire State Building, and incidentally, so many people died during its construction that the company in charge of its construction went bankrupt, or nearly so, because they couldn't even find a way to use the building. There were completely empty floors; people never went there, and the rent was so expensive that nobody could afford to put anything there. It wasn't until the 1933 King Kong movie that the building achieved statewide and later nationwide fame, which made it one of the city's most iconic buildings. But that doesn't change the fact that it was only meant to be one part of the enormous infrastructure that was originally planned.

I like to remain optimistic about the fact that these kinds of constructions give us the impression that creating an entire city of these types of buildings is simply stupid and almost ignorant of the major complications it can entail. For example, I don't know if you're aware, but for some reason, the people of Saudi Arabia are obsessed with trying to create a vast number of luxurious cities. The problem is that the infrastructure they showcase is always appalling, to the point where, as we know, there are entire cities they've built that they've later had to abandon because nobody wants to live there.

At the end of the day, even though this might seem beautiful, human beings still try to find a place that brings them peace of mind. The idea of ​​putting a giant highway right through the middle of a city of skyscrapers that reach the clouds... I would say it's simply foolish to think that only the wealthiest people could afford the luxury of having noises from their rooms impossible to penetrate their ears. And even then, that doesn't change the fact that they would be dependent on the entire system; if one thing were to fall apart, everything would be a disaster. I mean, at the end of the day, the only reason cities as large as Saudi Arabia's survive today is because they generate a lot of money from oil, but even that isn't gonna be enough in the long term... and even with that. I still like it.

No Saudi Arabia, please. Don't misunderstand me; I don't want to be seen as that kind of person, and if I were, I'd shoot myself in the head. What I mean is that I still like the Art Deco aesthetic, not only because of its flexibility in terms of narrative, but also because, to a certain extent, as I mentioned, I like to see it as a kind of homage—a tribute to social and technological progress, big enough to allow us these kinds of luxuries, not only in housing but also in how we live, how cities look, how the lights look, and even how people relate to each other.

And once again, what I initially dismissed as cultural appropriation, I admire because I feel that reaching this point is not just the effort of one civilization, but of several that have collaborated, learned from, and also paid homage to those that came before, all to allow us this kind of life. And while it's true that the machinery is hidden, it won't always remain so, and I believe that to maintain a lifestyle with this kind of luxury, one must also be aware of the system in which one is being sustained. At the end of the day, the film Metropolis itself mentions that...

The mediator between the mind and the hand must be the heart!

So please, gentlemen, let's act with our hearts every time we decide something for the future, not only for ourselves, but also for our future generations.