One of the most representative aspects of human life is the yearning for being in control. This need is not externalised loudly, in front of an audience, but in a small room in the back of one's head. This need covers something way bigger: the overbearing fear of death.
From young age we learned about control over others; with a simple cry, everything can be ours: food, love, shelter, comfort. As we grow up, we rebel against the authoritarian regime of our parents and fight for our autonomy, struggling for our right to control what we do, and later in life fight against ourselves for self control.
As a characteristic of creatureness, control becomes more visible and consequential when exerted on others than on the self, as self-control is predominantly associated with inaction rather than action [1]. Perceived control over the environment becomes a manifestation of the need for safety and survival, one that allows beings to regulate uncertainty, reduce threat and maintain psychological stability.
We painted the picture of control as a part of our meaningless fight against death; our fight for survival and hope for thriving. From a biological point of view, the perception of control ensures our psychosocial functioning as well as physical health. If we would not believe we are in control of our lives, we wouldn't have any incentive to carry on and face the challenges of survival [2]. In other words, the idea of not being in control is detrimental to our existence. This is why beings are willing to go to great lenghts to obtain it, for instance by engaging in maladaptive behaviours for self and others.
With the preceding argument in mind, we can discuss the art installation titled "Sisyphus", which centers two types of creatures exerting control: the robot in the center, exerting control in the form of destruction and power over others, and the smaller robots scattered around the surface, exerting control in the form of resistance and resilience. In this configuration, the central robot embodies the maladaptive authoritarian response to lack of control, dominating its environment as a response to its internal fear and anxiety, whereas the smaller robots represent the "respectable" manner of exerting control through resistence and righteous action over their environment. These facades of control are in juxtaposition showcasing control as a means for destruction vs creation.
What we can learn from this context is that ultimately, our biological fight for control may ultimately be futile, a perpetual effort to distract us from the inevitable arrival of death.
I imagine a room with a small decomposed/disassembled creature in the corner that tries to control its audience by instructing them to help with its re-building through movements, subtle cues, lights, etc. The creature's goal is to make the audience cooperate with it in order to be rebuild. If the audience does not engage the way the creature envisions or tries to walk away, it will shift strategies, using manipulative behaviours to coerce them into participation (whining, shivering, etc). Once rebuilt, the creature's form will expand, becoming imposing. In the position of power, the creature will begin belittling, screaming and disrespecting the audience, revealing the dangerous side of control in power over its environment.
Perhaps it would have been nicer to talk about excitement.
[1] Justin Hepler, Dolores Albarracin, Kathleen C. McCulloch, and Kenji Noguchi. 2011. Being active and impulsive: The role of goals for action and inaction in self-control. Motivation and Emotion 36, 4: 416–424. https://doi.org/10.1007/s11031-011-9263-4
[2] Lauren A. Leotti, Sheena S. Iyengar, and Kevin N. Ochsner. 2010. Born to choose: the origins and value of the need for control. Trends in Cognitive Sciences 14, 10: 457–463. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.tics.2010.08.001