In Jurassic Park: Reboot Disk, Arlo Sinclair taps into cinematic nostalgia while critiquing the fragility of technological hubris. The work presents a large-format 5.25” floppy disk, carefully fabricated from acrylic and aluminium, complete with a distressed paper label hand-painted to mimic wear and tear. Bearing the iconic Jurassic Park logo, the label designates the object as a “SECURITY SYSTEM: REBOOT DISK,” with instructions to “Insert disk and type magic word and press ENTER.”

The reference is unmistakable: Sinclair channels the 1993 Spielberg classic, in which a computer virus and one programmer’s arrogance bring chaos to the park. The handwritten annotation “magic word”—a nod to Dennis Nedry’s infamous sabotage—underscores the absurd reliance on fragile systems to safeguard monumental ventures. Splattered with blood-red stains and marked “D.N.,” the disk becomes a relic of corporate overconfidence undone by human error.

As with his broader practice, Sinclair transforms obsolete technology into a cultural fossil, elevating disposable objects into painted or sculpted icons. Here, the floppy disk—once a symbol of digital modernity—is reimagined as a doomed failsafe, a fragile lifeline for a failing infrastructure. The scratches, creases, and faux-damage on the label are meticulously executed, blurring the boundary between artifact and artwork.

Jurassic Park: Reboot Disk collapses cinema, technology, and cultural critique into one object. It resonates as both a nostalgic callback to one of Hollywood’s most memorable blockbusters and a satirical meditation on the illusions of control in the face of chaos. In Sinclair’s hands, the humble floppy becomes a monument to both obsolescence and the dangers of believing technology can ever fully contain nature—or human folly.