What in the real is frightening, threat, in art becomes sexy. Mass Surveillance becomes quaint voyeurism, a bucolic kink. Like the panopticon becoming a sex-club accoutrement featuring one-way mirrors reversing Foucault's hypothesized societal metaphor in the same years he was made it, the metaphor. Dirty Words: Mass incarcerate me. If one without anything to hide should fear nothing about mass surveillance then hide nothing, give them a mass to survey.
See too:
Torbjørn Rødland at Henie-Onstad Kunstsenter