Windows and screens suggest a separation between here and there,outside and inside, now and then. They suggest access to a structured knowledge of another time or place. Digital bleed,repetitions, and overlapping noise does not so much undo these idealized views and units here, as they prevent what could be the appearance of connections and metaphors, the ground for structured knowledge.
The textures and velocities insist upon images as images.
A world grows ,
not to occupy a previous emptiness, but in violent spurts forcing a density of that very emptiness.
When even what is, is not, narrative stranglehold is loosened.
Repetition is not infinite,
but there can be no closure,no proper ending.
Generally repetition as method is what is right, or even true. But here there is no infinity, no
walls,
and always noise in the copy. This is not the part
standing in for some whole, some meaning being born, but error and what is new and
monstrous.
You hold your breath for a little while
(the videos are short enough) and feel words wash away before imagery that cannot be meaningfully
described
beyond the
most meaninglessly generic.
A cat. A face. A street. A body. Some move, some are constant explosions of color,
some are static or made of static .
Even the notion that you can always call them images begins to burn away. And then you can breathe
again.
The sound, sometimes noise, sometimes music, or at least musical noise or isolated notes, swirl around the visuals, penetrate them or hang as curtains hiding something rather than helping us see. Sound is noise and echoes, and yet, seemingly at the same time, pure signal.
