When I write I, I also write we (say we also write that we’re momentarily in possession of the possibilities, and as for the possibilities: they have us), as in my hyperbolic twin brother and I, and from that point on (as well as before) in company with the gaps between us. The auto-corrections, the imposed circumstances, the complicities, and some conspirationalist copings within a system with no clearly identifiable nemesis. Here, the act of resistance to whatever is playing us, also enacts the playing of that which plays us. The heinous power of family and narrative insists.

Two lead narratives are interwoven during the course of time it took for a pizza to be delivered (from pizzeria Marco Polo):

Looping on a Panasonic Viera TX-55AX630E, the  search for a/my lost and/or hidden dad arrives through the mispronunciation of the word “that” during a negotiation in a park. Where a tangled hypothesis, along the lines of “what if the plot device of a shot of a moon in a video used to forward time (as in an alternative to ‘later that night’) was a graphic representation of an analog clock recognized in a to-be sliced pizza that is eventually consumed as a means to induce a food coma?” takes place (and time, as saved time is always already lost). It’s almost dark already. Also it's not, and the future held hostage by the river of the forest of the woods is followed by the sense of not being able to tell if there’s an emotion or a feeling present. Visits from passed pasts. It all starts to feel originatory.

Thanks to X, this keeps on happening, thoughts and behaviours about suspicious timing and holistic systems keep on happening. This keeps on happening, and it works its way into physical works in an exhibition space with no reference to an infirmary, where parrot tulips are emotional flowers, a print is printed using a temperamental printer, sawdust creates glossy eyes, and all locked doors are eventually keyed out. An investigation into conditions of influence, co-authorship, connectivity, all within a space cohabited by comedy, sentimentality, and other states subject to flatness.

When I write I, I also write we (say we also write that we’re momentarily in possession of the possibilities, and as for the possibilities: they have us), as in my hyperbolic twin brother and I, and from that point on (as well as before) in company with the gaps between us. The auto-corrections, the imposed circumstances, the complicities, and some conspirationalist copings within a system with no clearly identifiable nemesis. Here, the act of resistance to whatever is playing us, also enacts the playing of that which plays us. The heinous power of family and narrative insists.

Two lead narratives are interwoven during the course of time it took for a pizza to be delivered (from pizzeria Marco Polo):

Looping on a Panasonic Viera TX-55AX630E, the  search for a/my lost and/or hidden dad arrives through the mispronunciation of the word “that” during a negotiation in a park. Where a tangled hypothesis, along the lines of “what if the plot device of a shot of a moon in a video used to forward time (as in an alternative to ‘later that night’) was a graphic representation of an analog clock recognized in a to-be sliced pizza that is eventually consumed as a means to induce a food coma?” takes place (and time, as saved time is always already lost). It’s almost dark already. Also it's not, and the future held hostage by the river of the forest of the woods is followed by the sense of not being able to tell if there’s an emotion or a feeling present. Visits from passed pasts. It all starts to feel originatory.

Thanks to X, this keeps on happening, thoughts and behaviours about suspicious timing and holistic systems keep on happening. This keeps on happening, and it works its way into physical works in an exhibition space with no reference to an infirmary, where parrot tulips are emotional flowers, a print is printed using a temperamental printer, sawdust creates glossy eyes, and all locked doors are eventually keyed out. An investigation into conditions of influence, co-authorship, connectivity, all within a space cohabited by comedy, sentimentality, and other states subject to flatness.