Screens are walls, their bricks are pixels, arranged in grids to be impenetrable. Infinitesimal to be invisible. Close enough to conceal their nature and make the illusion ever more convincing. While the nature of walls is divisive, that of images is relational.
This is a founding instance of the digital world: built on distance, yet aiming to bring closer.
A paradox, then, lies at the very core of this system.
This is a founding instance of the digital world: built on distance, yet aiming to bring closer.
A paradox, then, lies at the very core of this system.
As if that wasn’t enough, the volatile, uncertain, numeric, and algorithmic nature of the digital chimera makes it a paradigm that is incredibly difficult to approach.
A paradox is a proposition that works —concise and eloquent — yet contradicts the lived experience it refers to."How can I try to explain?" is an attempt to inhabit that space between experience and paradox.
In the ever-flowing magma of the digital realm, what is the value of emotion?
What are the consequences of this uncertain nature?
How can we, the first generation raised by this system, seek human connection within a structure built on separation?
What role does boredom play?
The title is a question.
The stream of images is immersed in darkness.
The screen is a light switched on in a dark universe.
It lights up, at night, a tired face.
Where is that distracted thought headed, drawn by the brightness of the pixels?
In the ever-flowing magma of the digital realm, what is the value of emotion?
What are the consequences of this uncertain nature?
How can we, the first generation raised by this system, seek human connection within a structure built on separation?
What role does boredom play?
The title is a question.
The stream of images is immersed in darkness.
The screen is a light switched on in a dark universe.
It lights up, at night, a tired face.
Where is that distracted thought headed, drawn by the brightness of the pixels?
I write you a message, I send you a photo.
Now the lights in the dark universe are two.
From the Wi-Fi router, a cable sets off and crosses the world.
One part reaches you, another is stored in modern, hidden, intangible warehouses.
Iron clouds devour and chew images, reshuffle them, and send them back to the sender.
The black screen is a mirror—and you are my image, just as I am yours.
From you, on the other side of the world.
Memes as silent therapy. Algorithms as mute therapists.
Now the lights in the dark universe are two.
From the Wi-Fi router, a cable sets off and crosses the world.
One part reaches you, another is stored in modern, hidden, intangible warehouses.
Iron clouds devour and chew images, reshuffle them, and send them back to the sender.
The black screen is a mirror—and you are my image, just as I am yours.
From you, on the other side of the world.
Memes as silent therapy. Algorithms as mute therapists.
Where am I going? What am I doing? What will I do?
Am I wasting my time?
If Instagram knows me so well, why am I not happy?
What’s missing? What is contact?
Is it only effective when it’s real?
Or does contact happen when we awkwardly bridge linguistic distances,
and emotions are sublimated into the simplest, easiest words?
An impromptu love, a shared intention, consumed within the time frame of only the “correct” responses.
What happens if I say something wrong?
Do I go back to the beginning?
Alone, again?
Am I wasting my time?
If Instagram knows me so well, why am I not happy?
What’s missing? What is contact?
Is it only effective when it’s real?
Or does contact happen when we awkwardly bridge linguistic distances,
and emotions are sublimated into the simplest, easiest words?
An impromptu love, a shared intention, consumed within the time frame of only the “correct” responses.
What happens if I say something wrong?
Do I go back to the beginning?
Alone, again?