Foreign Bodies
This is a series that contemplates the potential of the parts of our souls/selves we sacrifice for expediency.
Where do these pieces of self/soul go? If theres a truth to the idea that we lose a little more of our selves each time we betray our sense of what's right, or what is meaningful to us, when we become numb to atrocities as well as the smaller shrinking we do as we chip away at ourselves to better fit the expectations of others.
Do they take new forms? Dream their own dreams? Do they drift off, become what we never could? Would they transcend our clumsy limitations, create strange new utopias? Or would they like every other revolution repeat our mistakes, dream of wondrous new ways of being only to become stuck in the usual quagmires of control and fear. Start making statues to their past struggles, their emancipatory journey, mistaking calcification for purity?
It is a series of branching possibilities and questions. A method of reflecting on our losses, and trying to imagine what real hope might look like.
I. Quiet catalysts
- a heaviness
- self perpetuating
- yet familiar
What pieces of ourselves we remove for the sake of expediency? Where do they go? What worlds do they build beyond our current limitations?
- we fled to the edges of perception
- it can be difficult to discipline unbridled dreams
but there will always be those willing to try. Stopping at nothing to tear down the flitting strange forms we become in secret, what cannot be consumed must be destroyed in some other way. Surely the only path is to eat or be eaten?
the whole grows from the part
We wanted to split time, graft alternate the futures onto outgrowths. What would happen if we opened outselves to new and boundless possibilities? Who could we be if we were unafraid to experiment with our sense of self. What could we be if we abandoned the tribe? Swam naked in the currents?
folding time and space
- proliferation
II. Dreams of power
- is it better to remember or forget?
We believed in the importance of holding memory, yet all the archival knowledge in the world didn’t stop the horrors from returning. Over time the memories leak out of those who hold them, leaving a patina over them and everything they touch.
- how do we know if its safe to rest?
Can others be trusted with these new worlds we created? Should we not remain? On guard? They do not know what we lived through to get here.
- burnished by war, utopia is fleeting
III. There's nothing like a grand narrative
- a brave new world
