Filter Modulator • Beejay Esber

Jan 9 to Feb 1, 2020 • Tall Gallery

“In the ignorance that implies the impression that knits knowledge that finds the name form that whets the wits that convey contacts that sweeten sensation that drives desire that adheres to attachment that dogs death that bitches birth that entails the ensuance of existentiality.”

— James Joyce, Finnegans Wake

Occasionally a rumble, and often a hiss. After struck by lightning and shuffling off into a dissolution of a continuity. A tangent snakes and glides across the cusp of the recovery of a history previously hidden. What is extraordinary always seems extraneous until examined from a vantage that is not one’s own. Speed turns a point into a line, and networks of lines issuing formations and malformations across discrete planes following divergent pathways and moving at relative velocities. Countless couplings and decouplings, nodes imploding into themselves and exploding inside and outside of time; a wire dangles disconnected and a flurry of static.

Through a gate formed by intersections of synthetic neon lights and a cold metallic sheen:
Sometimes a machine in the process of dismantling itself.
Sometimes a discontinued rhythm undulating through broken syntax.
Sometimes a system on the verge of structural collapse.
Sometimes an oscillation between states.
Sometimes a cosmology dragged through the desert.
Sometimes an organism in the process of replicating itself.
Sometimes a season of mist or a season of slime or a climate of otherness.
Sometimes a parable of the virtual running innumerable simulations at once.
Sometimes a drone that drives or drops depending on perspective.
Sometimes a nerve is pinched while a gland is overstimulated.
Sometimes a one and sometimes a zero.
All is dematerialized and reconstituted, subverting temporal orientation until it spirals into ether.

To move with or to move through are spatial negotiations of the senses as they pass through a series of mechanisms that urge them toward alteration. A jolt, a shock, a buzz, a rupture until a rapture wakes in lurid colors to luxuriate in the raw. Then space becomes time and time folds in on itself until it appears to become flattened while it thickens with variegated textures distorting its constitution, permitting the onset of a flood. Stillness moving, acidic, acerbic, amorphous, frictional, fracturing, fictive, fossilized, vaporized, vanishing.

Punctures in the fabric eventually reveal particles colliding against one another and waves interrupting omnidirectional frequencies, a dance that issues sparks. Through the wormhole and toward a chaosmatic fissure bristling with electricity, a constant vociferation of sound and image, the transmutation of life worlds. (Itos Ledesma)