NoPlace, Oslo proudly presents:
27.04.12 - 06.05.12
Opening: Friday 27.04.12, 20.00 - 23.00
Opening hours 14-17, Saturdays and Sundays
Here beneath the Ziggurat the Elders still draw circles in the crop, erect stones, throw bones at the Sun, breath Smoak and chant in terrible harmonies. For some time I studied, with great curiosity, these practically and metaphysically quaint habits, in an attempt at learning a language for this tilted realm I have so long dwelt in; this orthographically projected but somewhat cross-eyed non-place, between the spiritual, physical and virtual.
But then something remarkable happened when 1.16 billion Transistors, operating at 82 billion instructions per second, produced the Fifth Great Kernel Panic. There was a thick smell of ozone, sweet and dry, and the fires of the Sky-Lake (where the Heavens and the Earth meet and the Mountains are made from the sweat of the thousand webbed tails of the Spider-Serpent, who turns brave men and women into foam at the edge of the World-Mouth) was everywhere upon the land. Out of this calamity a voice as unreal as you or me arose and spoke of novel things and places I will never get to touch long enough to synthesize.
Now, instead of pixels and pentagrams:
Fluoride and Shiny Metal Rods
High Energy Loops
Optical Nerve stress
In this, my new realm, I have no proper language. Only an assortment of shibboleths remain. So I have been looking for a new way of remembering where I am; to stretch space-time into more manageable chunks; to sense with my non-senses, so to speak. I have had some success in the diachronic bundling and freezing of some non-quantifiable phenomena, through the lazy vision of the desktop scanner, amplified by layered displacements in vector space.