A series of self-initiated images for Cactus Magazine Issue 8.
This editorial commission is the debut visual development for an on-going studio project that explores the state of uncoupling, with a narrative structured around the realigned relationship of human agency and consciousness with the physical body and world, constructing a speculative reality.
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Like children we draw ourselves.
Recreate ourselves, amputate ourselves.
Our gods, in our image, are created in marble, though we neglect to venerate the rock from which they’re hewn.
We co create a spiritual experience with the sap of trees, and praise immaterial deities for such communion.
We deny the matter of things. We cast ourselves adrift; consciousness cut loose, mirrored in circuits and electrons.
This is the world of the mountain across the water.
Our forced separation from ourselves.
There is no need to negate the spiritual dimension of who and what we are.
If we understand our role within a larger material continuum, we can develop decent relationships and technologies which seek to prioritise all materiality.
The further we turn inward, to our interior, through the construction of a technologically augmented future, the further we move away from ourselves.
This will never enable the construction of multifarious and decent material futures for our bodies, and all bodies (human and non-human) in space.
Here is the imaginary we are creating. It is our home, the world we are simultaneously running away from and towards.
This is the world of the mountain across the water. Like children we draw ourselves. Our marble gods, cast in our image, venerated. The rock from which they’re hewn, dismissed. The matter of things denied. Ourselves, cast adrift. Consciousness cut loose, mirrored in circuits and electrons.
If this is the voice I use, then x threw y.
If this is the voice I use, then x held y.
If this is the voice I use, then x erased y.
If I erased you, I am not y.
If x happens then y means everything.
l will welcome you home. Your matter becoming my matter again.
Under my blanket and you will paint red marks where your face once was.
When your crimson scars have healed we will remember, our walls will crumble together again.
We left the cosmic plan in our wake.