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    About

    A photographic side-project for a larger multimedia piece still in progress.
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Photography and projection; the object and its shadow.  The visual phenomena of the shadow appearing to have greater mass and density than the object casting it, while a ghostly, pixelated nowhere flits back and forth into semi-existence in the background.  Caught in the ghost-stream of squared data, the image of the “where” which never was invites us to format ourselves and peak around inside its dimensions: what and where are the physical geographical spaces (this other world’s buildings, oceans, deserts and cities), when one is only privy to a ten-second glimpse of one “room”?  How many millions of “rooms” are there, in how many millions of “worlds” if each “room” and “world” is but one product of one of one “real” person’s thousands of daily thoughts?  How many various versions of this world has this one person imagined, and how many will he or she conjure tomorrow?  Next week?  This utterly unquantifiable data is the only unchartered geography remaining, and how much of this data is the product of our own psyches, and how much of it has merely been fed back to us by this titanic processor, re-shaping, regurgitating and (dangerously) reinventing our thought-patterns?
   Analogue data, the printed page, offered on a spike as totem or gestural offering to the dominant, hyper-realistic image.  Hail the new Puritan as s/he pours scorn on the existence of a page without interface, a page upon which the author’s ideas are at fixed points up and down that page.  A bound book amongst other bound books pierced through the middle and arranged on a skewer, prepared as burnt offering, or subject of iconoclastic purification: the thing which only evil men did in the Twentieth Century is ironic and culturally sharp in the Twenty-First.
 
We interpret anything technological as cold, without humanity, unfeeling.  The blue hue on the projector settings confirms our attitude towards technology.  The green however, associated normally with the environment, life and rebirth, clashes with this.
   How does the organic process of childhood fit in with our ultra-modern relationship with technology?  Is it right that we unhesitatingly sit our children down in front of large screens in the hope of an hour’s respite from the grind of actually doing what we are supposed to do as parents?  Parental interaction is regulated by our relationship to this Orwellian system of fitting our kids in around everything else – the “everything else” which is in turn regulated by a systemic relationship with technology.  Even the bluest of collar workers have a daily familiarity with interfaces and data systems.
   All of the signifiers are here in this imagery (the printed page, the childhood teddy-suit, the emptiness thereof, the projection, the colour) to confirm the modern dichotomy.  The shadow of the book-spike sculpture is like a solid architectural object, and the top-end of the spike reminds us – particularly when twinned with the object itself – of the events of thirteen years ago across the Atlantic.  This last was entirely unintentional when assembling the setup, although once noticed I could not help but focus upon it.  This is also echoed in the corner-piece of the BBC test card looming behind the Moses Basket - reminiscent as it is of what we saw in the media of the remains of the World Trade Centre (I’m British.  I spell it with an “re,” OK?).