what doesn’t fit into a story, what doesn’t have a story
There is this space between the notes that remains inexplicable, the silence between the rumble of time, there is this echo of perpetual collision, a slight and subtle but undeniable tremor between ourselves and the big Other. We humans try to understand everything, which is to verbalize everything, but language itself - as Lacan says - does not belong to us, is not a part of us. We are radically alone with our very perception of the world.
But between ourselves and the big Other there is a narrow gap called the Real that we lose as soon as we learn to speak and that we continuously try to regain ever after. We search for it in lovers or careers or material objects, but nothing can ever truly replace it.
The Real is the space before words, before control, the space of dreams and the subconscious. It is the space where the Sublime can emerge, where in small fragmented glimpses real beauty can occur.
This work is an investigation of vulnerability and the loneliness between all living beings, a work created in seeking for this missing bit, called the Real.