The performance took place in a space specifically built into a freight elevator for this purpose. A peephole with a fish-eye lens in the elevator doors allowed the audience to observe the events inside, similar to looking through a camera viewfinder. Visible was a small figure gradually being overwhelmed by dough oozing from the walls and objects. The performance lasted eight hours.
Pulp the flesh that appears in front of a mediative door lens, the installation architectonics invite us to a blurred dream through the optics of a watcher, almost to serve as an eye witness of an ebullient mass that can be cut, wounded, lacerated, punched and penetrated, paradoxically by doing so, it increases in volume, as a revenge and a spectacle of its incommensurability.
Dripping cream yellow from the corners, displaying the obsolesce of the limits of its container. A persona on site transactioning, mediating and gathering the pulp, almost like a silent yearning uselessly craving for a cure, a remedy to the growth, like a minister, as a butcher, a baker, and a caretaker, inserting the capsules as a depiction of unrealized potential, inhabiting an alternate vacuum world, and its futility when preventing the growth of the pulp. —The pulp that by itself is latent and has potential energy, to fill a room, by doing so, taking the life of it all in the space, to also rot and disclose its inner juices and mighty smells, to metastases and not looking back at us.
The pulp, an ivory body, balancing in rags and shelves, waiting to be processed by the minister, in moulding containers to be classified and archived in cupboards. The medicine that travel through canals, and cannulas attached to the flesh, meta-instruments like the mouth pressing to deliver the capsules, the duct to slide them through, as a preliminary gesture of penetration to unleash their realm of possibility with the dough.
Manure on cups, allegories of ammonia, cavity perspiration, roughly retaliating the inevitable truth: the powerlessness in one's agency to the expansion of the pulp, she merciless and accelerated, so dilated and ecstatic that exude warm self-immolation, that sparks a caliginous consideration about life and death.
Dichotomy in an inceptious mode, about the image (the icon) and the body (the index). We, the audience of this phenomenon, see through the glass inquiring for the stranger on the outside, of ourselves and our homes, we are on the inner side of the observing relationship, like when someone rings the bells on the outside —the outside is a relational map of a flourishing pulp, its minister and its instruments of remedy and laceration. What can we imagine more intimate and naked? One becomes a voyeurist of this catalyze, perhaps a believer or a canonist —what can we determine in this carcass of lumps?
is this a monster of humankind? Is it real in a different manner? We see it, but how can we know it?
We see this installation performance under the optics of a relational ethic that takes seriously the absent other, exploring the agency of creatures that trouble traditional understanding of what is considered to exist.1 The pulp is a generous entity that guides us through contemporary anxieties and fears, the harvest and growth of a monster due to the effects of toxicity and illness. The ones from us that remain more affected by it are haunted by some of them, by these grammatical transgressions.
Built room (2m x 2m x 1.2m), fisheye lenses, yeast dough, performer, fish oil capsules, gelatine, various materials
The performance took place in a specially constructed room, not accessible to visitors, and could be viewed through a fisheye lens embedded in the wall. During the six-hour performance, the performer was increasingly overwhelmed by the dough oozing from the walls and all objects.
Pulp the flesh that appears in front of a mediative door lens, the installation architectonics invite us to a blurred dream through the optics of a watcher, almost to serve as an eye witness of an ebullient mass that can be cut, wounded, lacerated, punched and penetrated, paradoxically by doing so, it increases in volume, as a revenge and a spectacle of its incommensurability.
Dripping cream yellow from the corners, displaying the obsolesce of the limits of its container. A persona on site transactioning, mediating and gathering the pulp, almost like a silent yearn uselessly craving for a cure, a remedy to the growth, like a minister, as a butcher, a baker, and a caretaker, inserting the capsules as depiction of unrealised potential, inhabiting an alternate vacuum world, and its futility when preventing the growth of the pulp. —The pulp that by itself is latent and potential energy, to fill a room, by doing so, taking the life of it all in the space, to also rot and disclose its inner juices and mighty smells, to metastases and not looking back at us.
The pulp, an ivory body, balancing in rags and shelves, waiting to be processed by the minister, in moulding containers to be classified and archived in cupboards. The medicine that travel through canals, and cannulas attached to the flesh, meta-instruments like the mouth pressing to deliver the capsules, the duct to slide them through, as a preliminary gesture of penetration to unleash their realm of possibility with the dough.
Manure on cups, allegories of ammonia, cavity perspiration, roughly retaliating the inevitable truth: the powerlessness in ones agency to the pulps expansion, she merciless and accelerated, so dilated and ecstatic that exude warm self-immolation, that sparks a caliginous consideration about life and death. Dichotomy in an inceptious mode, about the image (the icon) and the body (the index). We, the audience of this phenomenon, see thought the glass inquiring for the stranger in the outside, of ourselves and our homes, we are in the inner side of the observing relationship, like when someone rings the bells on the outside —the outside is a relational map of a flourishing pulp, its minister and its instruments of remedy and laceration. What can we imagine more intimate and naked? One becomes a voyeurist of this catalyse, perhaps a believer or a canonist —what can we determine in this carcass of lumps?
We see this installation performance under the optics of a relational ethic that takes serious the absent other, exploring the agency of creatures that trouble traditional understanding of what is considered to exist. Perhaps the pulp is a generous entity that guide us through contemporary anxieties and fears, the harvest and growth of a monster due to effects of toxicity and illness. The ones from us that remain more affected by it, are we the ones haunted by some of them, by these grammatical of transgression.
Text by Paula Pedraza
Elements: Built room (2m x 2m x 1.2m), fisheye lenses, yeast dough, performer, fish oil capsules, gelatine, various materials
Cartesian description: The performance took place in a specially constructed room, not accessible to visitors, and could be viewed through a fisheye lens embedded in the wall. During the six-hour performance, the performer was increasingly overwhelmed by the dough oozing from the walls and all objects.