R e c o r d e r

This is a recording: a film in text and links; every scene is an introduction, enabling new friendships, new animosities, new opportunities, new paths. A link is a stroll around the void. It is a crossing of distance: frozen laughter.

This ambiguous unbounded distance between dichotomies is never overcome in fact; it is only, symbolically or virtually, violated. It never listens to one side or the other, but engages in a pleasurable shuttle diplomacy of sorts: an impious movement across cleavages.

This distance, this shadow in-between appearance and reality, essence and existence, subject and object, this infinite depth—is texture.

By texture we mean the apparent contradiction: the princess, managing to resist the temptations of nausea, plants a generous kiss on the lips of an opaque frog. This transvaluation of the puddle-sick, the gift of a life after mirrors, beyond caves and through shadows: texture is the complexity that is the cause and culmination of seduction. It is the very substance of resistance: without it, one loses all grip on the world; one is impoverished of softness, of skin, of perfume—living only a dull sterile dualism.

Texture is formed of a process of repetition that always results in something new. More than just an accumulation of identical layers, texture precipitates on the dissonances, differences, and irregularities between intimate planes.

There are no more essences, only types and tokens of texture.