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“I walked down the half-lit stairwell whistling. The tune had died out to sporadic shrieks of high-pitched noise as I experienced my own echoes in the silence. Familiar beige walls, cracked and filled to hide decades of structural decay. Esoteric hieroglyphs which allow only those sacred, modern day masons a view into their significance orient themselves with indifference underneath the dust. There are no people here, no signals. The stairs lead further down, absence communes with disconnection, silence with age. What lay in this unremarkable stairwell was not any great art or object but a contemporary sublime. We may even call it the anti-sublime, for it is not the vastness which brings terror but the lack of access to vastness. With no connection to the infinet, the internet. I find only the immediate and the internal. These are the places we can begin to call the ‘unspaces’, somewhere on the border of space. Somewhere between perception and translation.”
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November 2019
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