The image and installation liberated from the white walls.
These black rocks could be anywhere there are black rocks. But these black rocks photographed are on Bygdøy, a small peninsula reaching into the Oslofjord. In the first context of the story, we encounter the element of trust. Trust in the author. Does the specificity of the details within the image instill within my mind the reality of the scene? Let me think about this a little bit more. What am I seeing here?
A blanket, on black rocks. Things look staged. Did a body lie upon the blanket? Are those Birkenstocks? What is in the bag? Do I care or have time to care about what I am seeing? How I am seeing?
The image of a tumbleweed, composed with a shallow depth of field presents a romantic image of a prickly object. There are secrets I cannot see that only the maker of the image must know. Did the image come from the internet? And if I do not care where the image came from, is it that much easier to decanter my sense of truth and what is real or virtual in the world? Does the actual geographical location referenced in the image have any relevance in a time when places of travel are the escape from the sensations from my actual body, my actual lived life?
If I stop too long to register these kind of questions and thoughts, will all my friends and colleagues have rushed off without me? Will they think I have spaced out? I am still sitting here. Reading. Looking. I am still alive as far as I know. The inverse has now happened, I must move my body to encounter another scene. The click of a finger, and this moment can be swept away.