Gravity: The Heavy Weight of the Word
Boys! Girls! Friends! Lovers!
From here (where my view is as good as yours,) this installation by Bordeaux-trained dig art team 2Roq looks kind of like a a warped game of Tetris played drunkenly with magnetic poetry segments. On the other hand, our view, dears, isn’t necessarily the optimal one for this particular piece. What the video doesn’t show you is that the people milling about along the floor are actually providing those words by sending te4xt messages to the walls and are being sent through a projector, onto the wall via projector. The other cool part– other than the wickedly creepy lighting in that space– is that each text creates a corresponding sound as its sent to the wall. I wonder whether the length of the word sent int he text corresponds to how low the sound is once it gets to the wall?
Furthermore, I wonder whether these guys have considered what would happen if, say, somebody decided to sit there for three hours and stage a battle of copied poems. What would Ophelia sound like when juxtaposed with equal parts of “Desolation Row” and “anyone lived in a pretty how town“? Maybe for good measure they should throw in the first part of “Howl,” sprinkle in lyrics to “Stan” and then see how quickly everyone’s heads in the place would spin.
All right, so maybe that’s a little too much to do to these people who are probably going to have a good time and not get themselves exploded. After all, chances are good that there have already been some interestingly vindictive pranks played there. at least, I would play some interestingly vindictive pranks on that wall. Can you imagine what would happen if a couple went to this exhibition and one of them proposed to the other via the wall?
I wonder what a simple “oui” or “non” would sound like in front of that many people, and whether the artists, if they were even there, would decide (or coudld even decide) to stop it if the answer to “Est-ce que tu me marier?” were an emphatic rejection?
If they were to do either of these things, then I’d wish they’d call me about it, send me a ticket, and let me throw in a piece of mine to see whether it held up. Then maybe I could come back to the states a happy man.
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