Onyx, Onyx, Onyx, Onyx, Onyx, Onyx, Onyx, Onyx, Onyx, Onyx, Onyx, Onyx, Onyx, Onyx, Onyx, Onyx, Onyx.
[installation - performance - oniric | political occupation of the space]
Are we living through the failure of utopia or a reformulation of previously ( mis)dreamed dystopias? If there is a temporal dimension, it's because things happen only in the experience, transforming abstract time into real duration, with harmony and a break from vertigo being an enemy of capitalist production. Can we dream and have it be concrete reality?
As if the body were not a border, as if history were not full of absences, with the certainty that imagination is absolutely essential. The ancestry of a present future. Strength may indeed lie in the ability to imagine. It's really about questioning. It's poetic. And there's pleasure. There's confrontation, I don't know about comfort. Piny