Nowness is nothingness
March - April 2022

How I remember you (ver 2)
I was born tomorrow (ver 2 and 3)

MFA thesis show
Documentation by Julian van der Moere

I was born tomorrow. I am a touched index.

What is content when one’s medium is blankness and excess? The materials that make up this piece come from leftovers, things that didn’t make the cut for other projects. The materials are one of the basic, primordial building blocks of digital reproduction - inkjet paper. The piece is simultaneously a material surplus and a content black hole.

The paper surface of modernism swirls and churns, unending.

We live in a state of perpetual amnesia, with our memories stored in hard drives, clouds, file cabinets, albums, and old shoeboxes.

Where do I exist?

How knowable can I be to myself?

Time only moves one way. Photography would have us believe we can relive the past, that the flow of time can be reversed, twisted, colonized.

What would it mean to have a photography that does not use indexicality to freeze, but to show us what’s right in front of us? An indexicality that prizes the now instead of the before, or the eventual, perfected and retouched image. The pieces in NOWNESS IS NOTHINGNESS call their immediate surroundings into their prescriptive frame, via real-time indexing. What’s outside the window and the shadows on the walls are of equal importance to the voluptuous rapture of the paper.

How I remember you. It still hurts.

A sheet of paper that begins white but by the time I see it is beige, and by the time you see it is a deep orange mauve.

I cannot turn the paper white again.

When I removed the paper from its packaging, a tiny bow was bent into the bottom right center.

I only have so many sheets of this paper. I stole it from the lab at my undergraduate. The paper has been discontinued by the manufacturer. I can only stage this piece so many times.

The piece is restaged from its original setting - on the wall in my bedroom above my pillow across from the window in my last apartment.

The piece sees you. but you cannot see yourself in it. The piece changes but eventually ceases to change. You will never cease changing.

Who do you trust with your paper? With your memories?