A black ominous shape forms - we have no context, it is simply present. It forms in a mass of dark pixels.
The low resolution tree branches which line the border spaces make it all too mundane - the edge of a field cloaked in mud. As we look at the images we’re not sure what to make of them, all too reminiscent of the all telling truth of close circuit television, but also too vague to ever fall in line with the usual documentarian photobook.
Pages flick past, a narrative is formed - only to be dismissed as the landscape changes entirely, and this initial form is thrown away. Nothing is real, but it is all too real. The pixel is now our only real truth, and even that is now manipulated and twisted in the age of the livestream where nothing is experienced as the real.
This intangible mass passes us, unattainable, we are now but a spectator to reality, with no authority over it. We look on, as this mass rolls on. It affects us, but we cannot change it as it passes. The greys and browns mix over the course, their muddiness a reflection of our own clarity of vision towards the world.”