Any form of posthumous distortion (reverb, timestretching, echo delay) visually conjures the alignment of the production studio into a single instrument, as originally in dub, etc. The coming unlive of musical equipment occurs as easily as a spell is cast, weaponizing impossibly complex machinery into a single circuit diagram on a desk in a bedroom somewhere. Working backwards, the equation of bedroom to studio can be recast, their relationship extrapolated, revealing a solitary (living) environment navigating its own (a)temporality, dislocated from whatever lies beyond the closed door’s frame by a barricade of coats, bags, the rest.
The room’s window projects a panorama of grey living blocs outside, visibly saturated by material goods and luxuriously textured objects in their own windows: fruit bowls, juicers, walk-in showers, fridge-freezers, flatscreens, faux plants, mottled carpets and Scandinavian furniture dragged in from the street. Penthouses above and flats below: at this saturation all spaces are nullified into palimpsests beyond the cinematic frame of the window’s sill.