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"But there is more to the present than a series of snapshots. We are not merely sensitized film; we have feelings, a memory for information and an eidetic memory for the imagery of our own pasts. Our layered consciousness is a tiered track for an unmatched assortment of concentrically wound reels. Each one plays out for all of life its dazzle and blur of translucent shadow-pictures; each one hums at every moment its own secret melody in its own unique key. We tune in and out. But moments are not lost."  

-Annie Dillard

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Touch is a resistance to the immaterial images produced by increasingly invisible infrastructures. Ephemeral residues and provisional solutions—post-it notes, dried leaves, a cut extension cord, well-worn slippers, infinitely linked zip ties, a cardboard shim, a swollen box—bear the marks of the hand that remade them in steel. Suspended pools of blackened resin freeze time mid-rotation, fixing fragments of personal memory in negative space. Viscous pine tar flickers as the recorded hum of an elevator resonates through fossilized cardboard recast in steel.

Infrastructural facades appear only in fragments, pushed aside to foreground an interior psychological space. The absence of a body is felt like a missing tooth: the gap remains foreign, prompting an obsessive tonguing in an attempt to make sense of the unfamiliar void. Affect—feeling through the body first—is a way of making meaning that can become suppressed within technological systems, where the automated rhythms of the built environment support constructed realities and experiences of alienation.