Discover Deep Conversations in the Void

Discover Deep Conversations in the Void

Table of Contents:

1. Introduction
2. The Exhibition at My Studio
3. The Exegesis Project 3.1 Performance by Michael A. Morris 3.2 Other Artists Involved 3.3 Exploration of Technology and Music
4. The Hermeneutics Series 4.1 Background and Concept 4.2 Third Hermeneutic 4.3 Interaction with 16mm Projection and Software 4.4 Reinterpretation and Real-time Interaction 4.5 Metaphorical Interpretation
5. Kyle Evans and Alfredo Salazar Caro 5.1 Overlap in Working with Older Technologies 5.2 The Dichotomy of Circuit Bending vs. Data Bending 5.3 Reclaiming Physical Existence in Ephemeral Technologies
6. Evolution in Michael A. Morris' Process 6.1 Tension between Process and Abstraction 6.2 Interest in Avant-Garde Filmmakers 6.3 Retaining the Impulse of Storytelling
7. Recent Conceptual Interests 7.1 Finding Ways to Reclaim Story and Narrative 7.2 Exploring the Loss of Ability to Tell a Story 7.3 Adding New Meaning and Experience through Hermeneutics
8. Upcoming Exhibitions and Projects 8.1 Presentation of Second Hermeneutic in Winnipeg 8.2 Involvement with Dallas Video Fest 8.3 Curatorial Projects for Video Art and Experimental Film
9. Conclusion

The Sense of a City is War I was immersed in the dark and cold atmosphere of the city for months. Layers of clothing protected me from the harshness of the environment as I mingled with famous alcoholics who seemed to despise their own girlfriends. We would sing songs that didn't actually exist, finding solace under archways and in parks filled with lurking figures. During this time, I navigated the streets of Bed-Stuy on a bicycle, keeping my head down to avoid the dealers who called me "snowflake." The drug trade was just inches away from my wheels. As I observed the city around me, a strange mix of chaos and camaraderie, I developed a certain fondness for ethnic cuisine. It was in this state of mind that I witnessed a distressing scene – a girl being mugged by a 14-year-old boy. Despite the danger, she refused to let go of her purse and fought back, bloodying the boy's nose before he ran away. On the subway, I encountered two children enjoying strawberry wine coolers, their laughter filling the air. When they noticed my gaze, they offered me a sip, which I accepted. Amidst the backdrop of the city, I witnessed a man in a gray flannel peacoat and pinstriped slacks vomit onto the subway grade at 9:00 am. It was evident that he was deeply immersed in a bender. Delving deeper into the city's underbelly, I ate tapas at a Spanish dump in the Village, where a rat crawled at my feet until the waiter swiftly stomped it out with his boot heel. Since that incident, I haven't had the courage to try their meatballs on a stick. From the window of a bookstore, I observed a man dressed in a gray flannel peacoat and pinstriped slacks vomit onto the subway grade at 9:00 am. It was obvious that he was on his way to work, despite being in the midst of a bender. I couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation, being the only one who found humor in it. With each passing day, I encountered new characters and experienced differing levels of danger. Gangbangers on Nevin Street, mafiosos on Third Avenue, and a homeless man named Jenkins who chewed barbed wire for money all became part of my daily landscape. Among the hustle and bustle, I found solace in the company of friends who appreciated my anger and depression. Love, in particular, seemed to deepen my emotional turmoil. To distract myself from the complexities of life, I turned to writing flirtatious notes in my trusted Moleskine journal, playfully flashing them at unsuspecting strangers on West 4th Street. While these acts may have been misunderstood, they momentarily alleviated my sense of loneliness. However, even in the company of friends, I couldn't escape the feeling of impending doom. It had nothing to do with their understanding or love for me, but rather the sensation that I had achieved what I wanted, only to no longer desire it. People became rare coin collections, showcased within the glass cases of Manhattan skyscrapers. The focus shifted to their market value, and in this process, I experienced a nagging nausea. I spent my days sitting cross-legged in cafes, a satchel full of Bali shag and papers as my constant companion. I felt the jolts of passing trains beneath me as my scarf gently wrapped around my neck like a noose. From my perch, I overheard passionate debates about atheism and the Knicks, and couldn't help but find the combination of atheism and basketball fandom obnoxious. Despite the challenges, I found brief moments of connection with the city. I reveled in the exuberance of school kids on field trips, momentarily forgetting my own loneliness. However, these moments were fleeting, overshadowed by a sense of doom and a gnawing feeling that I had lost sight of my purpose in the city. The feelings of nausea persisted, reminding me that each medium and experience has its own unique qualities and evolves over time. As I navigate the city, searching for meaning and understanding, I find myself drawn to the process of hermeneutics – engaging with historical texts and adding new layers of interpretation. Through this continual process of reevaluation, I strive to reclaim the ability to tell stories and find meaning in the ever-changing landscape of the city.