A flat surface, two metres by two, played a loop of fragments pulled from YouTube, public figures performing themselves. The surface was pierced by a single window, seventeen by twenty-five centimetres, the proportion of a video. Through it you could see into the intimate space where I lived for forty-eight hours straight, interacting with social media and recording video diaries. Whoever found the window became a voyeur. That was the point: the loneliness behind intimacy performed for a network.
I built it certain it had to be connected to Debord's Society of the Spectacle, a book I had read half of. I was in an altered state for most of that period. Years later I understood what I had actually made: a self-portrait of the child the spectacle raised and discarded, watching himself through the next spectacle. I make the work first and understand it later. This piece is where that began.
Joan Fontcuberta endorsed the work in person at its presentation, responding to its visceral, bodily presence, the biological reality of someone who had lived inside it for two days.
The forty-eight hours were recorded as silent video. That documentation was later lost. For a piece about the noise of the spectacle against the silence of a real body, the silence and the loss have become part of the work.
