In a more ideal/sustainable/efficient version of this moment in spacetime, you would not be reading my words as ink on paper. I would simply let you enter my headspace through telepathy and show you around my inner world for a while. Alternatively, you could scan a QR code for a VR tour of the universe to or of which my art is a response/reaction/result/translation/description. Both scenarios would look something like this:
You would land in what could be either a junkyard or an amusement park, with a circus-like jingle playing in the background and the heavy smell of sweets and dust. Big piles of scrap metal and weirdly familiar obscure objects lie around on beds of moss and random sling plants seem to have taken over the place. From nowhere, an introductory voice-over would manifest, welcoming you and assuring you that this place is, contrary to how it might seem, very much open for business. Then you would be led aboard the old-school wooden rollercoaster that is situated in the logistics center of my brain. Moving slowly at first through areas of information storage, sporadic memories, random knowledge, and sarcastic jokes, before dropping into an almost free fall through my throat, chest, and solar plexus, with a borderline deadly loop between hurt, love, and uncrushable hope. The rails, shaking and sounding like they might at any moment succumb to the pressure of holding this shitshow together, would then take you through light conversation and hyper theorizing, both with the intent of soothing the shock, and hopefully distract you from the intense impulse to run for your life, before landing on a far-fetched poetic anecdote of how the universe has a dark sense of humor, and all is going to make sense in the end, delivered with equal portions of conviction and a frantically asking tone.
As this is not that version of spacetime, you will have to make do with this:
I collect. I build. I try to understand why.
