Multiplied Lineal Accuracy
Christian Reder

Because it can sometimes be illuminating I imagine consciousness as matted knots where threads that could easily be plastic and running in all directions relate inextricably to one another to generate analoque constellations, one next to the other or elsewhere, anew but imperceptibly different. When I imagine this the temptation becomes strong to follow these lines and to expect input from them. One does not have to be explicitly aware for the time being that what is addressed here is simply communication.

Whether it is already thinking is left open. These processes are certainly similar, though. To the extent that this matted knot, i.e. the EGO, is linked to something else it can make its own network more clear. It does not necessarily have anything to do with an authoritarian pulling of strings here, it is about a form of compromise though. Refreshing something famillar can be pleasurable; unknown terrain might arouse curiosity. It does not necessarily have to be new but it should have something generated like this. Proofing whether something is nothing or something after all, is really enough to spur it on – even for any formative assignment.

To imagine the terrain around which such a process occurs as desert, so as not to be distracted, is not far-fetched but promotes a pathetic approach. Endless distances, bizarre mountains, hidden oases, palms, camels, robbers and ransoms are hardly elements of a suitable world for imagination. Although for its part the familiar, an urban landscape, would be too limiting. Placed in a dream scenario any grasp on reallty is lost. In brief: there should be a little of everything including the ocean, islands, outer space, abstractions, the virtual. Entirely unfamiliar things would be the most poignant. However without any recognisable facets this emotional setting would get lost in nebulosity.

Along the art line nothing happens for la long time; it appears to simply go straight on. Only then do the occasional branches become recognisable. They lead off to the visual zone and also to the acoustic zone. Certain fields are reserved for the static, others are in continual motion. Anyone who wants to link everything up immediately could easily be inundated; nevertheless something can come of this. There is a suggestion of freedom. Finely branched routes lead, however, to places of rigidity where either this or that is impossible – not allowed under any circumstances. It is not so easy to free oneself from them. There are hardly any cross-connections, everything seems to be under surveillance. It is almost as lf the captive were being held as potential trade marks.

Meeting acquaintances is unavoidable but it would be liberating to sink into anonymity. People are doing something there without anybody really knowing exactly what it is yet. Over there one immediately has an idea for a contribution. A call or a smile can change everything. Because texts, images and songs simply exist somewhere – that they are at one's disposal is assured. Loners in various corners signal a lack of interest in talking about what should be done; they simply do their thing. Those who are not so concerned with the financial aspect cannot be talked out of it because they still somehow get by. Things are rather depressing in the cramped spaces where the writers have to sit; many of them hate the world of images because there's more money and renown to be found there. In the historic department everybody is suddenly cramming in front of the Dürer hare: it was enough to have had it hanging over the bed when I was young.

Prescribed paths for art can suddenly no longer be discerned. It is becoming increasingly difficult to find a way back. The „Virtual Frame“ within which the outlined moves are made has fallen apart. For moments at least the world is really different: Men and women don't have to fight about equality. It does not matter in the slightest where somebody comes from. Sometimes the skin begins to think, it even works à deux. Should it interest anyone they can decide whether what I do is research or just brooding, whether I'm an artist or somebody who's still waiting – not me.