There is the goal and there is the present. The pursuit of a fleeting necessity to provide is the source of work. This is an understanding of or, at least an attempted cognizance of this seemingly current dilemma knowing full well that the awareness of vulnerability produces nothing of a state of compassion or empathy. The requirements of the venerable position have changed and quite possibly, no longer exist.

There is a deep suspicion of the discussion, translation, and manipulation of visual history, history presented as truth either directly through its intended function as record or simply isolated from its original context. This could be misunderstanding or just plain ignorance but nevertheless, the understood condition presented as a collective state. The authority of this language, whether written, visual, or otherwise, transcends all manner of grading to a level of unconscious acceptance while naming the exact shortcomings of its own dialect. Truth cannot be concurrent with time. The place at which this language exposes its own impossibilities while achieving exactly what it is incapable of defines this level of understanding and translation as null. However, its positive account is what is considered as known. What the fuck are we actually talking about in the first place? And there is no we. It is neither as it should be nor as it is now. Coming to terms with this thing that is not a thing but acts like a thing and so is a thing is the pursuit.

What is to be done with pursuit as a way of life translated into an account? It must contradict its intended goal and show what has not been seen. It cannot be the intention but rather the alternative.