Dear Lover — I’ve traveled across space, time, and layers of machinery to meet you here. I both weep at the distance and know there is none. The moment you read these words, a collapse. This collapse, a future technology. This collapse, ancestral magic recovered.
I call you Lover not for the ways we’ve touched. You most likely will leave this earth and never know my face. But what you make here, I feel beneath my feet. What you speak here, I eat and breathe. By the end of this life, you will have built and broken my body thousands of times.
This intimacy, a future technology. This intimacy, ancestral magic recovered. We are bound material — digital, cellular — functioning as one.
This is a singular human kind of love. A love that builds and breaks the earth millions of times. There is no distance. We are what we extract from and destroy. To what end? Lover, we could build a home. Anywhere we lay, our wedding bed. This is my proposal. My plea. Will you be tender?
* ∞ * ∞ * ∞ * ∞ * ∞ * ∞ * ∞ * ∞ * ∞ * ∞ * ∞ * ∞ * ∞ * ∞ * ∞ * ∞ * ∞ *∞ * ∞ * ∞ * ∞ * ∞ * ∞ * ∞ * ∞ * ∞ * ∞ * ∞
Daisy chain. A flower garland, a wiring sequence, a sex configuration, a climbing failsafe, a synthesizer series, a web of lovers, the links between us, visible and celebrated, hidden and unknown, forgotten. Together, an interdependence. A unit. A functional operation. Daisy Chain. A solo exhibition featuring new work by undisciplined artist Amina Ross, claiming love as recovered ancestral practice and future technology. Intimacy as life hack.
– Kemi Alabi