Spring 2020. Silence settled. The streets emptied. The cinemas stood deserted. Our gaze, swallowed by screens.
 
PANDEMIC CINEMA Traces of a world on the brink
 
For months, we watched the world dissolve into pixels. Cinema had lost its refuge. Bodies left without embraces. The gaze folded inward. Condensed. Contracted. Then... something gave way. The signal faltered. The image buckled, tore. Glitches. Drifts. Fractures. Through these accidents... a raw truth. Splitered faces. Amplified gestures. Orgasms reduced to pure flashes. A body of power, grown into crushing mass. What the films once held, now scatters into ashes of light.
What was once familiar, became alien.

IN SEARCH FOR SKIN. Digital is a kingdom of zeros and ones. Cold. Stiff. Absolute. But sometimes, it struggles. It splits open. It longs for texture. For skin. It aches to touch. It longs to remember matter. Digital dreams of becoming flesh again. It remembers celluloid, the breath of what came before. Shiver still, despite it all.

PHANTOMS OF FLESH
These images are traces. The ruins of a gaze, locked away. A gaze adrift in the blue haze of screens, Eroded by endless flows, Frayed by scrolling, Emptied by streaming. A gaze without crowds. A gaze without bodies.

WHAT COMES NEXT But they are also signs, First cracks in a shifting world. Where images bleed into code, Where thought becomes machine, Where the robot, quietly, begins to stir.

RUINS OF A VISION PANDEMIC CINEMA does not recount the past. It looks within. It listens to the fractures of the present. It waits for what sprouts when the image breaks open. A silent promise. A vertigo of dawn. A new beauty, born from the fracture.