Victoria Fu: TELEVOIX
Does an image have a backside, a derrière, or is it a hollow facade, like moving stage set pieces in early theater?
What lives behind the image, in the dimension-less gap between it and its background? Is there a smell to the air? Feel around for a texture. What else is there besides a presence without matter, dustless and cold?
A mirror with no reflection; a voice without echo. TELEVOIX makes queries about the image and its shadow–a fiction of the index.
From behind glass, a game of telephone plays out in an empty mall of surfaces. Each aisle reveals a series of impersonators who pose but are mute. Does the screen present or conceal?
Stepping closer, the forms recede. Are these image shadows sleight of hand? They are maybe more mundane, much less substantial than trickery, with an ordinary presence–playful or insidious, and anyway silent.
Where are we in this triangle of code? Bending away from the material world, we stretch instead toward the world of signs, propping ourselves up on a third leg–its shadow, an appendage felt but unseen.