Tarron Ruiz Avila is a visual artist based in Berlin, working in collage, assemblage, drawing and sculpture.
“A spoken word caught in its own meat saying nothing” – Philip Lamantia
Sleep paralysis: visual information continues to stream but is slowly altered and infected with the underworld of the unconscious. The energy is heavy, dense, plutonic, it alternates with fits of hyperawareness that reveal smooth surfaces as a precise crawling insectoid substructure. There is an irony that operates – not as weak detached fleeting distance but as a protective portal, an invitation to glare into the abyss. The scene is set in stark and textured layers, scorched skies and iron red earth mercilessly illuminated by an overpowering sun. Life bleeds out into the space in-between as formless matter, aimless force: separated and detached surplus limbs, rapid cell division altered by sprawling tech circuits. Underground nuclear fission sets the scene for drowning picnics, faces evaporate in black mirrors, data noise camouflage. Strange black signifiers colonise tissue, multiply and form wormholes.
Tarron Ruiz-Avila reminds us that we cannot turn back, that memory is irrevocably corrupted. It has already become infiltrated by the technoscientific virus of the future.
An excerpt from a psychoanalytical analysis of Rehabilitation Exercises For Online Chess Addiction by Dr M.C. Matheus, head clinician at the Grendel Green Institute
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