Ellipsis

frame in room
Sofa In Room

Ellipsis

$450
CHOOSE YOUR FRAME STYLE: 
IMAGE SIZE & EDITION
$450

FINAL SIZE:

Interest-free or low monthly installments with

A woman is absorbed in her cell phone at the foot of a stairwell in Grand Central Station, New York City.

Every epoch introduces a technological tool that transforms our personal and social paradigms, erasing pieces of ourselves under the sheen of progress. These tools, disguised as improvements, often serve as mechanisms of mass power, advancing while simultaneously displacing aspects of our humanity.

What surprises me most is how the artist in my mind projects my unconscious thoughts onto something, or someone, entirely outside myself. This leads to countless questions about the realities constructed by the brain. From neuroscience to philosophy, and even the lingering echoes of theology, none can fully disqualify the metaphysical or supernatural. But I digress.

Here, I see a woman trapped by a device that gleams as brightly as a tiny star in the photograph, so entranced by it that her body pauses in a place that defies sense. It's as if she has unknowingly reached a dead-end in a labyrinth, unaware of her entrapment. The fool’s gold hue of the handrail suggests promises that are empty, mere illusions. She stands so close to an entry—or perhaps an exit—but her body language speaks of someone unaware of any such threshold. Nothing around her points to a way out. I must have been using a telephoto lens, mesmerized by her state, and in that moment, I quickly adjusted the lens while the slow shutter captured two different focal lengths, blurring reality in between. It reminds me of electrons spinning around the nucleus—if we could glimpse them visually, this might be what they’d look like.

In my mind’s sketch, this woman becomes more than a person. She transforms into a genderless, faceless representation of all of us. The stairwell railing, her cell phone, the ghostly figures above—they all iterate endlessly, much like the way cell phones today iterate desires and behaviors into our consciousness. We may no longer know where our bodies stop in relation to the architecture we move through. Power, in this photograph, is reshaping the very architecture of human consciousness—transforming us into commodities without our awareness.

From emotion to behavior, from the innermost workings of the psyche to the external world, we are witnessing the fabrication of the human mind in ways we are only beginning to grasp. Technology, in its current form, is steering us through a maze, guiding us like oxen to places we do not consciously choose. The question arises: how much of our individuality has been overwritten, grafted into this system that is constantly reshaping us? Can you see it, dear viewer? Can you see yourself reflected here, standing where you're told to stand, guided by unseen forces?

Would you let a stranger enter your home and body, sift through your thoughts, your things, your life, and direct your actions without your permission? Yet, every day, your cell phone does exactly that—guiding you to stories, reinforcing stereotypes, shaping your emotions, and curating your experiences, and harvesting your brain without your awareness, knowledge, or consent. This woman in the photograph is you, dear viewer.

“That straight line you walk is the arc of an infinite circle.” Borges wrote something similar in Abenjacan el Bojarí. What we create always loops back to enslave us when birthed under the edicts of a system of production. 

Forgive me, dear viewer, if I come across as insufferably philosophical. These are thoughts that flow through my mind the way water slips down my parched soul when it  thirsts.

“That straight line you walk is the ellipsis on an infinite circle,” my quarter-penny adaptation of a line attributed to Jorge Luis Borges.

Click on the PASSENGER tab below to explore the artist statement and insights behind the series.

PRINT INFO
Title: A Woman Comes Home
Series Title: Passenger
Year: 2019
Medium: Photography
Media: Archival Pigment Print

CONTACT
If you have any questions about the Passenger series, feel free to reach out!
Email: marco@ma9.co
Tel: +1 347-772-9370 | New York City