Metamorphosis - Yole Quintero: The Tropical Lady

About

Metamorphosis insists that there is a transitioning from one thing to another, but to assume that this transition must be an organic one is truly and entirely a glitch in the brains’ cognitive functioning or a crossed wire in the heart of the machine depending upon which kind of viewer you perceive yourself to be.

It is difficult to discern between human and machine, personal experience and digital experience. What is seen through the peephole of your front door vs. what is viewed through a window in your pocket that is a glimpse into the nothingness of everything that is in some senses the condensed reflective inverse of our world.

Our lives (in the real physical sense of I can touch you and you can touch me) are in themselves an endless maze of questions and answers, but how does the organic soft pink skin fit in with the cold glass incessant buzzing of the digital world?

In order to fit within the round hole while simultaneously sliding into the square one we must adapt ourselves - split down the centre: half will be soft, live blood pulsing through its veins and the other will be wholly wired, whirring mechanically, cold blue abyss in every lack of sensation.

Repercussions of this split are still unbeknownst to all. In all of the great mysteries of what is true and what is less than true it is hardly consequential at all whether this split arrives us at the all desirable whole or whether it destroys us entirely; it is undeniably a transitory place, the outcome of which we can only hope to discover in time.