Lisa Willgress


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installation / audio / film / sculpture

A continuous area or expanse. Dimensions of height, depth and width within which all things exist, move at a distance from one another.

Synthetic space has the ability to create truth and reality. Ear drums throb with a pulse without audible sound except the disembodied high pitch of silence. Eyelids tense independently of the face and the idea of who you are falls aside as you fumble around for something that feels like home. Confined within heavy swells of flesh, everything succumbs, nothing is revealed that isnt in the threads of our skins. Euphoria and despair lay their sticky touch and melt through to your organs. Smell the haunted house, sweet and pink, it is spring.

We realise that action and thought are simulations. What we thought was real, Fragments.

Here, we distill all shades of desire.

This intervention will be the unburdening of ourselves.