This exhibition reads like a science fiction novel, which, like any, is based on a previous one that exists in the past or in the future. In a plausible future that plucks the strings of the present, or in an imagined past, as every past always is, tangled in the words that we repeat, unaware of their origin, in the language that constantly “speaks us.”

The exhibition Contact, Cosmic Background Noise Explorer exists on a threshold: in the instant and on the poetic coordinates where the waves crash on the beach of Pensacola^I. In the intersection between the disembodied and the embodied. In the tearing down of the veil of consensus reality where we live disoriented; inhabitants of a language where the organ of contact is in a state of atrophy.

I The beach that Ellie, the heroine of Carl Sagan’s novel Contact (1985), envisions—from her childhood imagination—after establishing contact with someone far away through her father’s radio equipment.