The studio is a launch pad, a point of reference, the starting point of origin from which to catapult into some *other* place. It is like strapping yourself in and preparing for take-off. To where? Who knows, but that’s the mystery and magic of it all. This is when it all gets interesting, when you can lose yourself in the moment, and allow all previous notions of time and space to drift away, like old skin that must be abandoned.
It’s a place where new-found simultaneities occur. Where impossible synchronicities can be orchestrated, where space and time are entirely malleable. Now imagine that this process takes place in the third space, remotely inhabited by others who can share this experience as it happens. In other words, the spatial and temporal flexibility extends itself far beyond physical constraints, networked beyond the now arbitrary boundaries of the studio. The studio is a distributed phenomenon, not a walled-in fortress, the private enclave once protected by the artist.
Like the theater, the imaginary zone behind the 4th wall is now open to the viewer, live in the real-time ritual of being broadcasted in the moment. In this context, anything can happen, not just narratively, but alchemically as well: impossibilities of interaction become everyday, realizable, possible.