On the journey to pneumon, I first stumbled upon a movement: primitive shapes floating like leaves in a soft breeze across a black void — because there’s nothing like nothingness to let things fully be things. Among those things was color, which would become the only light on the screen. Light as the primary material and subject, and colors as tools to model it.
Time moves slowly in pneumon. Every movement part of a cycle, back and forth between two states. And each piece at its own pace. Parts of the animation are also determined by the current time of the machine. Every output therefore has its own life, and slightly changes each time we visit it.
Each shape is drawn from its center like a conceptual circle. Using only a few polar coordinates, they are made of elemental particles, fundamental truths. They bend and move. They reveal themselves only for short spans of time through a dance of smoke and mirrors. In order to break the illusion and see them for what they are, one must see beyond the assemblage, and look closer. One must sync into the rhythm, and breathe.
pneumon is the result of months of digital meditation, long walks in nature, and profound connections with very few people. It’s a therapeutic work from a time of healing. It’s what I saw when looking for the light from the bottom of the water. It’s a bouquet of flowers from the other side.