The sound of your eyes / KINO MANHATTAN
Sebastian Jefford
Sebastian Jefford
For the second screening at KINO MANHATTAN, the gallery is pleased to present The sound of your eyes, a video in two parts by Sebastian Jefford.
A disembodied voice emanates from some kind of blurry organic cavern. An abstract and
out of focus image bejewelled by rows and rows of soft protrusions–some kind of biological or organic interior, perhaps the view through the lens of a microscopic camera, or a colonoscopy.
The slowed and deepened voice describes a condition that they once suffered which enables all of the sounds of their bodily functions to be heard simultaneously. The sound of blood pumping, a heartbeat or their eyes moving become an overwhelming symphony that affects their daily life and prohibits their ability to concentrate, have conversations with other people and comfortably perceive the world around them.
In the second part of The sound of your eyes the protagonist describes how their condition affected a recent road trip. Their description is occasionally interspersed with the sound of the car radio and a classical music station crackles and goes in and out of frequency, echoing the protagonists description of their malady, as though playing out in real time.
For Jefford this condition echoes the psychological impact of late-stage capitalism. An external world so loud, fragmented, knotted, jarring that disrupts an idea of psychological interiority or a sense of self. An amplified world of discrete particles, of organs and fluids inside us all, a world that our brain decides is best for us not to hear, in its simultaneous confinement and vastness. How can we smell the flowers, watch sunsets and laugh with friends whilst the din of our own private engine room is playing out in our ears?
A disembodied voice emanates from some kind of blurry organic cavern. An abstract and
out of focus image bejewelled by rows and rows of soft protrusions–some kind of biological or organic interior, perhaps the view through the lens of a microscopic camera, or a colonoscopy.
The slowed and deepened voice describes a condition that they once suffered which enables all of the sounds of their bodily functions to be heard simultaneously. The sound of blood pumping, a heartbeat or their eyes moving become an overwhelming symphony that affects their daily life and prohibits their ability to concentrate, have conversations with other people and comfortably perceive the world around them.
In the second part of The sound of your eyes the protagonist describes how their condition affected a recent road trip. Their description is occasionally interspersed with the sound of the car radio and a classical music station crackles and goes in and out of frequency, echoing the protagonists description of their malady, as though playing out in real time.
For Jefford this condition echoes the psychological impact of late-stage capitalism. An external world so loud, fragmented, knotted, jarring that disrupts an idea of psychological interiority or a sense of self. An amplified world of discrete particles, of organs and fluids inside us all, a world that our brain decides is best for us not to hear, in its simultaneous confinement and vastness. How can we smell the flowers, watch sunsets and laugh with friends whilst the din of our own private engine room is playing out in our ears?
3.06.23—8.07.23
GIANNI MANHATTAN, Wassergasse 14, 1030 Vienna
> Press release> Installation views
For the second screening at KINO MANHATTAN, the gallery is pleased to present The sound of your eyes, a video in two parts by Sebastian Jefford.
A disembodied voice emanates from some kind of blurry organic cavern. An abstract and
out of focus image bejewelled by rows and rows of soft protrusions–some kind of biological or organic interior, perhaps the view through the lens of a microscopic camera, or a colonoscopy.
The slowed and deepened voice describes a condition that they once suffered which enables all of the sounds of their bodily functions to be heard simultaneously. The sound of blood pumping, a heartbeat or their eyes moving become an overwhelming symphony that affects their daily life and prohibits their ability to concentrate, have conversations with other people and comfortably perceive the world around them.
In the second part of The sound of your eyes the protagonist describes how their condition affected a recent road trip. Their description is occasionally interspersed with the sound of the car radio and a classical music station crackles and goes in and out of frequency, echoing the protagonists description of their malady, as though playing out in real time.
For Jefford this condition echoes the psychological impact of late-stage capitalism. An external world so loud, fragmented, knotted, jarring that disrupts an idea of psychological interiority or a sense of self. An amplified world of discrete particles, of organs and fluids inside us all, a world that our brain decides is best for us not to hear, in its simultaneous confinement and vastness. How can we smell the flowers, watch sunsets and laugh with friends whilst the din of our own private engine room is playing out in our ears?
A disembodied voice emanates from some kind of blurry organic cavern. An abstract and
out of focus image bejewelled by rows and rows of soft protrusions–some kind of biological or organic interior, perhaps the view through the lens of a microscopic camera, or a colonoscopy.
The slowed and deepened voice describes a condition that they once suffered which enables all of the sounds of their bodily functions to be heard simultaneously. The sound of blood pumping, a heartbeat or their eyes moving become an overwhelming symphony that affects their daily life and prohibits their ability to concentrate, have conversations with other people and comfortably perceive the world around them.
In the second part of The sound of your eyes the protagonist describes how their condition affected a recent road trip. Their description is occasionally interspersed with the sound of the car radio and a classical music station crackles and goes in and out of frequency, echoing the protagonists description of their malady, as though playing out in real time.
For Jefford this condition echoes the psychological impact of late-stage capitalism. An external world so loud, fragmented, knotted, jarring that disrupts an idea of psychological interiority or a sense of self. An amplified world of discrete particles, of organs and fluids inside us all, a world that our brain decides is best for us not to hear, in its simultaneous confinement and vastness. How can we smell the flowers, watch sunsets and laugh with friends whilst the din of our own private engine room is playing out in our ears?
