A threshold of time: the elusive intermediary moment between what has passed, never to return, and what has yet to begin. A thin shell dividing inside from out. A moment of expectation for the moment’s disappearance, the disappearance of expectation, to the emergence of something new. But what if that something new takes its time, and the intermediary moment is stretched? The threshold moment is inevitably a time of helplessness, anxiety, strangeness, having left the sure and certain path. Where will our next step fall?
On the threshold, thoughts and behaviors are released from the laws governing what was left behind – and are, as yet, unbound by the laws ahead. And because there are no laws at all on the threshold itself, those straddling it can establish their own, a rational, ordered and abstract array converting raw emotion into rational representation. Sometimes it provides some relief.
“Threshold” offers three avenues of minimal and constrained motion. Three actions that attempt to regulate the uncontrollable, the pressure changes from inside and out, a balance between experience and its (failed or successful) representations. Three small and minor movements that try in vain to obtain, encompass, and take hold of the unattainable, overwhelming and ungraspable that become the threshold to our residence.
Each of these actions tries to restrict itself to the barest minimum, reducing movement as much as possible. The freedom intrinsic to the threshold is dizzying, perhaps altogether too much to be contained. The choice of curtailing motion and thus expanding threshold time is not an obvious one. The threshold is naturally foreign ground. Curbing movement seems to provide protection from the risk of falling, of rash action, but it also lengthens intermediary time.
Breathing is the key to crossing the threshold. It exists between inside and outside the body, and demarcates the range between voluntary and involuntary bodily functions. It happens independently – all we can do is try to regulate it, accelerate or decelerate it, using it to control heart rate, excitement, or emotional turmoil.
When at rest, each breath lasts almost four seconds. Inhalation and exhalation. Supplying oxygen and disposing of carbon dioxide, bringing in the necessary, removing the excess. Linking interior and exterior.
We claim an inverse relation between rate of breathing and pulse, and longevity. The faster the pace, the shorter the life expectancy. But life does not occur while at rest. Vivid moments are typified by rapid or stalled breathing and accelerated pulse. If we are the sum of our breaths, should we aspire to a long life of rest and relaxation, or allow our hearts to beat frantically from time to time?
Breathing facilitates movement and is influenced by it. Regulated breathing is the key to smooth motion. Sixteen breaths per minute at rest translate to one beat heartbeat each second. There is no other motion more basic.
The condensed motion at the heart of all the exhibition works are performed always within the context of an imminent meeting, a moment just a breath away, yet still a distance too great to span. The three possibilities can be read as a kind of secondary symptom: not the source, but rather its thin and visible shell – three different systems of rules and regulations invented and maintained to contain their antithesis, to reveal their absence. Three formations of guidelines and edicts on the threshold between events and non-events, between protecting against non-actuality and the desire to stretch the intermediary moment, to delay, to reside, to suspend.