After relocating to Germany, I watched the news online without understanding the language. Still, I had a clear sense of “understanding” what was happening. That feeling itself was unsettling. Before I could comprehend the event, coherence was already produced through the images. I realized that I was not understanding the event, but recognizing its format. Since then, I have come to see images not as representations of truth, but as operative elements that structure perception in advance.

I would choose an image from the #R series (2016). It does not document a specific event, nor is it based on direct access to what it appears to show. Instead, it reconstructs the conditions through which such images come into being. Rather than appropriating media images, the work re-enacts how events are formatted, circulated, and recognized as real. What becomes visible is the structure that produces the appearance of the event. In that sense, “post-truth” is not a matter of falsehood, but a condition in which the image precedes and shapes what can be understood as fact. The image is not evidence, but a product of the same system that defines what counts as evidence.

When the image remains legible yet refuses semantic fixation. Beyond that threshold, it collapses into noise; before it, it reverts to familiar signification. The most critical intensity lies precisely in this unstable middle ground.

Narrative and commentary would be removed entirely. News would be presented as a set of fragmented images, each accompanied by its source but not organized into a fixed sequence. Rather than being guided through a story, the viewer would have to actively navigate the material, selecting, accessing, and connecting fragments on their own. The structure would not deliver meaning in advance but would require it to be constructed through interaction. Meaning would emerge through this process of searching and assembling, rather than through linear transmission. While such a system would still exist within algorithmic conditions, it could be designed to resist passive consumption and encourage active engagement with how information is encountered.

The camera is not a neutral tool, nor a moral agent. It is part of an apparatus that does not simply record the world but produces the conditions under which something can appear as visible at all. In that sense, it does not capture power or vulnerability; it reorganizes them. What is seen as visibility is already structured by selection, framing, and distribution, and the act of recording itself becomes a site where relations of power are enacted and redistributed. There is no position outside this system. Every image participates in it.

After a few years, I realized the change was not simply spatial but systemic. Distance is no longer a stable physical metric, but a condition continuously recalibrated through protocols, screens, and distribution systems. Proximity has become mediated and organized by interfaces, infrastructures, and data flows rather than by physical co-presence. What appears as distance or closeness is now produced through these systems. Both concepts are less about space than about the conditions under which access, visibility, and interaction are permitted.

I do not treat narrative as something to be resolved, but as something to be interrupted at the level of structure. When an image begins to stabilize into a coherent story, I intervene by breaking its continuity and displacing its internal relations. What remains is not a narrative, but a system of fragments that resists closure. Meaning does not precede the image; it is produced conditionally through cuts, gaps, and reconfigurations, where unexpected relations can temporarily emerge before dissolving again.

Mounting a camera on the body shifts the act of recording from a detached visual operation to a direct extension of action. Unlike a camera guided by the eye and controlled by the hand, it captures bodily reactions and forms of perception that exceed conscious attention. Responsibility does not reside in the recorded image itself, but in the conditions under which it is produced and circulated.

Questions that assume images are carriers of fixed meaning. I am not interested in what images “say.” The question is how images are produced, how they structure perception, how they are edited, and how they function within systems of relation. Today, this also involves how images are generated, modeled, and circulated within computational systems, where images are no longer discrete objects but outputs of ongoing processes.

I rarely listen to music in the studio, as it introduces an affective pull that disrupts my focus. Instead, I rely on spoken content delivered through podcasts or AI reading tools, which allow information to circulate without excessive emotional attachment. I frequently return to Alexander Kluge’s dctp.tv, where interviews and fragments of knowledge are not organized into fixed narratives but presented as an ongoing, discontinuous field. Listening becomes a way of engaging with knowledge as something unstable and constantly reconfigured, rather than as a closed form.

In any space, I work with its context, architecture, and social conditions to produce something that can exist only there and at that moment. Public space is particularly important, as it allows images to engage directly with their social context rather than being contained within institutional boundaries. Given the political nature of my work, this direct engagement is essential.

I have little interest in owning objects. What matters is maintaining the conditions necessary to continue working. Beyond that, consumption itself feels secondary. If anything, what I am drawn to is not ownership, but access to time, extending or reshaping it as a working condition.