Ben Cullen Williams at FORM Space

Strange systems. Verdant green, verdant youth, electrified cables. Existing on the precipice neither here nor there, energy runs through us, vibrating with currents. Current activity, current thought, current life. Rejoicing in the uncertainty, a celebration of death, in the face of danger. Unguarded optimism or naivety, unaware of the looming black clouds, or potential euphoria. It could go either way. A hangover, afterparty. Unbridled hedonism, what else is there is the face of the inexplicable? It’s easier this way. There is no separation between us, a leaf, a palm, a connected limb. The iris, all seeing, but completely blind. The bass vibrates through the concrete floor, trembling legs, quivering trees, a light breeze. The summer rain, nostalgic for times not lived. Identity reaffirmed, culturally connected, rooted in the malaise of inaction, yet totally active. A water droplet slides down a delicate petal and falls through the air.