For the record

Record


With the development of memory we kicked off a struggle of preservation, though different than what was done before. We’ve been preserving time. From painting hunts on walls to videos of a fat kid who thinks he has a light saber, we’ve been keeping these moments preserved. Amongst our many efforts to preserve a moment in time, we developed wide, flat(ish) discs of vinyl kept in paper and cardboard sleeves.
These moments are worlds into themselves, placed down on rotating tables, platforms propping up geocentric universes and setting in motion their own days and nights. As the world turns, the needle scratches and rhythm and reason tread their way, penetrating the air. Voices erupt, and the comforting warmth of background white noise scratches to those who listen. This world talks and breathes, and through its warm scratching and occasional slip we know the world is there, reminding us where we actually stand, not fooling ourselves that there is no difference between the voice and our own. A small divot tells us a story, a blur in the sound gives us a new memory, the preserved moment’s past, alters the sound and now a new history rises. The vinyl landscape is given valleys and mountains, marks to call its own. The world has its own tale, on top of the one it tells, whirling on until a sudden jerk and the sound is scarred, and the world is put back into its sleeve, and a new one comes out to play.