The Struggle for Authenticity in Art I want to speak today about authenticity . And about what we quietly give up to be accepted. We’re told that contemporary political art values autonomy . That artists are free. That inquiry sits at the centre of practice. But autonomy, in reality, is often something we *perform*— not something we’re allowed to exercise. Freedom is celebrated rhetorically, while legitimacy is granted only when work conforms to approved languages , approved theories , approved causes . Autonomy isn’t denied outright. It’s curated. This system doesn’t fail artists by accident. It functions mechanically. It rewards work that aligns with predetermined frameworks and filters out work that doesn’t speak the sanctioned dialect . Many voices are excluded not because they lack skill or meaning, but because they refuse to translate their experience into institutionally legible language. I’m not saying all excluded work is good. I am saying much of it is never heard. An...
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From Deep Space - The Voice Inside
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Our paralysis
The chaos swirls, a furious vortex. A single thought, soft yet firm, cuts through the noise. Don’t panic. Breathe.
Our gaze turns inward, intense. Maybe the real anomaly… isn’t out there. The inner whisper repeats, a fragile anchor in the storm. A slow turn of the head in the dark. A flicker of understanding. It’s all in our minds.
Our plunge is sudden as we pierce the surface of our fears, a vanishing into our psychological depths. Brilliant, laser-like thoughts fire from the core. A calm voice echoes from within the swirl, thoughtful. Then a louder shadow voice echoes from the depths, creeping to the edge of our meaning. And that was when our paralysis set in.
The Voice Inside
The sleek Subi spacecraft, a silver dart against the inky black, edged cautiously towards a maelstrom of light in the void. Swirls of incandescent gas painted the cosmos in impossible hues, a cosmic anomaly beckoning them closer.
Inside the cockpit, BK, her brow furrowed in concentration, tapped rapidly on the glowing console, the soft hum of the ship the only sound. Beside her, JB gripped the controls, his gaze fixed on the approaching vortex, a muscle twitching in his jaw. Between them sat Katcha, the cyborg spoodle, his metallic components gleaming faintly under the ambient light. Suddenly, a translucent blue hologram flickered to life on the console – Subi, the ship's AI.
A low shudder vibrated through the spacecraft. The swirling anomaly outside pulsed with an intense blue-white light, bathing the interior in an eerie glow. BK’s eyes widened in bewilderment. JB remained rigid, his breathing shallow, a silent battle raging within. "So wait…" BK began, her voice laced with disbelief, "You don’t hear your thoughts?" Katcha tilted his head, his cybernetic eye blinking, while JB finally turned, a look of confusion mirroring the perplexed expression on Subi's holographic face.
The ship bucked again, the blue-white flashes intensifying. BK gasped, her hand instinctively reaching out. The camera focused on JB, his face etched with an unspoken turmoil. "Not in words," he finally managed, his voice tight. "No narration. Just… emotionally." Katcha shook his head slowly, a low whirring sound emanating from his internal mechanisms. Subi's holographic brow furrowed with concern.
A slight tremor ran through the cockpit. They were now at the very edge of the swirling abyss. BK turned to JB, her gaze searching. "But how do you plan? Cope? Talk yourself down?" Katcha’s ears drooped, his gaze fixed on JB with what looked like despair, another slow shake of his head. A faint red blush flickered across Subi's holographic cheeks, an expression of digital embarrassment.
Instruments on the console flickered erratically. The anomaly's glow intensified, bathing the cockpit in an otherworldly light. A low rumble resonated through the ship, building in intensity, underscored by a rising synth swell. "I don’t talk myself down," JB stated, his voice firm despite the tremor in his hands. "I just know when to act." BK stared at him, utterly perplexed. Katcha whined softly, shaking his head again.
The instruments pulsed with chaotic energy. The anomaly filled the viewport, a terrifyingly beautiful vortex of spiralling colours. The camera zoomed in on BK, her expression a mixture of disbelief and dawning understanding. "I have a voice narrating everything," she murmured, almost to herself. "Right now it’s saying—'Focus, stay calm. JB, what are your emotions telling you?’” The camera then shifted, focusing entirely on the swirling, ominous anomaly outside.
Suddenly, the anomaly enveloped the ship. The stars outside warped and twisted, light bending in impossible ways. The camera zoomed in on JB, his eyes wide with raw anxiety. "Maybe there is no difference," he gasped, his voice strained. "You live in a dialogue. I live for fucks sake, I don't know." Subi's holographic form flickered, his digital face a mask of worry.
The swirling chaos surrounded them. A close-up of BK's face showed her stunned realisation. She turned to JB, her voice soft yet firm. "Don’t panic. Breathe…" Another close-up, her gaze intense. "Maybe the real anomaly… isn’t out there."
The camera framed both their faces in profile, the ethereal light from the anomaly washing over them, the swirling vortex a furious backdrop. "Maybe the real anomaly… isn’t out there," BK repeated, her voice barely a whisper. JB turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting hers for a fleeting moment. "You mean it’s in our minds."
The view shifted to the exterior. The small spacecraft pierced the swirling anomaly and vanished within its depths. The vortex began to emit brilliant laser-like beams of light. Inside, BK's voice echoed, calm and thoughtful: “Our minds are galaxies too…” JB’s voice followed, a hint of darkness creeping in: “Some minds are like black holes.”
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