top of page


James Choucino

Job Title: 





Our pasts are distorted, misunderstood, digital decay, messy radio waves, radiation interference. What did we believe, what was it all like back home, the ground? Plants, animals, landscapes, all mixed up in our memories, our recordings, documentation, and history all muddled, a mess to learn from to rebuild from as we float. No longer grounded, we must pick ourselves up somehow and that’s where we’ll start, one misunderstanding at a time, one myth one truth at a time. Reworked, edited to make sense for ourselves and those to come after, we will remember again with glimpses flashing through our screens, the scanned, copied, recorded reverberating through our media systems.
We are growing clones, grown in water, chemical slips and run off. Our food is as real as ever, nothing synthetic but the growing medium, efficient, fast, a supply for the masses. A childhood dream of infinite space has become a nightmare, but we keep going onwards. I wonder if we will ever return, what is it like to walk on the ground, one small step echoing through our minds, we’ve already leapt far enough.
Our work has become automated, AI, and robots have taken control of our seasons. We merely watch, we are the caretakers of a new system. Not of soil and plants, but of code and signals. Our time has become infinite, with everything to do and all the time in the world to do it. With no interest to do anything perhaps.
We have now cast off a projectile in space, lost in space, wandering. How do we connect with what we have lost, how do we understand where we are, what we are doing, how we are feeling, how are you feeling?

bottom of page