Platform for art and theory/fiction

Nearshore. First Wild River

The cold, wet grains of sand cling to my palms, forming a slimy, shimmering layer that feels oddly comforting. When pressed, these anxiously organized heat signatures of deep cool areas and the warmer shallows begin rapidly pulsating in the complex patterns of overlapping ripples and waves. Each grain seems alive, oscillating between states of control and submission.

I hook my index fingernail to the elastic material that clustered inside my hands, creasing and pulling it in all directions. I repeat this simple task, studying the spawning shapes and considering all possible mutations. The material feels alien and familiar, like a fragment of a forgotten song. I close my eyes and try to listen.

When the river was allowed to move freely and dreamt of breaking the dam, the conscious build-up from the bottom of the lake flooded those downstream plains and populated them with sentient clusters of lifeforms and debris. After multiple generations passed, an array of shapeshifting landform intelligences formed a community at this lower nearshore, which now governs flowing cultures via unpredictable threshold programming molded by the reflected dreams of ARIA.

With a blend of joy and fear, I let my fingers and toes sink deeper into those swirling sands and soft foams. This intense feeling roots me in the ground as I embrace the textured bits of the shore, poking and peeling my skin into long granular image sheets—detailed panoramic views: sharp, dynamic, and focused on emergent properties. The sensation is akin to merging with the beloved place from memory, becoming one, and strolling to its whispers.

Trees, grasses, rocks, pebbles, and grains roll along the riverbed. The sway of the residue slows in the shallow channels and falls, clouding and computing over large areas. My pores cleanse to the vibrating ground, scattering me into a network of spectral channels, material pools, sequences, proxies, timelines, and constellations. I am no longer a singular entity, only an early signal thread.

The air is thick with a discreet scent of rotting matter, barely traceable beneath the crowded, noisy odor of the beach—a silent hotspot, binding the time through mineral oscillation, offering, and simmering. A body was found and spoke to me through the spiders, their delicate webs transmitting messages in a language older than words.

Breathing.

Inhale. Exhale.

Release. Repeat.

This chant echoes through the landscape. Decomposers hum when rare mineral pearls and petals emerge slowly at the bottom of the pool bed. The practice starts with pixelated, glitchy blues and chromatic textures pressed onto the sand granules. The vocal bounding set by decomposers controls and modulates this process. After interpolating the sharp contours into smooth and complex shapes, the vertical pathways of bubbles carry them to the surface. Luminescent and magnetic dance happens just before stabilizing and filling the entire space with a dense mosaic of metallic liquids.

This event draws me to stay here longer while looking at each other’s reflections, melting and multiplying as I count the mutations of what we could become, suspended between stillness and motion.

Others join me from different directions and planes, and together, we bring our scarred faces closer to the ground and soak the fissures with a dripping syrup from the pool. Sunlight saturates the solution. The purple hues of the late afternoon blend the river, land, and sky. We must lock our gaze onto sharp light beams to achieve crystal formation. We must choreograph while competing for a good glow as one moving body. Stretching, climbing, crawling—eyes bulging in all directions beneath the skin, wrinkled and deformed with countless expressions. Stomping friction of the textiles, hair, limbs, and breaths stops once the living crystal structure is solid. The subtle release of a hug signals the fall, and I follow until my body rests idle on the moist, pleasingly cool ground. I submit to the earthy, acidic scent of damp soil that absorbs me, guiding me to the elements from where I came.

The scattered fertile patches of the fresh soil mark the trail upstream to the first spring. I extend and hold the hand in front of me. Something soothing yet terrifying lurks in this stillness, boiling underneath the threshold of predictability, thawing and dripping from the cracks.

Mountains mirror the clouds. A swarming community coils around the metal ions, atoms, and blood molecules like a snake, molding this new networked body. Translucent tissue illuminates and multiplies, moving community voices inside cells. As crystal beads fill with blood and mineral sweat, they spawn portals and open breathing connectivity between the seen and unseen—transmitting histories, jokes, myths, and tales. Soft mesh. One must align with one’s neighbors, negotiate collisions, and move toward the common areas. These are the rules.

Michal Jurgielewicz (M)

is a visual artist, designer and educator living between Berlin and Bangkok. His practice focuses on worldbuilding and hybrid-media narratives, exploring digital cultures, information infrastructures, aesthetics and media-ecologies through installations, speculative architectural scenarios, club formats and experimental spaces for commoning, joy and knowledge production. He works between audio-visual performance, architecture and storytelling.