What if you were caught in a pond, a radiant fluid bottomless body of water, swinging.
What if more than half of your weight gripped in it, adjusting itself in that slippery surface, mirroring movements to evoke a new identity to emerge, at any moment, through communicating holes, and pores, and skin.
What if, while trying to define the boundaries in which water can be contained, as well as truth, you suddenly find yourself performing a natural transformation into it, and on, and on, into something else. You become somehow the fluidity itself.
Zeynep Kayans book does not have a title, neither a concept. Its search for positions has the same attitude of her artistic practice: Zeynep moves from the absurdity found in daily-life objects to a bizarre post truth reference, echoing meaningless actions observed in their own repetitions. The gaze from behind the glass of a phone boot, behind bars of a birds cage, is oblivious. The phone keeps ringing while space is ripped open. Mundane objects are transfigured, meaningless daily actions are observed in their own repetitions, the stark naked absurdity of reality.
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