About the Book
Mute, quiet witnesses, hollowed out by the steady trickle of time. Erratic boulders (or maybe: foundlings) carried from another age, deprived of their kinetic energy and frozen in time. A centered artifact, like a visitor from a distant universe that’s (or maybe: who’s) just stumbled across your doorsill.
INDICES doesn’t give out any answers. Out there, there is no progress, no intentions, no love, no hate. There’s neither a beginning nor an end to be found – nothing humane. Those objects themselves don’t ask questions, they don’t talk. Much like in an unfinished documentation, its parts hold only emptiness; no language has been found yet. And now, no matter where we stand or what it is we confront, “evidence of relevance” may only be secured by indulging ourselves in their neutrality.
Nevertheless the world bewitches us, still trapping us with that strange kind of magic diffusing a long forborne calmness. And those seeds fall on fertile soil.
Text: Christopher Jackson
Translation: Robin Manuel Locher