M92 was assembled in Wuhan, China in 2020, she bears no expiration date. At 9pm each day she enters the condo’s swimming pool, after swimming exactly 60 laps, she lies on a reclining plastic chair, water dripping from her industrially manufactured skin. While a puddle gathers under the chair following the bends of her body, she recites from her memory card words she has downloaded from various sources. Tonight they are from a book written in 1970 on Italian cinema. She starts with Italian words beginning with the letter A: Amore, Accarezzare, Azzardo, Ancora. She attempts translations in other languages like English: Love, Caressing, Hazard, Again. The alphabetical order is no longer valid, the rhythm changes.
Caressing implies touching and touching is forbidden since the bacteriological invasion of 2025, where even insects became extinct and had to be artificially produced. KT is M92’s pet beatle, often its transparent colour makes it hard to spot amid the plastic furniture but the noise reveals its presence when it flies. The metal shelf is a favourite spot for KT, it is also where M92 keeps her most treasured possession, a small book, printed on transparent sheets in 2019 by someone called Minne de Curtis, M92 found it in a spatial dumpster on Vega. She loves passing her fingers through it, each time she finds something new: today she spotted a small pot containing olive oil used in ancient times for sacred rituals. Repeat, tomorrow.
Find complete entry with artwork by Ambra Viviani here
