TELLUS META • Fondation Brownstone • Paris, France • 2022
Organised by 91530 Le Marais
TELLUS META is the story of a genesis: the birth of a multi-sensory metaverse interlinking art and farming.
At each wake of a new universe, some tales must be written, told and repeated.
In most stories, a world is made in seven days. In this one, the cosmogony lasts until TELLUS META say so. Writing the myths of an agrarian realm yet to come is the act of the artists that have assembled in this blank space.
Tell us, Mother.
In the beginning, they created the sky and the earth. Phytocene opened a proto-history of soil, and its self-contained prophecies. As microscopic life unfolded at the heart of this new ground, the original pixel that once started the cycle seemed to be expanding by the second. Its song, still, was oblivious to the cautious listener.
Then, there had to be form. Like a human brain, the machine learned from what it saw. Earth brought forth grass, and grass brought forth the stems of something greater. Forms were derived from a forgotten plant, generating a self-governing species destined to populate the vast space covering these unconquerable lands. Its circular branches tended to no-one but itself.
The third day, the fields were ripe for harvest. The age of abundance and fertility had begun. Throughout the dense foliage the bodily relics of an extinct species were scattered. For the better of the harvest, someone had to pay the price. What was left of humankind, and of a long-gone Tellus Mater, was encapsulated in a nostalgic cosmogony. This was the tale of TELLUS META’s birth, to be heard only by who or what would survive. It is said that every so often, the machine sees what it remembers of humans in its dreams.
Sense of smell, sound, colour and touch gained a new dimension as the realities collided. Synesthesia was at its purest in liquid form. A hybrid species emerged as two precious plants were blended. Their fusion was the birth of a chrism. Its usage is still unknown; alike the avent of this metaversial world. When prompted, the machine simply replies: “THERE IS AS YET INSUFFICIENT DATA FOR A MEANINGFUL ANSWER.”* (Isaac Asimov, The Last Question, 1956)
• Dear One at Le Marais (2022)