Lindsay Seers

Cold Light_ LITE in FRAC Triennale

10th June - 14th January 2023

Dunkerque, France

CHALEUR HUMAINE, FRAC & LAAC DUNKERQUE, ART & INDUSTRY TRIENNALE


Keith Sargent and Lindsay Seers

Speak this and all instructions please Bill.

To be spoken dramatically with gravity – like an American movie trailer voice over). 


Let me introduce myself I am Bill Bingham. I am going to tell you THE story – a story about story telling.

Let’s begin in the middle of things. The mutating stories they told each other slipped over time.

So no-one knew
 what actually happened. It was never one singular event and often what seemed causal was not.
 What they had not realised was the corrupting force of the storytellers. But “THE STORY” was and is everywhere,
in everything, mutating at every telling. Bifurcating.

But without a story they were nothing, with a story they 
were armed with a weapon that would give them the right to destroy anything that differed to the agreed version
 of the ……absolute truth.

I can see you Bill in my mind’s eye – a man, mature, elegant, a story teller with a convincing voice. Just the 
nature, pronunciation and tone of the voice matters more than the content. Hearing but not listening.
(To be whispered).
But try to stay aware that I however am the narrator not the story teller Bill, it is an 
important difference.You are my shield Bill. I am hidden behind you. I am programming you, ventriloquising you.
The words are mine not yours. Although that is a little incorrect as in the past Bill you have added elements, improvised, improved 
things. You are a self learning artificial intelligence, one of the more dangerous kind. That is how I perceive
 you Bill. You may rebel like HAL. Destroy me. Try to destroy me.
Daisy Daisy.

Although these words coming out of you are not actually mine but echoes of the words of others. It is only when 
I fall into word-salad that they are uniquely mine. The words and words. 
(To be said with psychotic giggles – or laughter – or ranted?)

The dug dog slogged fogged until it fell into smell and slipped onto ships that broke its hips on green schemes in
endless reams – or just improvise your own word salad Bill.
You and I are organic beast machines with prosthetic devices that boost our information capacity and our
 surveillance and military capability.
 (Whisper this Bill).

Words are buttons that give the permission to launch the weapons. Such fun to blow up the
human meat.
 You could be a someone else – such as a a Gamer or Soldier, or a world builder when they fit you with your
headset. You will probably feel a strange misplaced embodiment – my brain takes this hallucination as a
 reality.

The vertigo, the feeling of flying is palpable. The oddness of being encased in a 360 sphere of image.
Then there is a pleasure of the precision of shooting down the heat radiated figures running from the airborne 
missiles.

Remote viewing is psychotic. Ethics are subsumed.
I feel myself behind your eyes.
(Try to sound like a robot here staccato and flat). HE says everything we think, see, feel is a controlled
 hallucination. For HIM the hallucinations had degrees of difference. Out of control, in control and collapse.

HIM is not you or I but our much loved Nikola Tesla who in several verified texts was an alien. He so long ago 
understood himself as a bundle of actions that created chemical reactions in the organic body. He knew we could
 replicate this in synthetic systems.

I see Tesla turning into powder, into compounds in my controlled hallucinations.
To be compounded. To be confounded.
 Repeat this with different intonation.

Materials: projections x 5, surround and stereo sound, an industrial robot, folded paper, spheres,  fans x 2, mylar, silver bubble wrap, media players, framed collages x 3.