In 1915, the dadaist artist Marcel Duchamp was working on a sculpture titled “In advance of a broken arm”, that consisted of a ready-made snow shovel. Art history explains this as some sort of acceleration of collage, a technique that carried objects from reality into the representational plane. Nowadays, the contrary is happening: fiction is being inserted in an excess of reality.

Two different places (the rainforest/an abandoned storehouse), the same material. By mailing the fabric we use to draw lines in the air, which traveled more than one thousand kilometers in the process, we manipulate the same object, and hope that a bridge is also drawn between us, in between worlds. As another layer of synchrony appears, a layer of fiction is embedded into our reality.

Is a straight line really the shortest path between two points?