Described as the method of “writing from the beauty of simplicity … through which extinguish the significant ambiguity of words”, the Mormon alphabet Deseret was inspired, like the majority of the linguistic experiments of the mid-19th and early 20th century, by Isaac Pitman’s phonographic study, whose system was based on geometry. Thus, circles, semicircles, and straight lines strictly placed horizontally, vertically, or diagonally formed the characters: geometry presented as writing. Hence – Lacan will observe – as the murder of the experience.

Lacan realized this after visiting the Museum of Saint-Germain-en-Laye, where he found that someone, undoubtedly a hunter, had made a series of bar-shaped marks on a rib of a prehistoric mammal. The separation of these “unary lines” should have allowed the person who made them not to confuse the first hunted animal in memory – indicated by the first line – with the second, this with the third, and so on. In these lines, however, there was no representation of the hunted animals. They were a pure difference. Finding each line’s similarity was useless since it did not occupy the same place as the other. Each line meant once. And projecting itself on a representational void guaranteed the autonomy of what Lacan called the symbolic order.

Art, in its intended use of culture and context, is on the fringes of both the cult of language and the too immediacy of reality. Thus, I started this project from the material base of reclaiming the ambiguity of language meaning. So I decided to interfere in the archeology of signs that led me to some discrete linguistic experiments, not settled in the historicist narrative, whose origin could be located in the Byblos. This writing is barely deciphered to this day, and, nevertheless, it is the core of the Greek word “biblion,” which means book, and hence, writing, Bible.

This journey through the archeology of signs places me before the Ha-Ha Wall, an element of containment in the landscape that reduces visual obstruction to a minimum. Cunning modesty to attenuate the impact of strict security measures, where its most ferocious exhibition is to be found in British influence asylums, preventing patients’ escape while it offered a democratic view of the centers to void the sensation of captivity.

I found it out that the notion of manicomio (the Spanish uninclusive word for mental hospital) comes from mania and from the Greek word κομεῖν komeîn, to care. Take care of the mania. Also interpretable as monitoring the rarity or interpretive eccentricity of reality.

The military base of Wendover belongs to what today is known as forgotten fields, airfields that were created from 1939 until the end of 1943 with the intention of “changing the destiny of humanity.” Currently, they are mostly abandoned or missing.

Wendover hosted the 509th Composite Group, a United States Army Air Forces unit created during World War II and tasked with the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

Borderline personality disorder implies, among other situations, a generalized instability of the sense of identity that can lead to periods of dissociation and excitement derived from an exaltation of self-awareness. Or, in the worst case, the collapse of the Self in the landscape.

The peculiarity of the Wendover context is that it is a geographical border area whose experience is decomposed and defeated by reality. It is not even a natural space, but space. If I interpret Lacan’s words, its functional or structural alterations respond to a fixation that submits to a single signifier, in total domination consented to by the master’s discourse. And since this fixation cancels out human identity’s multiple or heterogeneous nature, Wendover reveals its fear of otherness.