As a collective the 181 is interested in creating visual and performance architectures out of the sample merging and strangely hybridized “what ifs” of information transmissions and material demonstrations. Artists, a physicist/electronic engineer/musician, a mushroom forager/rockhound, and a linotype operator—any attempts to formalize their practice they view with distress. “There is Hope But Not For Us” took place over the course of two plus hours in the gallery space, with our collaborators live-broadcasting in (to be audio-projected and video-amplified) from Delaware, Maine, and Pennsylvania.

What do we now think happened?

Broken glass. Staticky while concurrently statigraphic and subsequently stratagraphic, and therefore probably stratacky. Cadence blows spaced by those echoes. We are very happy. Birds migrate. That is to say in, around, and about expanded-mess.

Brittany threw stones in order to transmit nocturnal sinking reflections, saw some unexpected fireworks, got caught in a traffic jam, finally made it to a second-story chapel in order to inspect colored windows with a flashlight. Borrowed flatness and bounce backs. Tempted color, galvanic approximations. Mike on the upright bass stretches the bowing and the sounds as if elongating one moment of a movie. There was a road being driven in Wisconsin, imagined pursuit, and a headlamp in the dark. Looping loons, northwoods anxiety. Unravelling. Abby tended a garden of sound and image waves and got herself confused with Brittany. Trembling concrete with bits of dust gently roused by sweeps of sonic outbursts, breath heard through headphones. Joe thought hard about the constant movement of the floor while trying to keep balance. Sliced/interlaced /////////////////////////////// A time-manipulated space extender with jellied reflectors, oh so ultimately cyclopean. Aaron told his boss he had to go participate in psychic congress for an hour during his shift. “Cool,” said the boss, “bring some of that energy back when you’re done because we are really busy.”

“Sorry,” said Aaron, “we’re gonna fire it off into the rest of the universe.”

Each of us as individuals set aside a time to together pursue glimmering veins of promise. Perhaps they converge. Terra merita.

—Aaron, Abby, Brandon, Brittany, Jason, Joe, Mike, Tom

Hypothesized.