“For the rest of my life, I will reflect on what light is.”
—Albert Einstein
For the sculpture Objectif Erratique, light is not fixed—it flickers, wavers, and shifts. A series of glass lenses drifts to the left, nudged by a hidden fan that cycles on and off. When the air stops, gravity pulls them gently back. At the back, aged 18th-century sheet music glows softly, lit from behind.
With each pass, the view changes. Curves shimmer across vertical lines. Edges dissolve, then reappear. No shape holds for long. What’s seen is always in motion—distorted, delayed, dissolved.
The structure is built from a poultry crate, its slatted frame now a vessel for refracted light. A Fresnel lens holds the center, catching and stretching the distortions as they unfold. The faint clink of glass tapping glass marks each shift—a quiet rhythm that feels incidental, but never without cause.
The effect is cinematic, but without narrative—light as behavior rather than message. What’s seen never repeats, and nothing stays still. Drawing from the spirit of early projection devices and the disorientation of Dada film, Objectif Erratique unfolds as a quiet engine of uncertainty—an optical loop where light glides, fractures, and eludes interpretation.