In life, looking is rarely one-sided. We observe the world, but the world, in subtle ways, observes us in return. Perception folds back through memory, history, and the limits of what we know. It is never fixed, never complete. Microscopic Recursion takes this tension and gives it form.

At first glance: a light bulb, a gas mask, a slide projector. Industrial relics. But the sculpture’s function emerges only through engagement. Look into the lens and you’ll find a man, mid-20th century—perhaps a doctor or scientist—peering into a microscope. And now, he peers at you. You become the subject of his gaze, just as he is the subject of yours. The exchange collapses distance—temporal, spatial, human.

With this interaction, the sculpture becomes less an object than a mechanism—one that quietly dissolves the boundary between observer and observed. Observer, observed: the rhythm itself becomes a murmur. What begins as an assemblage becomes a meditation on perception, shifting just enough to make you question what’s fixed and what’s slipping. Referencing Dada and early Conceptual Art, the piece resists passive viewing. What emerges is not a resolution, but an encounter—a recursive loop of recognition, folded into an optical riddle that edges beyond sight, beyond certainty. Somewhere in the background, Dada gently smiles, amused at how easily the rules of space and logic begin to slip.