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If I can’t, I won’t - If I don’t, I will
(Unshared Territories of Imagined Communities)

year: open ended since 2024

material: index cards, carrier object

 

If I can’t, I won’t. If I don’t, I will (unshared territories of imagined communities) A refusal that unfolds into a necessity, a necessity that folds back into refusal. What does this oscillation reveal about the ‘imagined communities’ that condition our bodies, our gestures, our possibilities?

 

Benedict Anderson described nations as i m a g i n e d  c o m m u n i t i e s —constructed affinities held together by symbols, narratives, in- and exclusions. This work borrows that notion, but reconfigures it through refusal. As affirmative refusal that reverberates across different contexts, adapting to prohibitions that mark the limits of belonging.


The work takes the form of an open-ended volume of index cards. Each card refers to a law or regulation—operating on different scales, from nation-state legislation to regional, municipal, or situational rules—that restricts practices fundamental to communal life. These are laws that regulate who may dance, sing, love, gather, plant, or remain present, and under what conditions. Doings so significant for sustaining community that they appear, from a human perspective, as practices that should not require permission at all—yet they are denied to certain bodies, in certain places, at certain times.

 

These restrictions gathered here, do not name their territories; they move away from exclusion across geographies. They are small enough to be carried across borders and smuggled from hand to hand, continued, altered. With the possibility that each encounter contributes to the open-ended-volume.  The cards are like vessels for recognising architectures of control—how the nation-state is not only imagined but enforced, embedded in the gestures it allows or forbids. But if the restriction is also an opening, if the prohibition reveals its undoing, then the loop continues: If I can’t, I won’t. If I don’t, I will.

Where does the impossibility fracture? Where does the prohibition turn porous? Where does the unshared dissolve?

Material structure / research format
The work consists of an open-ended collection of index cards, each recording a specific everyday activity that is restricted or prohibited within a given legal or administrative context—ranging from nation-state legislation to regional, municipal, and situational regulations—despite functioning, from a human perspective, as a socially shared or communal practice. 
Rather than cataloguing laws according to a single jurisdictional scale, the cards document prohibitions across multiple levels of governance. These rules often appear minor, intuitive, or counterintuitive when encountered in daily life. The entries are gathered through an ongoing research process and remain physically mobile via a carrier object.

 

The volume expands over time through encounters, conversations, and the contexts in which the work is presented. New cards emerge through exchanges with participants, who contribute practices that are limited or forbidden in their respective environments. The project does not privilege one legal scale over another; instead, it juxtaposes regulations across different levels in order to trace how belonging is conditioned through varying degrees of abstraction. In this way, the volume develops collaboratively and remains intentionally incomplete, foregrounding artistic research as a relational, embodied, and situated process.

UNBURY TOMORROW: Against the Normalisation of War is a variable installation
composed of printed micro-essays (multilingual, free for circulation), a portable analogue television
(Tele Star 4004, late 1980s), a telescopic antenna, a white textile, plastic and electricity.

The installation is variable in scale, approximately 250 × 130 × 120 cm.

UNBURY TOMORROW: against the normalisation of war, constitutes the second public occurrence within
Chimeric Embassy of Cosmic Concerns (2025–2028), a semi-nomadic research project initiated by Mirjam Kroker.
The project unfolds through invitations from institutional, semi-institutional, and independent spaces,
forming temporary assemblies and shared inquiries.

UNBURY TOMORROW: against the normalisation of war unfolds from the recognition that war is not an exceptional rupture of order, but a recurrent power logic through which order itself is produced and maintained. Historically, war has structured the world through cycles of conquest, destruction, repair, reconstruction, and renewed militarisation. These cycles are reproductive. They generate infrastructures, industries, political vocabularies, and aesthetic regimes that stabilise power while rendering violence necessary, manageable, and legitimate.

Within this logic, war does not need to declare itself. It operates as an atmospheric condition—shaping perception, affect, and time. Its visual languages are deeply sedimented: images of damage, restoration, resilience, and post-conflict repair circulate with strong aesthetic force. Contemporary art and critical practices are not outside this economy; they are often drawn into reproducing its grammars, even when opposing its outcomes.

UNBURY TOMORROW does not seek to counter this condition with alternative images or representations. Instead, it acknowledges the persistence of this power logic and withdraws from its modes of production. The work refuses the aesthetic operations through which war renders itself intelligible, 'attractive', and culturally operative. The installation consists of multiple elements arranged horizontally. None of them functions as a centre. This lack of hierarchy is deliberate. Centrality reassures; it stabilises meaning. It mirrors the logics of targeting, focus, and command that structure militarised perception. By refusing a centre, the work resists the comfort of orientation and the expectation that meaning must be anchored in a dominant object.

A portable analogue television, Tele Star 4004, is present among the elements. Designed for terrestrial signal reception, the device no longer receives any broadcast. Its screen flickers continuously, producing electronic noise without legible image. The words UNBURY TOMORROW are handwritten directly onto the glass surface. This flicker is not an absence of image, but an image rendered unreadable. The refusal to repair or replace interrupts the familiar cycle of damage and restoration—a cycle deeply aligned with the temporal logic of war, in which destruction is followed by repair, reconciliation, and renewed violence. By remaining unresolved, the device withdraws from productivity, resolution, and narrative completion.

Attached to the television’s telescopic antenna is a white cloth. The configuration frequently evokes the image of a flag. This reading is neither accidental nor corrected. It functions as a moment of exposure. The immediacy with which the cloth is perceived as a flag reveals how deeply perception is trained by sovereign and militarised aesthetics—how quickly fabric, elevation, and visibility are associated with territory, allegiance, and security politics. The cloth, however, is not a flag. The antenna is not a flagpole. The antenna no longer receives signals; it does not transmit messages or claim ground. It has been repurposed into a support without function or designation. In this misrecognition, viewers might encounter their own habituation to the aesthetic value of power and the visual attraction of war’s ordering forms.

Equally present are the micro-essays, printed in Spanish, English, and Spanglish, and currently being translated into Arabic and Hebrew. These texts are made available for free circulation. They do not explain the installation. They move alongside it.

Their circulation from hand to hand, rather than from screen to screen, follows a different historical logic of transmission. Hand-to-hand circulation is slow, contingent, and relational. It depends on proximity and trust rather than speed, scalability, or control. It resists the militarised infrastructures of contemporary media, which privilege surveillance, optimisation, and algorithmic reach. The texts do not produce visibility metrics, data traces, or stable archives. Circulation here is understood as companionship rather than dissemination.

UNBURY TOMORROW does not name an alternative condition or offer a reconciliatory horizon. Instead, it opens a field of questioning:


How might perception be loosened from militarised habits of seeing?
How might language be relieved from the pressure to justify, secure, or stabilise?
How might one begin to live otherwise, without transforming uncertainty too quickly into answers?

These questions are not posed from a position of certainty. They are part of the work’s own hesitation. The installation does not instruct; it attends. It remains with the difficulty of recognition, with the unease of not knowing how interruption might look or feel.

In this sense, UNBURY TOMORROW operates as an insurrection at the level of perception—not through confrontation, but through attentiveness. An insurrection that does not overthrow, but subtly disorients; that does not declare, but circulates; that does not resolve, but stays present with the conditions that make resolution appear necessary.

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