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INTERNATIONAL CLOUD ARCHIVE Vol.1 (2017-2019)

For centuries, the sky has been conscripted into the service of borders. Invisible lines were drawn across it to claim what cannot be possessed, using constellations, meridians, and the coordinates of an earthbound logic. Later, satellites replaced stars as reference points, translating the shifting atmosphere into fixed, militarized grids.

The clouds in this archive are captured from various locations around the world, but it is not possible to determine their exact origins. Each fragment of sky resists its assigned geography, slipping away from the coordinates that attempt to bind it. The image reveals nothing of the ground below — no passport, no territory, no jurisdiction, no geopolitical location, just the day and the time it has been witnessed.

This is the absurdity of mapping the ground from the sky: to turn a fluid, borderless expanse into a tool of enclosure.

 

International Cloud Archive asks: what if the sky could unlearn these lines, and return to being only what it is — a moving, borderless commons, impossible to own?

The International Cloud Archive is an ongoing attempt to think another kind of ground in a time when philosophers and critical thinkers insist that no stable ground exists. The name was not chosen out of any romantic attachment to the notion of “internationalism” in art, but as a deliberate exposure of its absurdity: the idea that the Earth can be sliced into measurable zones to control movement, as if the atmosphere could be conscripted into the service of borders. Every cloud in the archive was recorded from within a geopolitical location, yet in the image its coordinates dissolve — it refuses to reveal its place of origin. This incompatibility between the fluid, cyclical forces of tides, energy, and air, and the rigid systems humans have implemented to police the planet, is not a poetic metaphor. It is a structural contradiction — one that the archive keeps open, rather than resolves.

 

One of the first clouds captured was viewed on January 18th in the winter of 2017 in Madrid. From that moment, the International Cloud Archive began to imagine another kind of ground — one that is not tied to national territories or the geopolitical logic that frames every image from above. Each cloud in the archive was recorded from a specific point on Earth, inevitably within some jurisdiction, yet the image itself erases this attachment. No one can say where it is from. No one can own the cloud that is captured. The clouds inhabit a realm of shifting, unfixable appearances — a space that resists the cartographic impulse to turn the atmosphere into an extension of the ground.

 

Alongside the collecting, I began an indefinite series of reports, From The Clouds To Me And Back Again, reflecting on each encounter as both a document and a refusal of geographic claim. What emerges is less a repository of stable facts than an ongoing disturbance of the urge to pin the sky to the ground.

This work inquires into what I call the “archiving condition” — the impossibility of holding the whole at once. The archive is never a complete view; it is a set of fragments whose positions, visibility, and meaning shift endlessly. In International Cloud Archive No. 1, materiality, time-volume, and geographical vagueness become the very evidence of the real — not as proof of ownership or control, but as a record of what resists mapping. The clouds remain, as they have always been, ungovernable.

internationalcloudarchiveaufbaubundeskun

"I condense, therefore
I am" (
proclaims the cloud)

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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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