Sitting at my office desk for the nth hour now, I relish in my escape into the outside world: google chat. My sister messages me about a silly story regarding a long lost friend. This mutual friend of ours dropped out of med school, or graduated, or broke up with her long-term boyfriend. Who knows. The details of the story are irrelevant; the telling is what counts. Editing a press release about yet another group show, I receive one IM after another. Apparently she couldn’t handle the workload, or they were just too different to last.
My colleague next to me interrupts to ask a few questions about the installation plan in the gallery downstairs. I login to the office server and pull up the floor plan, which I immediately send to her via Dropbox. Soon after, my sister changes topics and starts to describe the wonderful lunch she had today. An email pops up. It’s my sister, sending me information about a Lebanese artist featured in the latest ArtForum. I download the attached article and start to read. A text tells me I have dinner plans tonight as my colleague, now downstairs, emails another question. I respond via email; I confirm dinner plans via text. My editing job is complete. This Lebanese artist is deemed groundbreaking. It is now time to sign off.
Communication as parallel worlds, where these worlds are not distinct from one another, but form a constellation of realities that often touch, bump, and blend. When I step inside an enclosed space-- this office-- I know that I am easily about to reach out and experience the outside world via communication technology. I am also asked to multitask to an almost dangerous degree, where the slightest mishap may unravel this entire web. This ability, both a gift and a poison, speed up my life, entertain my days and require an amplified version of the person I think I should be. I’d stop to reflect on this, but I don’t have the time. I head home, trying my hardest not to pick up the phone and text while driving.
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