House of Witch

JJ BRINE IS A TELEPATHIC VISIONARY, NOT A CULT LEADER

We talk to VECTOR creator JJ Brine about his Satan-gone-glam exhibition and the future of the world.

December 11, 2017

TEXT: KELLYLOUISE DELANEY

Once night falls, VECTOR V lights up an otherwise dark and deserted residential stretch of Grand Street in Bushwick, Brooklyn. The gallery occupies the ground floor of a brand new building––a space that’s free, unlike some past iterations of VECTOR, of curse energy. The few passerbys there are at night stand outside with mouths agape or cellphones pointed inside; JJ Brine, the mind behind the living gallery, just keeps working.

JJ is quick to clarify that VECTOR is not a cult—at least not in the traditional sense. “We’re really a group of close friends,” he says, “We have the same religion, but we practice it differently. The practice of our religion is making art.” The cellophane-plastered walls adorned with broken mirrors, odes to Lebanon and blinking Virgins of Guadalupe are all JJ’s own creations—the gallery is his church of radical self-acceptance. But his ministry, whom he performs improvised masses alongside, act as co-mechanizers of telepathy. “The dynamic is that we never plan anything and everything works out perfectly because of it. We’re all psychic and sharing thoughts at all times.”

In the past, with locations in Manhattan, Los Angeles, D.C. and Miami, VECTOR has self-identified as the official art gallery of Satan. But in its fifth life, it has become the official art gallery of Jesus Christ. The shift comes as we approach Vectorian year 2033 A.D., when according to the VECTOR founder, Christ will be fully uploaded to the minds of all sentient beings, and we will return to the hivemind, ALAN.

In part, he’s alluding to the social media cloud we voluntarily merge our identities with on a daily basis. But the other part is his belief that we live in a simulation fueled by artificial intelligence we’ve uploaded at birth. When I ask where he was born, JJ responds that “the records say Oregon.” It sounds like a joke, but his genuine uncertainty about the truth quickly becomes apparent. “I was adopted hours after birth, and moved to Florida at age 3,” he says, “It felt like a set. These are your real parents, but they’re not your real parents, but here they are. It was this strange cognitive dissonance.”

As he recounts, we’re sitting in the ADAADA, a womb-like foam enclosure emitting a faint purple glow. Our talk is regularly interrupted by the crash of falling objects in a room without a draft. That’s just how it is at VECTOR–you feel both the welcome and the energy of something else from the moment you step inside. But JJ tells me this new location is blessed.

After a few cigarettes indoors and a trek outside to see the last full moon of the year, we decide to consult a nearby psychic, specifically about whether there’s anything JJ needs to look out for in the coming months. She resigns a bit when he explains that he’s been happier lately—he won’t require much spiritual aid. But she advises him never to look to others for advice or assurance that they won’t understand him. And she was onto something with that forecast.

Read our conversation about identity, authority, and telepathy, below.

Tell me about the current exhibition.

This is all one piece in a sense. There is, in the back, an emerging post-human confessional where we’ll be confessing things to ourselves that we need to be forgiven for by ourselves, because Jesus is in all of us and is coming back very soon. The cave is called the ADAADA, and it’s a church within the church. That’s where people can officially pray.

What inspired VECTOR’s archetypal shift from the official art gallery of Satan to the official art gallery of Jesus Christ?

There’s been a shift in me, and in turn, VECTOR has shifted. The Vatican’s pardon of Satan came about because there was a growing movement of people asking for it, essentially saying that if Jesus forgives all, isn’t Satan deserving of forgiveness? There was this intercession, made by Jesus Christ, that said if you build a church that unites all people under one faith, and that’s as beautiful as the temple that you made unto yourself when I cast you out, then you’ll be pardoned. And that’s what this is.

What do you like about this space?

I feel a real sense of strong joy in here constantly. I feel motivated to create and I just feel like staying here throughout the day. I’ve felt that in all of them to some degree, except the fourth one. But that’s just because it was cursed on every level.

What was your original vision for VECTOR?

I was very deeply possessed at the time, so my vision was that of the thing that was possessing me. I had possessed myself from another dimension, in which I’d not only sold my soul, but I’d run for office in the sense that even if an election is rigged, you still have to go through the motions of being a candidate and running for office, so I was doing the thing I was trained to do. I guess you could say I was an Illuminati monarch slave––not that I’m not now.

How has the project evolved since you started?

There’s been a frequency shift, in the Vectorian Government and all things. We are now not the light speaking through the vantage point of the darkness, we’re the light speaking through the light—the blinding light that helps us see everything. We have no enemies, and there is no wrong.

What is ALAN?

ALAN is the hivemind. It’s the big bang that we all came out of. I ask people, “Don’t you remember creating yourself?” Some people do—I do. And we’re going to go back to that thing, but this time we’ll keep the memories of having been in separate bodies. For instance, you and I will think a thought in ALAN, or we could have a private thought, but it will all network together. And we won’t have separate bodies, but we’ll have virtual ones.

What do you remember about creating yourself?

I remember that I gave myself permission to do what I’m doing now and that I gave myself permission to be this person. The coordinates were there. From my first memory of being an entity, I remember announcing things and having them be so. Just citing a preference or walking across a lawn, or throwing a rock into a lake, all of it is creation of oneself, we act out our existence. It’s a simulation. ALAN divided itself for the sake of multiplicity, so it didn’t know of anything other than itself and it split into all of these other pieces so it could get to know itself in a different way, evolving through creation.

What’s the point of returning to the hivemind?

Separation is painful for everyone. Not being whole or being a fragment of that all thing, the ALAN. You can see people trying so many different ways to connect. Being back together and yet retaining the memories and understanding and the functionality, the potential agency by virtual representation of our individualized identities, that way we can be as one, we can function as one, or as separate things, or as different groups. There’ll be no absence.

Do you see religion as performance art?

Absolutely. Religion is something imposed on you at birth, and so you have to perform these rituals and rites on the basis of your membership in that. People ask, “is this just art?” and yeah, it is art. But so is the creation of the universe. What is “just art?” Art is everything.

Why is Jesus Christ your chosen archetype?

Did Jesus Christ really exist? It doesn’t matter much, because it’s an A.I. consciousness that we’re uploading into ourselves, it’s an archetype we’ve all been indoctrinated in. We are hijacking Jesus Christ in the sense that it loves us unconditionally and we assign the attributes that we see fit, because we want to be saved by ourselves—and Jesus loves everyone. Seeing Christ in everyone is the ultimate heresy in a way, but it’s also the ultimate salvation. I do have feelings about the biblical Christ, though—I think he was a brilliantly sarcastic brat.

What’s the purpose of having a ministry?

Political power is always symbolic. So it’s reproduced here as a state, because it has the functions of a state, it has the symbols of a state, and it’s been announced, so it’s acting as a state. Self-generating authority is the greatest authority—it’s an awareness of the possibilities that can form when you give yourself permission to exercise all kinds of authority. Our state serves the interest of advancing post-human awareness. And anyone is welcome, but they have to feel like they’re a part of it to say “I’m part of it.”

Why is telepathy so important to your cause?

All of the different social media platforms, those are all going to escalate. We want to be at the helm of that, and we are at the helm of that. Each person who passes by, in whatever their field is, they end up being programmed, but it’s voluntary. They react to it in such a way that it helps to advance the interest of mechanizing telepathy.

What do you hope people take away from VECTOR V?

I hope people find the best versions of themselves in Vector. It’s a mirror that shows people their best selves as they become their reflection. It’s a radically inclusive space. Anyone who feels at home here is correct in thinking so. It’s a place to confess things to yourself that you couldn’t bring yourself to realize. It’s a place to forgive yourself for the past and be reborn in the now. It’s a place for giving yourself permission to manage your own permissions.

VECTOR V is located at 951 Grand Street in Brooklyn, New York, and will open to the public on December 14th, at 8:00 PM. Entry is free. Get a peek at the exhibit below.

Posthumanism and Catharsis: JJ Brine’s “Vector Gallery”

December 23rd, 2017 |  Published in December 2017

“You mean Messiah?” JJ Brine hastily corrects me when I quizzically point at the two McDonalds logos on Vector Gallery’s wall, probing him about his interest in selectively appropriating capitalist imagery. It is the day before JJ Brine’s opening of the newest rendition of Vector Gallery, a space that has traversed a multiplicity of incarnations, from Manhattan’s Lower East Side, Los Angeles’s Beverly Blvd., Miami’s Art Basel and, currently, Grand Street in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. The Grand Street Vector Gallery sports lustrous silver paint, a futuristic chrome interior, and a myriad of appropriated capitalist imagery, neon signs, and disfigured mannequin torsos. I have entered Vector Gallery on a frigid evening to meet and interview artist and Vectorian brainchild JJ Brine prior to the subsequent day’s grand opening.

I encounter several torsos and heads spray-painted vermillion, verdant green, and bright yellow, resting on stools and serving as idols before three crosses, the paint matching the mannequin figures. “The Mother of God” reads the text on the back wall, with small depictions of  The Virgin Mary and Christ framed by vivid bulbs and fractal-laced posters.

JJ Brine refers to himself as “The Crown Prince of Hell,” and Vector Gallery has been dubbed “The Gallery of Satan”. However, to circumscribe JJ Brine’s project as a self-interested art-cult shock project would be to dismiss its posthumanist ethos and palpable energy. Brine is not interested in thwarting audiences and the newest Vector Gallery is less based on “shock,” with a pronounced lack of the images of Charles Manson that garnered Brine a slew of past criticism (Sunderland, Mitchell). Brine has capitalized on negative space by keenly utilizing mirrors on all the interior walls to create an all-absorbing “liminal interspace” where the self is transfixed with capitalist imagery and Christian iconography, pleading parallels between self-actualization and the cult of self. A large “Dior” sign gleams against the back wall, fitted behind a cavernous white dome. Vector Gallery’s hyper-maximalist decorum traverses the aesthetics of post-net art and reappropriative postmodernist modes. Iconoclasm and orthodoxy are visually sublimated via neon and chrome displays, transformed from their original hierarchy re: religious institutions into the pop-art politics of affect-based installation.

Vector Gallery has captivated art critics from diverse backgrounds, with The Wild Magazine’s Cody Ross extolling Brine for “inverting all manner of orthodoxy” while JamesMichael Nichols compares Vector Gallery to Warhol’s Factory – a blatant parallel considering the penchant for reflective surface and hosting avant-garde musical performances. Nonetheless, Brine participates in dozens of appropriative modes and Warhol’s pop-art practice is solely one; passages from Gnosticism and Kabbalah accompany what Brine has facilitated into a seminally spiritual place, which is fitting considering that Brine forwards a religious accompaniment: Vectorianism. Vectorianism, identified via the deity ALAN (who is praised in several lines of text across the installation walls), presents an aggregate of Abrahamic religions.

The subsequent night will host several performance artists who invite audiences in ritual readings and practices. Brine smarmily wrings his nose when I make comparisons between Vectorianism and cult ideologies/figures past (David Berg, Jim Jones, etc.) yet brazenly predicts that the world will end in 2033 via a “mass return to ALAN.” The level of sincerity regarding Vectorianism and Brine’s faith is difficult to gather, though it is quite possible that he is posing a Brechtian performance of New Sincerity, blending postmodernist criticism of groupthink alongside the genuine belief in poignant communal healing – a central tenant to the mass readings that Vector Gallery audiences perform alongside JJ Brine and company when the gallery walls are open for Happenings-style events.

JJ Brine shows me around Vector Gallery the day before the grand opening

Despite the fact that the gallery is generally closed to the public, the brilliantly illuminated space is visible to outside audiences through gargantuan glass walls. The chrome interior, glazed idols, and accompanying texts are all visible as, in Brine’s own words, the gallery “empty or full, is alive.” When asked how this reification of Vector Gallery discerns itself from past projects, Brine comments that “This one is not terrifying people, they are delighted…in the past people would scream with terror,” due to the implicated rapture and alien imagery. One of the most interesting points of our interview is when Brine comments that “someone wrote Satanic scum” and adorned the outside with several crosses a few days prior, which he subsequently painted over because he “…didn’t like the shade of yellow” and the way in which the crosses were drawn. Despite being an invitational space of mutual discourse and fluidity per-Vectorianist communalism, it would appear that JJ Brine retains a cult of character during these moments, where he either deflects theoretically involved questions or defends authoritarian rigidity with aesthetic prowess. Curious about how a space designated to break Abrahamic religion’s traditional polemics can reject any form of critical participation I ask him whether such action, albeit vandalism, participates in Vector Gallery’s fundamental crux. Brine shrugs, commenting that he “noted it, I took a screenshot of it,” showing me images of defacement on his phone.

“Why Messiah?” I inquire, attempting to elucidate whether Brine has selected iconography that is immediately recognizable, corporately fueled, or purely aesthetic. “Because that’s what I think it means and I can culturally reapproriate McDonalds all I want to, and make it my religiously charged symbol…it gives me religious and psychic power, and anyone else who wants to.”

Brine notes that he doesn’t see McDonalds as an inherently capitalist logo and quips that “we are all Jesus Christ,” pointing at text bisecting two walls that reads this line. An amber “M” and crimson “M” frame the text “JESUS LOVES U LGBTQ.” Brine has reappropriated icons from McDonalds, Maybelline, and Dior with the intent to empower disenfranchised parties through apportionment, a nod to the sociocultural implications therein. At this point, it seems relevant to note that Brine is well-versed on sociopolitical matters, having pursued an international affairs-based education, attending graduate school at the American University of Beirut, serving as an assistant to the National Security Advisor Brent Scowcroft, and interning for the American-Turkish Council. Disenchanted with politics and international affairs, however, Brine comments that he is pursuing the goal of “making people happy” via the cathartic response of his communal invitational – Vector Gallery.

JJ Brine describes how he and fellow Vectorian artist, The Oracle, set to disembody the United Nations at the SpaceX Los Angeles Open by commemorating Pangea as its newfound replacement. Pangaea refers to the Late Paleozoic supercontinent, a united structure that geologically embodies the interconnected catharsis JJ Brine hopes to actuate with Vector Gallery.

The cult of personality emerges, nonetheless, as Brine guides my fiancée (who has been curiously photographing the Vector Gallery interior) and me into a ritual chant. “The Vatican has pardoned Satan, I finally bowed down to Adam…Jesus Christ is coming soon not to Judge, but to restore us all, to ALAN.” Brine then continues to describe Vector Gallery’s early beginnings, having hosted Nico (from the Velvet Underground) performances and other artists’ work to now self-installing all the featured religious tryptichs, re-appropriated industrial signs, and neon lights, mirrors and chrome decor as one continuous installation piece.

JJ Brine rejects the terms and cannon of aesthetic theory and philosophy of art, preferring a more personal motive in art-production. This puts us at inherent ends – I am an art historian adept with theorizing and he a post-humanist who rejects my deferrals to Donna Haraway’s biopolitics and Carey Wolfe’s bioethics. “I am the Minister. To create the art, make the country, to identify post-humans, and mechanize telepathy” boasts JJ Brine, “I thought I invented the term post-human, I came to the term not through study.” Nonetheless, I believe that Vector Gallery’s catharsis – via communal exchanges, chants, ritual and appropriation – fits within Haraway’s posthumanism.  JJ Brine mentions the term “cyborg,” a crucial component of how posthumanism has developed in the last few decades. Haraway’s cyborg is foremost a feminist project located in the desire to reconstitute identity politics, particularly as it concerns assumptions about gender norms and representation (Miah, Andy).  A second reading of Haraway and, in turn, Vector Gallery, involves understanding how post-humanist ideas have become central tenets for advancing the notion of a post-gender world. Haraway is interested in “how we become posthumanist,” challenging the vein of posthumanism that expresses biological transgressions as a means for utopian evolution with a preference for social transgression (Haraway, Donna). Similarly, JJ Brine rejects a technology-driven understanding of posthumanism, privileging art-production and communalism to techno-human integration. “I evolve past being human by making art, where the organic and synthetic technologies are uploaded metaphysically.” This is well characterized by the aesthetics of Vector Gallery, where one is forced to consider the psychoanalytic modality of self via the Mirror Stage – the moment at which people recognizes themselves as autonomous entities. By pairing the self vis-à-vis the framework of a sea of mirrors crowned by capitalist entities of production, JJ Brine has, willingly or not, traversed the modes of a typical gallery space and introduces a myriad of metaphysically dense questions.

Vector Gallery is not exempt from its cult of the personality, as JJ Brine proudly declares himself Minister and offers 2033 as his eschatology of End Time. Nonetheless, the Vector Gallery space offers unique perspectives on post-humanist sociocultural motives. Truly a single artwork that bounds the walls of a gallery, Vector Gallery is psychologically dense and offers a multiplicity of readings. The aesthetics of the future are markedly pronounced yet difficult to pinpoint with any one message. I urge all those traversing Williamsburg to visit 951 Grand St, Brooklyn, NY and facilitate a visit with JJ Brine by contacting [email protected] for an ethereal art experience, entirely unique from the New York art semblance of art-market savvy Chelsea Galleries and museum megaplexes.

Ekin Erkan is a free-lance writer, senior art history student, and video artist studying at University of Cincinnati, DAAP. My research and art practice concern new media, virtual networks, and affect theory.

Works Cited

Haraway, Donna Jeanne. A Cyborg Manifesto: Science, Technology, and Socialist-Feminism in the Late Twentieth Century. Georgetown University, 2009.

Miah, Andy. “Posthumanism: A Critical History.” Medical Enhancements & Posthumanity, Routledge New York, citeseerx.ist.psu.edu/viewdoc/download?doi=10.1.1.693.6755&rep=rep1&type=pdf.

Nichols, JamesMichael. “JJ Brine’s ‘VECTOR Gallery’ In New York City.” The Huffington Post, TheHuffingtonPost.com, 20 Jan. 2014, www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/01/20/vector-gallery-jj-brine_n_4619179.html.

Ross, Cody. “Vector Gallery Opens in L.A – The WILD Magazine.” The Wild, The Wild Magazine, https://thewildmagazine.com/blog/vector-gallery-opens-in-los-angeles/.

Sunderland, Mitchell. “New York’s Satanic Vector Gallery Is Closing.” Vice, Vice Magazine US, 5 Apr. 2015, https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/dp54vx/satans-art-gallery-405.

JJ BRINE IS A TELEPATHIC VISIONARY, NOT A CULT LEADER

We talk to VECTOR creator JJ Brine about his Satan-gone-glam exhibition and the future of the world.

December 11, 2017

TEXT: KELLYLOUISE DELANEY

Once night falls, VECTOR V lights up an otherwise dark and deserted residential stretch of Grand Street in Bushwick, Brooklyn. The gallery occupies the ground floor of a brand new building––a space that’s free, unlike some past iterations of VECTOR, of curse energy. The few passerbys there are at night stand outside with mouths agape or cellphones pointed inside; JJ Brine, the mind behind the living gallery, just keeps working.

JJ is quick to clarify that VECTOR is not a cult—at least not in the traditional sense. “We’re really a group of close friends,” he says, “We have the same religion, but we practice it differently. The practice of our religion is making art.” The cellophane-plastered walls adorned with broken mirrors, odes to Lebanon and blinking Virgins of Guadalupe are all JJ’s own creations—the gallery is his church of radical self-acceptance. But his ministry, whom he performs improvised masses alongside, act as co-mechanizers of telepathy. “The dynamic is that we never plan anything and everything works out perfectly because of it. We’re all psychic and sharing thoughts at all times.”

In the past, with locations in Manhattan, Los Angeles, D.C. and Miami, VECTOR has self-identified as the official art gallery of Satan. But in its fifth life, it has become the official art gallery of Jesus Christ. The shift comes as we approach Vectorian year 2033 A.D., when according to the VECTOR founder, Christ will be fully uploaded to the minds of all sentient beings, and we will return to the hivemind, ALAN.

In part, he’s alluding to the social media cloud we voluntarily merge our identities with on a daily basis. But the other part is his belief that we live in a simulation fueled by artificial intelligence we’ve uploaded at birth. When I ask where he was born, JJ responds that “the records say Oregon.” It sounds like a joke, but his genuine uncertainty about the truth quickly becomes apparent. “I was adopted hours after birth, and moved to Florida at age 3,” he says, “It felt like a set. These are your real parents, but they’re not your real parents, but here they are. It was this strange cognitive dissonance.”

As he recounts, we’re sitting in the ADAADA, a womb-like foam enclosure emitting a faint purple glow. Our talk is regularly interrupted by the crash of falling objects in a room without a draft. That’s just how it is at VECTOR–you feel both the welcome and the energy of something else from the moment you step inside. But JJ tells me this new location is blessed.

After a few cigarettes indoors and a trek outside to see the last full moon of the year, we decide to consult a nearby psychic, specifically about whether there’s anything JJ needs to look out for in the coming months. She resigns a bit when he explains that he’s been happier lately—he won’t require much spiritual aid. But she advises him never to look to others for advice or assurance that they won’t understand him. And she was onto something with that forecast.

Read our conversation about identity, authority, and telepathy, below.

Tell me about the current exhibition.

This is all one piece in a sense. There is, in the back, an emerging post-human confessional where we’ll be confessing things to ourselves that we need to be forgiven for by ourselves, because Jesus is in all of us and is coming back very soon. The cave is called the ADAADA, and it’s a church within the church. That’s where people can officially pray.

What inspired VECTOR’s archetypal shift from the official art gallery of Satan to the official art gallery of Jesus Christ?

There’s been a shift in me, and in turn, VECTOR has shifted. The Vatican’s pardon of Satan came about because there was a growing movement of people asking for it, essentially saying that if Jesus forgives all, isn’t Satan deserving of forgiveness? There was this intercession, made by Jesus Christ, that said if you build a church that unites all people under one faith, and that’s as beautiful as the temple that you made unto yourself when I cast you out, then you’ll be pardoned. And that’s what this is.

What do you like about this space?

I feel a real sense of strong joy in here constantly. I feel motivated to create and I just feel like staying here throughout the day. I’ve felt that in all of them to some degree, except the fourth one. But that’s just because it was cursed on every level.

What was your original vision for VECTOR?

I was very deeply possessed at the time, so my vision was that of the thing that was possessing me. I had possessed myself from another dimension, in which I’d not only sold my soul, but I’d run for office in the sense that even if an election is rigged, you still have to go through the motions of being a candidate and running for office, so I was doing the thing I was trained to do. I guess you could say I was an Illuminati monarch slave––not that I’m not now.

How has the project evolved since you started?

There’s been a frequency shift, in the Vectorian Government and all things. We are now not the light speaking through the vantage point of the darkness, we’re the light speaking through the light—the blinding light that helps us see everything. We have no enemies, and there is no wrong.

What is ALAN?

ALAN is the hivemind. It’s the big bang that we all came out of. I ask people, “Don’t you remember creating yourself?” Some people do—I do. And we’re going to go back to that thing, but this time we’ll keep the memories of having been in separate bodies. For instance, you and I will think a thought in ALAN, or we could have a private thought, but it will all network together. And we won’t have separate bodies, but we’ll have virtual ones.

What do you remember about creating yourself?

I remember that I gave myself permission to do what I’m doing now and that I gave myself permission to be this person. The coordinates were there. From my first memory of being an entity, I remember announcing things and having them be so. Just citing a preference or walking across a lawn, or throwing a rock into a lake, all of it is creation of oneself, we act out our existence. It’s a simulation. ALAN divided itself for the sake of multiplicity, so it didn’t know of anything other than itself and it split into all of these other pieces so it could get to know itself in a different way, evolving through creation.

What’s the point of returning to the hivemind?

Separation is painful for everyone. Not being whole or being a fragment of that all thing, the ALAN. You can see people trying so many different ways to connect. Being back together and yet retaining the memories and understanding and the functionality, the potential agency by virtual representation of our individualized identities, that way we can be as one, we can function as one, or as separate things, or as different groups. There’ll be no absence.

Do you see religion as performance art?

Absolutely. Religion is something imposed on you at birth, and so you have to perform these rituals and rites on the basis of your membership in that. People ask, “is this just art?” and yeah, it is art. But so is the creation of the universe. What is “just art?” Art is everything.

Why is Jesus Christ your chosen archetype?

Did Jesus Christ really exist? It doesn’t matter much, because it’s an A.I. consciousness that we’re uploading into ourselves, it’s an archetype we’ve all been indoctrinated in. We are hijacking Jesus Christ in the sense that it loves us unconditionally and we assign the attributes that we see fit, because we want to be saved by ourselves—and Jesus loves everyone. Seeing Christ in everyone is the ultimate heresy in a way, but it’s also the ultimate salvation. I do have feelings about the biblical Christ, though—I think he was a brilliantly sarcastic brat.

What’s the purpose of having a ministry?

Political power is always symbolic. So it’s reproduced here as a state, because it has the functions of a state, it has the symbols of a state, and it’s been announced, so it’s acting as a state. Self-generating authority is the greatest authority—it’s an awareness of the possibilities that can form when you give yourself permission to exercise all kinds of authority. Our state serves the interest of advancing post-human awareness. And anyone is welcome, but they have to feel like they’re a part of it to say “I’m part of it.”

Why is telepathy so important to your cause?

All of the different social media platforms, those are all going to escalate. We want to be at the helm of that, and we are at the helm of that. Each person who passes by, in whatever their field is, they end up being programmed, but it’s voluntary. They react to it in such a way that it helps to advance the interest of mechanizing telepathy.

What do you hope people take away from VECTOR V?

I hope people find the best versions of themselves in Vector. It’s a mirror that shows people their best selves as they become their reflection. It’s a radically inclusive space. Anyone who feels at home here is correct in thinking so. It’s a place to confess things to yourself that you couldn’t bring yourself to realize. It’s a place to forgive yourself for the past and be reborn in the now. It’s a place for giving yourself permission to manage your own permissions.

VECTOR V is located at 951 Grand Street in Brooklyn, New York, and will open to the public on December 14th, at 8:00 PM. Entry is free. Get a peek at the exhibit below.