Post Communiqué

By Alex Redmon

The whole thing seemed like a “need-to-know” operation, something out of the alley between too-far-gone and not-too-far-gone-enough.  Merely getting your hands on it was a feat alone given the hours they kept.  Like a wrong turn on a road trip to nowhere that made the whole affair worthwhile - the kind of idea that’s been romanticized for long enough that it immediately dissolves dispersion.

 One night, I approached - edgy but ready.  The whole mess was roped off - but seemingly not closed.  More than once, I’d seen it closed with someone “cleaning” it before, something I can assure you was really “them” at work.  This time though, there was a crowd gathered at the ropes.  Immediately, immutable: meat.

 "They" were gathered around the table, eating.  The only thing you could think about was the smell.  Some sort of wretched roast, carved and confined to this room, every way you turned.  Still, people walked up to the ropes, mused at the cubby-hole rooms shrouded in darkness behind the table, and walked away.

 That’s just how these things go.  Countless scraps of paper jotted on to be promptly discarded - an enormous edifice in the sand burned at the end of the weekend.  Drunkenly engage, actively and intelligently engage. Just engage.  Feel like you’re not just reading the messages, but somehow actively contributing.  Watch the wall of T.V.s.  Imbibe the distraction, because you control it.

 What, in this context, can you believe?  The messages, however tongue-in-cheek, seem empowering - until it’s apparent that you’re not changing anything in this miniature world.  It’s a board game gone awry that hits damned close to home.

There’s so much to interact with - it always feels more at home to be filmed, that shouldn’t inhibit much.  So many people punched in on the time clock, red hotline phone pulsing, absolutely nothing in the “DO NOT OPEN” envelope.  Never forget that you’re being followed by the people in the pictures at every turn - it was, after all, “them” that set it all up.

 This place felt like a film, but played like a choose-your-own-adventure, something dynamic each time.  Something like a weekend bender.  Whether you’re a supporting actor or an extra is never entirely clear - just don’t expect to be handed a speaking line.  You’d already seen the headshots of the stars - they were taken like mugshots.  8x10s on the table, enormous prints on the wall.  You were told who to look for.

So then, am I to believe, that all of these other faces are just happenstance?  Unlikely.  This whole scene was corroborated by a corrupt collective - it goes deep.  They’ve laid out their recruitment material, the propaganda and weapons that they’re leveraging.  You might drive away if the car parked in the hall wasn’t full of books, or if the cafe racer at the end of the hall wasn’t made of glass.

Post Communique was part of the “Available Space” component of DMA’s “DallasSITES” exhibit - http://www.dallasmuseumofart.org/PressRoom/dma_528370