Extracts from a conversation between Ben Broome and Louis Morlæ

Ben Broome: The show’s title $ID3FA££ $YNDR0M3 [Sidefall Syndrome] speaks of this world where gravity is shifted, and the very fabric of our existence is thrown off centre. The safety mechanisms that are installed in the show are designed to catch those who fall. Is that fair to say?

Louis Morlæ: I think that there’s a preparatory nature to a lot of the works in the show. What I’ve tried to do with some of the objects in the show is imbue them with as much reality as possible. I’ve tried to explore in a material sense how I can root everything in reality. I’m obsessing over the most minute details, but at the same time, there is this cataclysmic fictionalised event taking place, which is completely disregarding my position as a creator. I guess I’m conscious of the relationship between the cosmic scale of thinking about shifting gravity, but also the minute details.

BB: Do you think this kind of fixation, almost fetishisation, of these minute details allows for your own escapism?

LM: Absolutely, I think that there’s a sense of madness and satisfaction that I get from the way that the works come into being. There is a sense of feverish intensity to make sure that things are just so, thinking about every bolt, every thread and their material qualities. I’m rolling it over and over until the works tell me they’re complete; they offer this performed safety, with all the hallmarks of real safety devices but no actual saving.

BB: You’re doomsday prepping for yourself. But do you see the works as having the potentiality to save others, or are they rooted in saving yourself?

LM: I guess there’s something about me trying to find a way to share this hypothesis. It’s about allowing others to enter the space and have these disjointed, asynchronous experiences with the object. You can’t really dictate where people are entering the work from, but I hope that there is a feeling of navigation. In a way, what I’m more interested in is the bipartisan nature of varying perspectives. There is common ground to be found, both between my experience and theirs, but also their experience inside and then outside; that the macro/micro environmental factors we’re all subject to act as a framework for commonality.

BB: We’ve spoken in the past about a sense of free fall. To what extent are you in free fall? To what extent are the works in free fall?

LM: I think that I have been flipping between strong senses of clarity and this idea of a doomsday, predatory kind of tinfoil hat perspective. I think that the idea of free fall is a through line of these new works, because vertigo or the sensation of being at a great height almost has that sense of awe around it. These works engage with the sensation of guttural fear but also elation that you might feel if you’re in free fall. It’s about this ambiguity and how through these different slippages, we’re able to sense both poles of extreme sensations.

BB: In Rapunzel’s Tower (Relative Clock) the plumb line sways like a pendulum in this sort of hypnotic way. This swaying is the lie that’s being told but it’s made real by its very existence. Is that a fair interpretation?

LM: There is this idea of the viewer utilising Rapunzel’s Tower in these moments of free fall, by attaching the carabiner to themselves, making the work kind of functional. Simultaneously, however, it is a bizarre and ultimately decorative design object, which is used to tell the time. Between the many layers of this work there becomes this obscuring, which is a more satisfying space to work within, because once the works are complete and presented, I personally still have an opportunity to explore and try to understand. There’s a sense of not wholly knowing, especially in regards to this show, because it is about this grand unknowing that’s taking place.