2047: Arquivo de depois

Every day a machine reads real news about rare earths. The territory being mined, the power that processes it, the market that prices it. A triage separates what matters, and what gets through becomes the seed of a chapter dated 2047. The text prints on the spot, on a dot matrix fed by continuous paper, at the slow and noisy pace those machines have. Anyone in the room hears the work writing before they can read it.

The season runs 32 days, and the duration is the form. Over two days, a printer printing is a gesture. Over 32 days, the paper becomes a material archive, a stack that grows in public and that anyone can measure with their own body. Come back in the third week and there is more paper than you left. The timeline of the exhibition sits on the floor of the room.

The engine runs entirely on a local machine. A 27 billion parameter model writes on the GPU, a small model handles triage on the CPU, and none of it depends on the cloud. That was a decision about the work before it was a decision about technology. A piece that speaks about mining, energy, and water feeding data centres could not outsource its own writing to a data centre. The rule Giselle set from the start is that the network never goes down, and the only way to guarantee that was to stop needing it.

The projection that accompanies the text is also born at home, on a single consumer GPU. Getting video with audio inside that constraint meant measuring again what the ecosystem already took for granted, and the measurement became a public repository. Technical work and the work of art are the same material here, which is why both are open.

I make 2047 with Giselle Beiguelman. She sat on the committee for my final project at FAU-USP in 2014, and now she signs the work alongside me, which is already a twist in time the size of the piece itself. The voice of the text comes out of her work, and curating the sources is four-handed, with people deciding what enters. The machine writes on its own, but it does not choose on its own.

Making the invisible visible is what runs through everything I do, from the buried Córrego das Almas in 2012 to the mycorrhizal networks of Floresta Utópica in 2025. Here the invisible is the chain that sustains the writing machine itself. The ore, the water, the energy, the contract. 2047 prints that on paper and lets the stack grow until it takes up volume in the room.