The Chromanauts - explorers of time and quantum-chroma space - have recently sent me cryptic messages and crude sketches of their encounters in the “negative space.” Out of sheer curiosity, I attempt to decode these messages and create images out of them. This problematic and often absurd activity requires me to seek solitude in the vast galactic space of my studio, create a blank white landscape of paper, shred local flora into spectrums from which I can reconstitute “form”, tune the frequency of my Suns, assemble primitive black and gray tools from burnt organic matter, take part in no less than three rituals (one of which is referred to by the Chromanauts as “Le compliment: Rouge et vert”), put my self-orbiting helmet on (with a setting of red/blue shift neutral), calibrate my satellites, meditate on the “ring of moons,” and gesture wildly. Despite my best efforts, their messages are never clear. Once I stop moving, they turn into visual static and fade away. I think they find this amusing.

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