Maybe Freud was wrong. Instead of mourning not being the master of the house, the better option might be being a house, a sculpture or alternatively a nervous breakdown. In eight sessions the Torres de Satélite, a hybrid between sculpture and architecture, meets with Nervous Breakdown for an associative exchange of ideas in the virtual space between Mexico City, Route 66, London, New York and Iceland. Like Torres, the architectural sculpture – or sculptural architecture? – whose five columns are towering above the Queretaro-Highways at the gates of the satellite town Ciudad Satélite, Nervous seems to be a borderline case, associated with the feeling of distress – he is beside himself. Though they meet in eight sessions, access to the individual unconsciousness is not their objective, rather they use their access to the collective unconsciousness in order to forget about their hollow teeth. Instead of self-reflection, self-invention is the order of the day. Constitutive elements of their provisional identities are copied and pasted, dragged and dropped into wobbly assemblies of partial features, only to be replaced by something found on the next link. This way, they add to themselves as well as to the traffic, where identities emerge and disappear at dizzying speed. After eight sessions, it becomes apparent that being a house, a villa, a shack or a too-late-to-be-modern sculpture is far more imperative than being a subject on an analyst’s chaise-longue and might only be traded for a ride in a corvette eating pistachios.
(Bärbel Trautwein)