One of a Billion Days

This work does not represent time – it delays it, disassembles it, multiplies it. Time becomes a space of possible forms. Its starting point is a technical system: the 16-segment display. What at first appears to be a limited means of rendering numbers and letters reveals itself as access to an almost inexhaustible diversity: over a trillion configurations are mathematically possible. Yet this number – abstract, far removed from any lived experience – is not merely asserted here, but staged. Not in its entirety, but as a slow unfolding, image by image, hour by hour.

Each individual sheet stands for a day; an entire wall of sheets comprises a year. A century manifests itself in one hundred books. This translation of time into spatial order is at once a displacement. For what is shown is not passage, not event, but the imprint of a moment – a fragment drawn from an infinite reservoir of forms that promise neither statement nor fixed meaning, but hover between structure and void.

These combinations appear not as messages, but as signs without definitive legibility. Their meaning remains open. Nothing here is fixed. The seemingly simple logic of the technical system becomes a stage for a polyphony of silence, where not the sayable but the not-yet-said, the possible, comes to the fore.
The work does not constitute an archive in the conventional sense. It preserves nothing, secures no memory. Rather, it points to the fragility of what we consider graspable: time, meaning, information. Everything appears accessible – and yet everything withdraws.

This work is a reminder that any form we recognize could always have been another – and that in this possibility lies a form of truth that resists fixation. What begins as a simple technical grid – ten displays with sixteen segments each – becomes the origin of an immeasurable complexity. From this reduced beginning emerges a density that far exceeds our capacity to comprehend. To display every possible combination would require more time than humankind has existed. And to print them all on paper would result in a surface area exceeding that of the Earth.

Thus, the work remains a fragment of the infinite – an attempt to make the unshowable visible without ever fully capturing it.