The construction of worlds, the construction of immeasurable contexts. The construction of layers, gestures, stories. Reconstruction and revision, the observation of histories that have not been recounted but which have been experienced. Reliving obscured histories, unknown struggles, secret languages and survival methods. At a time of collapse like today, with the current fall of democratic systems in the face of purely economic models and their populist entertainments, Raisa Maudit undertakes a temporary journey in her exhibition in an attempt to take control and share another story (that may entail another future or another present) and to understand it as something more than a need. Perhaps through a gesture of faith, perhaps in a mystical tenor, perhaps as a final option.

Maudit establishes a series of core aspects in her exhibition. Temporal aspects, linguistic aspects, emotional aspects and abstract aspects. The exhibition space is a place through which to define on the fly based on a complexity that encompasses fear, error, belief and the necessary measures of violence. And various centuries with which to negotiate, various overlapping times. To understand the present day – or a possible present day – first let us go back to the twelfth century. It was in this century that a number of groups of women decided not to follow the established rules. The Beguines (secretly organised into communities known as beguinages) decided not to marry, created their own economy and system of representation, worked to improve literacy, began to write their books and published the first autobiographies. And what do we know of them? What trace is there of their proto-feminism, their anarchy, their love of knowledge, their codes of mutual recognition, their collective? It is said that the last Beguine died in 2013. Their story has not ended. In their non-frontal attack, in doing without rules and structures of power, the Beguines became a destabilising element. They spoke of sexuality and religion, they used romance, they broke the rules without needing to do anything other than decide for themselves. What is left of all that? What have we wiped out? Now let us go forwards to a future with machines in which work and repetition – and robots – generate poetry and language by means of errors. The gesture (that which was human) becomes something shared with machines. Language becomes a code. Hands and gestures do not write, they are a writing process. Translation starts to become complicated. Whereas in the twelfth century there was a possibility of change brought about by the action of a nondominant sector, what will happen to idiot machines? What will happen to all those mechanisms that do not evolve? Are these machines elements that ignore the advanced version of a capitalism that demands evolution and learning to generate more profits? And what is the code? Which is the code? Can we generate a code to stop understanding each other? Can we have other languages in which the emotional and the abstract make it possible for those silences in the story to become the subjects and main verbs?

And in response to the questions and doubts, a possibility of vision. Vision like that moment prior to linguistic construction, like that still unstable premotion that is forming first. A complex vision that transforms the code into a codex which – in its fragility – seeks a new idea of the table and needs to remain in the complex, escaping from the messianic singularity in order to participate in a shared gesture.

An exhibition that is a wobbly tabletop, that seeks repetitions in which it can take shelter, that starts from music as an abstract material that can be communicated to others, that seeks new worlds in order to be able to believe in a possibility. However remote it might be. If it is possible, that is.