I begin at a crossroads between a grieving Alexander Graham Bell and his deceased mother.
I pat him on the back, express my condolences and then make myself invisible in his lab so that I can witness his failures. I dive deep into his pre-telephonic experiments, into the in-between spaces imposed by a death, by an absence. I become obsessed with the forensic traces that map our imagined social networks. In my own creative failures, I repeat his desire to connect and reconnect and disconnect again.
Soon, I will make a silver-lined portal for us.