Government imposed isolation, we are separated, metamorphosed. Influenced to interact antithetically. Sociality morphed into an unnaturally virtual affair.  

 

We are ever more connected. Instruments of connectivity adorn us, we feel naked, lost without them. We reside in the web, everything interconnected, yet groups, bubbles of belief running at parallels to each other, never coinciding.  The oxymoronic connection and isolation create an ethereal tension.   

 

The virtual becomes the only tether we have to the world outside ourselves, yet when we enter the virtual it is curated, algorithmically, so we see simple echoes, reproductions of our own tastes. We have become like Narcissus; staring into the pool, infatuated by our observations, ignorant to the fact that it is only ourselves,  reflected. A pool of information from which we cannot avert our eyes.   

 

The algorithmic dance of segregation infects every inch of our being. We are trapped within our social bubbles, a loop of the same people, same views, same conversations.  Comfortable repetition, the continuous tormenting mundanity. An implication of ever-present uncertainty.  

 

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Bubbles; flimsy by nature , they pop and join . Bubbles are not supportive or constraining. You play in the bubbles, bubbles are fun, bubbles are for children's birthday parties and relaxing baths. Not entrapments, snaring people into pacts of mutually assured destruction. Physical bubbles (in the sense of the crystalline, effervescent orbs that glisten as the wind sweeps them away) are fluid, palpable; Created in a breath, and destroyed with a sudden gesture. Law enforced ‘bubbles’ are harder to destroy, create, imagine. Intangible bonds, families and friends now palpable. Unspoken priority ranking now exposed.   

 

Apocryphal, simulated interactions leave us wanting, aching for the hug at the end of a conversation, implications of almost imperceptible gestures, the accustomed clasp of familiar fingers.  

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Social media and video chats  generate performative reproductions. There is an acute awareness of people watching; the audience. We observe. Eyes constantly tracing, magnetically drawn to our own faces, examining ourselves whilst we talk. The expressions we are unaware of, how we look when we are engrossed in conversation; bored, raw in absence of the rehearsed ‘mirror expression’. This awareness curates our actions; measured, considered, we wait to talk, communicating through tapping fingers. We construct an impersonated self, who we want to portray, via the ‘Spectacle’ performance of our former lives, ‘normality’. These performative virtual enactments of normalcy only heighten the feeling of abnormal separation. Screens, insignificant boxes, displaying the isolation of each attendant.  

 

The uncomfortable cognitive dissonance of simultaneous connection yet unequivocal isolation creates an internal imbalance. A palpable stress in the air. Unable to touch, we search desperately for human contact, with each virtual interaction we are almost satisfied but never wholly fulfilled.  

 

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Internal and external conflicts create tension. (Horrified by the accidental brushing of a stranger’s hand.) This venereal tension is creative gold; emotional, physical, sexual frustration exacerbated in the ambiance of fear and seclusion, interplaying with the rules of confinement. Binding authoritarian restrictions imposed for our protection govern every aspect of our intimate social interactions. We rely on the rules,  to keep us safe. Yet there is no safe word, no gesture to indicate we have hit our limit. So we sit, hog tied by duty and obligation; we submit.  

 

Regulations have created distinct taboos;  

touching, coughing, hugging, kissing, spitting, fornicating. Saliva, urine, sweat, vomit and semen, are inherently uncomfortable; we determine these natural occurrences as disgusting. An ingrained recoiling, stomach churning, muscle clenching repulsion. Amidst current awareness of germs, disease, such taboos have become even more confining.  

 

It is human nature to break the rules; their forbidden nature creates an alluring appeal.   

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Sexuality, fantasy, impulse, urge, desire; inherently taboo. Our most innate instinct, shrouded in shameful silence. The messiness of the act, the sweat, cum: dripping, the gushing stench of sex, abhorrent to the sensitivities of mainstream society.   

 

Individually resolving the counterplay we battle our instincts; restrictions, leave us gagging, choking for power, vulnerability, intimacy. The overwhelming nature of our isolation creates strain, an intensity, drowning us with anxious cravings that cannot currently be satisfied.   

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An assault on our bodies, through uncontrollable fluids, which flow from us and into us without consent. The entities of which we assume dominion is a direct act of violation. A gut-wrenching revulsion so tangible, you taste its bitter flavour on your tongue. Trickling down your spine, the captivating urge to escape.  

 

A virtual reality has set upon us. Boredom, sexual frustration and anxiety overshadowing  our lives. Just as we perform echoes, we seek displays of the connection we crave. Escapism from the dissatisfaction and unfulfilling nature of our interactions. Hedonistic pleasures, fending off the mosquito-like hum of anxiety, momentarily satisfying emersion, briefly elevating strain from the metaphorical straitjacket. The repetition of days unchanged, the confusion of connected distance, only a few things allow you to be jolted from the haze; discomfort and arousal.    

  

We are all voyeurs within the ever present, all consuming, artificial depths. We watch a world performance through a black mirror. Virus’, disease, contamination, dirt is disgusting, repulsive, unsightly. As with sexual kinks, they are pushed from the public eye, residing on the fringes of social conscious. The revolting actuality of illness and death hidden like a dirty secret. By deliberately making people uncomfortable, exploring tension, to allow them to examine their own reactions, to be within their discomfort; to embrace it.