The first work I ever created on metal — and, without knowing it then, the beginning of everything that followed.

It started with a question:

Must two bodies ever meet for something to pass between them?

Every encounter leaves something behind.

Every experience changes us.

And with every change, another version of us begins.

Pirandello imagined the self as one to ourselves, yet countless in the eyes of others. But what happens if we take that thought beyond other people — into every choice, every unrealized path, every possible reality?

Perhaps there are millions of versions of us, each shaped by different experiences, each becoming someone slightly different.

And perhaps we are simply experiencing one of them — here, now, for this particular moment in time.

“a minute ago … you were a different person.”

— Luigi Pirandello

Maybe Transmission is not about what passes between two beings.

Maybe it is about what passes from one version of ourselves to the next.