“Drop Dead Years” is a title floating between sensory nihilism and the lucidity of a silent revolt. In the context of the works, it becomes a metaphor for that blurred, suspended time in which life feels caught between desire and exhaustion. This is framed within a broader reflection on darkness as a space of becoming, on fluid identity, on noise as language, and the body as an unstable space. Here, darkness is not a romantic metaphor, but a sensory reality in which forms melt away, and the self allows itself to be
contaminated by the unknown, by instinct, by dream.

We live in a dead rhythm. Not a violent death, but one of low frequency — a slow dissolution into noise, into oversaturation, into unprocessable affects. That’s how the “dead years” begin: not with a bang, but with a fading. Meaning blurs, the image loads too slowly, sound becomes a continuous background, and between that background and us opens a distance we ironically call life.

Noise is no longer an error. Noise is the message, because it has the capacity to distinguish between the real and the simulated. It becomes an act of primal intuition. We all become witnesses to a reality that fragments under its own weight.

Just as Deleuze and Guattari proposed the concept of the “body without organs” (BwO) — a being that no longer functions according to the fixed schema of organs and their social or biological roles — the blurred body is the same: without center, without hierarchy, without stable form. It is a drifting, affected and affecting being, functioning through flows, glitches, impulses, and errors. In this vision, body means potential, not form; identity means becoming, not coherence — and it is read through conditions of
transformation.

Thus, the image is no longer a representation, but a process. An aesthetic of hybridity, of instability, and of
intermediate spaces.

In this sense, darkness becomes a space of becoming, where the self is not defined, because everything coexists latently. There is no stable truth, only successive reconfigurations of perception, mediated by the technological fragility of the present.

In this atmosphere, the body is no longer the repository of an essence, but a receptor. We no longer think in terms of “what am I?”, but “how am I affected?” and “how do I become?”

It is an invitation to remain in the in-between zone, where everything is still in becoming. A manifesto for an ontology of instability, in which what cannot be said is lived visually, affectively, sensorily. It is felt. It is lost. And precisely through that loss, it becomes real.

This form of lucidity, obtained through blurring, is profoundly authentic precisely in its refusal to be complete. In a sea of prepackaged meanings, it shows us that within the surrounding noise lies the most sincere form of signal: one that does not transmit, but transforms.

- Lucian Hrisav