At the Rainbow’s End

Fables tell us that there is always a treasure at the end of the rainbow. The promise matters as much as whatever may be found at the end of the path: something remains in the distance and invites us to keep moving forward.

Technology, too, has been accompanied by promises of this kind. Each new device seems to announce other ways of communicating, looking, remembering, or imagining the future. For a time, these objects occupy the center of our everyday lives until they become almost invisible. Then they are replaced and disappear as quickly as they once arrived.

But futures grow old, too.

In At the Rainbow’s End, human figures move through landscapes built among abandoned televisions. They walk, observe, or remain beside machines that were once windows onto other places and now form part of the landscape itself. Technology then ceases to appear as something external to us: it mingles with our surroundings, with memory, and with the images through which we learned to recognize the world.

The televisions have stopped broadcasting, but they are not empty. They remain charged with the images, fictions, desires, and ways of life that once circulated across their screens.

I am interested in that moment when an object loses its function and yet continues to act upon us. The obsolete does not disappear completely; it remains as material residue and also as a form of memory.

The series moves between fascination and disenchantment. It seeks neither to deny technology’s promises nor to celebrate them naively, but to observe what remains of them once the future they announced has already passed.

And even among the remnants of all those futures that grew old, the rainbow appears again.

Still as a promise.