In 2015, I was invited as a guest on a live radio arts program* to speak about an exhibition I was included in called Conflicted.

Over a conversation that lasted for fifteen minutes, the total duration of my own vocal detritus—variations of ‘um’, ‘ah’ or some other non-essential expression—was extremely close to one minute**. These transitional utterances normally edited out in the minds of both the speaker and the listener were brought to the foreground through the linear removal of all other spoken ‘content’.

In many countries including Australia, one minute of silence is traditionally associated with the remembrance of those who died in wars, conflicts, and peacekeeping operations. As a result of what should have ideally been silence, a new image of a 'conflicted' state emerges—appearing on a flat-screen television amongst the refuse behind the radio station, where the material was first broadcast.

As an infinite loop, the screen features a solitary figure within an imaginary soundproofed studio setting engaged in lip-syncing to the original transmission, moving as it were, against the grain of his own voice. The wood blocks drifting past are the same ones that form the background wall.