It began, like many questionable endeavors, with a strange dream. In a darkened cinema, a film flickers across the screen. But the screen is not a normal screen made of fabric. Instead, it is some weird kind of living creature. A sentient being, perhaps an extraterrestrial, conscious, breathing. The screen-creature is sensitive to the light that is projected onto it. And it enjoys the sensation. The beams of light moving across its body are as pleasurable as a lover's caress.

Later, in the dark. The audience has gone home, the projector has been turned off. The screen, now alone, recalls the various accumulated sensations produced by the now-departed film: the warm throb of bright images washing across its entire surface. The ticklish thrill of a fast-cut coming-soon trailer. The steady upwards caress of the closing credits. In the dark, the screen drifts in a state like an erotic reverie.

Strange dreams are rarely a good basis for deciding one's future course of action. However, in this case, it seemed a leap of faith was being offered in an interesting way. So, whatever, why not try to represent the memories of a sentient screen? Indirectly, this led to the works in "Zero Frames per Second".

(Excerpt from exhibition notes for Kurt Ralske: "Zero Frames per Second")
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