Thirty-three yellowed plastic Bosch speakers attached by various types of cables make for imperfect connections while converting electric impulses into sound. For more than sixty years, the building at Hanzas iela 22 was home to various technical and business colleges, and the speakers served as their PA system. Today, the devices are no longer used for any utilitarian purpose, and the recording of a long whisper does not cut time like a school bell would. The secret language of the universe is sometimes called fate. In and out of time, clandestine communication methods have been tools to play with, to conspire, to find community in what cannot be said out loud. The oversaturation of information creates a new kind of obscurity, and the distinction between public and private language sees itself in an uncertain relationship to the world. During his six-week residency in Rīga, Sebastian collected items and images to create a space in-between intentional and chance encounters, allowing for accidents to bring their own reality into being. An attempt to capture vernacular moments in this place and time, a reward for a generous and curious eye — the highest form of flattery is when art becomes part of real life. Models of national romanticist houses cut out of grey cardboard and placed on top of the speakers remind us of the beautiful oddities in the architectural movement from the early 20th century that sought to create a visual language of the archetypical origins of a country and its people, which, in the case of Latvia, found inspiration in its nature and folk tales. The interest that national romanticism took in unbalanced compositions and asymmetry makes one think about the unavoidable gaps and eeriness in any real attempt to map out a place of belonging. It’s always like that — once you try to pin it down, it escapes.