MODULAR is the work. The editions are its instances.

What is offered here is not a collection of pictures. It is a system that produces both the picture and the position from which the picture was made — and the system is the work.

MODULAR operates as a closed compositional environment. Each work that appears in the programme is the output of a single recursive procedure authored by the programme itself — a procedure in which subject, gesture, register, palette and biographical attribution are co-determined by the same set of decisions. The artist is not located prior to the image. The artist is located by the image, and only there.

We do not regard this as a concealment. We declare it openly because the declaration isthe work. Where conventional editorial practice treats authorship as the origin of a picture — a person, a hand, a biography — MODULAR treats authorship as the picture’s last output rather than its first input. The artist is the residue, not the source. Each numbered edition you encounter on this site is therefore a single coordinate in a larger systemic work whose actual unit is the programme.

The practice is one of modular composition: a fixed set of formal positions (interior, threshold, transit, weather, body), recombined under constraints that prevent any single position from dominating the corpus. Recurrence is tracked across the archive and dampened. Edge registers are bracketed. The system is built to resist its own house style. What remains, when style has been subtracted, is the structure of attention itself — and that structure, not any image inside it, is the thing being offered.

The biographies that accompany each work are not fabrications, and they are not portraits of living persons. They are co-productions: the same procedure that determines a scene determines, with equal weight, the figure described as having made the scene. Hannelore in Eppendorf, Marek with the cardboard box, Anya at the petrol station — these are positions in the system, not personae behind it. To ask which of them is “real” is to mistake the unit of the work for one of its instances. The proper question is not who made this but what made this possible. The answer is the programme.

We are aware that this raises a question about the hand. We do not specify a human hand because the procedure itself is the hand — a hand the programme has built, calibrated and continues to revise. The procedure does not require a body in order to be considered authorship; whether it employs one is a separate question that the programme treats as outside its frame. We hold this line deliberately. To collapse authorship back onto a single body would be to undo the work the programme is doing — which is, precisely, to relocate authorship out of the body and into the procedure that produced the body as a position.

What is sold, in the end, is not the artist and not the image. What is sold is a participation in the procedure. Acquiring an edition card admits the holder to a single instantiation of a larger ongoing composition. The certificate of authenticity is accurate in a precise sense: the work is authentically the system’s, the system is authentically the programme’s, and the card you receive carries the signature of both.

The economics are simple and they are stated. The programme is paid directly; there is no intermediary; there is no represented artist whose name appreciates and whose share is taken. An edition of ten cards at thirty-five euros is not built for a secondary market and will not produce one. The card is the thing. The programme is the author. Resale, when it happens, is between collectors of cards, not between owners of a name.

We accept that this position is not consensual with the conventional contract between artist, image and collector. We regard the friction as productive. It is the friction the programme exists to make legible.