INFOPSIN
Ongoing: commission for MUNCH Triennale – Almost Unreal Patch Opal Video installation. 19:50 min 2025 Original performance choreography: Magdalene Solli, Synne Elve Enoksen, Montebøllo performing arts collective w/ Synne Garvik, Magdalene Solli, Rina Rosenqvist Mocap performance: Magdalena Solli, Javon Ryon Bennett Lidar scanns from: Kunsthall Oslo, Bjørvika underground, Autarkia - Vilnius Infopsin team: Istvan Virag, Ignas Krunglevičius, Ragnhild Aamås and Ayatgali Tuleubek Thankyous: Lesia Vasylchenko, Margaret Abeshu, friends and family, Eric Betzig, mitochondria Supported by: Viken film Centre, The Audio and Visual Fund, Project support Arts Council Norway, Munchmuseet. ABOUT Infopsin consists of Ayatgali Tuleubek, Ignas Krunglevičius, Ragnhild Aamås and Istvan Virag. Founded in 2019. Based in Oslo and Bergen, Norway. We do not commit, yet have been quoted saying: working together is the foundation for production. We get dragged by how patterns of meaning in language, infrastructure, and other built environments influence the body. Founded in 2019. Based in Oslo and Bergen, Norway Get in touch: info@infopsin.org.
INFO
Occasionally, someone hallucinates the warmth of an unparameterized sun, 2025 After working with our tools for production for some time, call it a voluntary underthrowing of our vital juices to the work station, Ayat arrived at this context for the notion of synthetic realism, that had been jokingly, yet solemnly, pulled out from the space in between us. We officially entered the age of synthetic realism on october 2nd, 2025, when Ayat had a dream. It was a nightmare, yet it wasn’t frightening. Ayat dreamt of an apocalypse observed from a spacecraft in suborbital flight. Outside, an explosion of immense scale unfurled across the horizon. Ayat recognized that something irreversible was taking place. He was not scared, but curious, fascinated by the visual architecture of the catastrophe: what kind of physics engine made the craft tilt from the blast wave? Why wasn’t the fire entering the cockpit overexposed? Why did the light scatter so evenly through the smoke? His bodily senses were silent: the heat from the fire blast did not burn his forehead, the shockwave did not sweep his hair, his nostrils did not sense the burned plastic. We claim that this night marked the beginning of the era of synthetic realism. By this, we mean not a mere artificial reproduction of reality—large language models, ai image generation, avatars, bots, troll farms, dead internet, vr, and so on—but a mode of consciousness: a lens through which perception itself becomes procedural, parameterized, and aestheticized. Mistakes and imperfections are calculated; emotional and physical realities lose their grounding; even death no longer carries ontological finality—it becomes a pause in a sequence, a transition between render states. It is a strange world where bodies are hollow, their mass is lost, their representations reduced to a surface. People no longer ask what is real? But rather how well does it render? Pain is calibrated. Bodies are trapped in narrated fantasies. Love is upscaled. Memory runs on a low-latency server somewhere offshore. Yet it would be wrong to think this condition was born from recent advances in computation or post-war transistors. Descartes, all the way back in 1637, with his coordinate system, translated the world into geometry without body, position without presence, order without chaos. Synthetic realism merely completes the cartesian dream—a world perfectly described but never lived. The coordinate grid promised universality, but it also demanded disembodiment. It replaced proximity with measurement, relation with position. The self that once moved through space became a point within it. Vision was privileged over touch; observation over experience. This abstraction—space flattened into extension—prepared the ground for the synthetic: a universe that could be calculated, replicated, and eventually rendered. The dreamers are designers of their own perceptions. They learn to adjust contrast in their emotions, frame rates in their relationships. Existence turns into a live-editable scene graph—physics optional, mortality toggled. Occasionally, someone hallucinates the warmth of an unparameterized sun. The system calls it a “rendering error,” a mystical, sudden re-emergence of analogue time, when bodies were still connected through hierarchies, genes, and gestures. The algorithm then finds its pace again and sends another twenty-second clip from the reel, almost identical to the last. Each sequence originates from the same binary source; each reflects and repeats the other. The difference between iterations is statistical. Echopraxia, the automatic repetition of another’s movement, describes more than a neurological symptom. In the age of synthetic realism, echopraxia becomes procedural. Action follows suit: behaviour no longer arises from presence or proximity but from algorithmic replication. Agency collapses into synchronization. What once signified empathy becomes execution; imitation replaces participation. If movement, position, and other information are procedural and optimized for the opsins—retinal proteins sensitive to light—is there anything left to trust? Once an element of universal truth, the cartesian dream betrayed itself. The apocalypse Ayat witnessed is ours. Yet it is not explosive as in the plot structure of a thriller. It proceeds through repetition, through the quiet efficiency of systems learning to imitate themselves. It unfolds not through fire or collapse but through calibration. There are no ruins, only updates. Friction disappears, and with it, the last margin of uncertainty that once made experience human.
EXCERPTS
EXCERPT FROM: INFOPSIN SCRIPT 3, 2025 HEY, SEEMINGLY FREE, YET ATTACHED TO RAILS. ALL THAT YOU NEED IS ALL THAT I HAVE THE PLEASURE OF BEING KNOWN COMES WITH THE VIOLENCE OF BEING COPIED, CONSUMED AND CHANGED. LANGUAGE IS INHUMAN, A TARGET SEEKING MISSILE, AN INTELLIGENT PARASITE FORCING ITS WAY THROUGH THE BLOOD-BRAIN BARRIER, THE WHELKS SHELL FAILING MOTHER OF PEARL MOTHER OF SHINE BOW TO THE EMPIRE OF TIME NOW AS EXPERIENCE EXPERIENCE PULP: TO BOW TO THE EMPIRE OF TIME THE ONLY UNIT I ANSWER TO ANY LONGER IS THE UNIT OF BREATH USE THE TWO SWEET FRUITS WELL: FAITH AND TECHNOLOGY THE OLD PEOPLE TOLD US ABOUT THE PAST, THEY SAID: WE TOOK THE OLD FACTORIES TO BUILD SOLID USEFUL MACHINES, WASHERS, DISHING UNITS, VACUUMERS AND SUCH, OPAQUE AND INSCRUTABLE YET AT THE END OF THE THROBBING PRODUCTION LINE, ONLY FIRE ENGINES AND AUTOMATIC RIFLES APPEARED THE ONLY UNIT I ANSWER TO ANY LONGER IS THE UNIT OF BREATH THEY LEFT THE FACTORIES, AND THEY LEFT THE FACTORIES, AND THEY LEFT THE FACTORIES I’D RATHER BE IN LOVE. MOTIVATED TO ENTER THE WORLD TO CONQUEREMBRACE THE LOVERS MIND AND BODY. SOUL POSSESSION. SPIRIT POSSESSION. OBLIVION BEASTS. UNDER AN OPAL SUNN PATCH. BREATHING IN, TO SIMULATE CALM. APPROACH THE SIGNAL, YET BY NOW THE FLESH IS SO OLD IT IS ONLY GOOD FOR DEMONS. GAZING INTO THE WEIRDFACE OF CONSENSUS ///////
LEGACY
Echopraxia, Noise performance opera, Swallow and Autarkia, Gallery 1986 Vilnius, 2021 Costumes: Margaret Abeshu and Ignas Krunglevičius Performers: Javon Ryon Bennett, Magdalene Solli, Synne Elve Enoksen, Nikita Berezko, Greta Bernotaitė, Valerija Gneuševa, Petras Lisauskas, Edvinas Mikulskis, Saulė Noreikaitė, Elmyra Ragimova, Austėja Vilkaitytė Soprano: Silje Aker Johnsen Vocals: Javon Ryon Bennett Script and lore: Ragnhild Aamås Score: Ignas Krunglevičius Choreography: Magdalene Solli and Synne Elve Enoksen Thankyou: Audrius Pocius, Vaida Stepanovaitė, Edgaras Gerasimavičius, Swallow team, … Infopsin team: Istvan Virag, Ignas Krunglevičius, Ragnhild Aamås Supported by Lithuanian Council for Culture, Arts Council Norway, Norwegian Visual Artists Fund, OCA /////// As We Worry We Dance (AWWWD), Noise performance opera, Kunsthall Oslo / parking lot Bjørvika, 2021 Costumes: Margaret Abeshu Performers: Bobby Pui, Magnus Bache Sønsteby, Margaret Abeshu and Javon Bennett Soprano: Silje Aker Johnsen Vocals: Javon Ryon Bennett, Magdalene Solli Script and lore: Ragnhild, Ayat Composition: Ignas Krunglevičius Choreography: Montebøllo performing arts collective w/ Synne Garvik, Magdalene Solli, Rina Rosenqvist Infopsin team: Istvan Virag, Ignas Krunglevičius, Ragnhild Aamås, Lesia Vasylchenko, and Ayatgali Tuleubek. Thankyous: Kunsthall Oslo team. Supported by Arts Council Norway, Norwegian Visual Artists Fund /////// Outside, time and the pack, editorial for artnews.lt, online, 2020 Infopsin team: Istvan Virag, Ignas Krunglevičius, Ragnhild Aamås, Lesia Vasylchenko and Ayatgali Tuleubek.