Photography used to be famous for its notorious transformation of three-dimensional object into two-dimensional image, making us forget that a photograph is still an object with its depth. Even the art world clearly omits the depth of photograph compared to sculpture, when stating dimensions of a work. But what happens when 3D scanning and printing comes into play? The process seems to be inverted, creating a 3D object from computer generated wireframe, thus adding one dimension instead of removing one. But the vocabulary of 3D scanning and printing suggests that its process can still be considered photographic. How is it so and where is the photographic hidden?
"Pharmakon" is conceived as an installation, an oscillation between photography and sculpture, a work that attempts to uncover the photographic within the sculpture. It consists of n x n – 1 3d printed objects, where n can range between 5 and 9. They are placed on plinths in a square-shaped matrix with the centre object missing. All of the objects are photogrammetric copies of one another, meaning after being printed, the object is photographed again and another photogrammetric copy is created. The one object removed through the minus one part of the equation is the point of origin. The origin seems to be aleatory point, its significance being chance, and not more important than any subsequent realisations. It can be said that the origin of all those objects is the difference. We relate them to each other according to their differences. The work itself happens in these differences. We may even say that the difference renders the space between images or objects visible by exposing effects/affects algorithms have on shaping and (miss)understanding the world that surrounds us.
In "Pharmakon" photography seems closer to sculpture, architecture and design then ever before. The edifice or a table is not anymore at mercy of a wide-angle lens or camera movements. The printed model suddenly occupies the same space as its origin or its destination. The photographic resides neither in a print on the wall, nor in a darkroom.
Its home is the process and its nature becoming.