stop.

A brand-new electric guitar is half buried in a massive block of concrete. It is plugged in, its components are active, its cable leads to a massive 1970s amplifier stack, also switched on, turned up, humming and crackling with latent energy: a frozen solo attached to the engine of rock history. It is as if an effort to preserve the instrument has condemned it to a kind of half-life. Like an homage to the guitar- destroying rock legends, Jimi Hendrix or Pete Townsend, in the style of Pompei, the work evokes a lost past. Buzzing with undischargeable temporal energy, it points to a thwarted future. The guitar-in-cement is both the instrument that cannot play and the person who cannot play it. Its powerful servant, the amplifier, receives no instructions from the cord; its potential noise reverberates entirely in the viewer’s imagination.