M. Woods

Press [FIRE] to Start!

M. Woods

Uncut 16mm with in-camera quadruple exposure - a print will be made for Analog exhibition as well as digital.

Commodity Trading (Part 2 of 3 ?): December 19th

M. Woods

A void in time-space is opened as bitter spirits circle one another searching for the Numb Spiral. The double of reality knocks the USA off the map.

Dailies From the USA

M. Woods

This is a document of an afternoon recorded in Skid Row.

An Infinite Loop for Resistance

M. Woods

This is a media-fashioned attack aimed at the disturbing omnipotence of hyperrealism and fascist banality – best symbolised by Donald Trump’s burning latex effigy.

Surr-Urban-ism

M. Woods

mechanical reproduction in the form of consciousness aimed at its own reflection in the revelation of the mechanical constructs of society - now saturated with nihil information circulating without meaning. A degenerative environment of flux and representational chaos achieving informational metastasis after being inscribed onto recording material. Now digital. Super-8. In-Camera edit. Stands alone but also repurposed in exodusMelancholia.

Fractal Death 4: Talk about Destruction You Can Count Me In

M. Woods

Nothingness is a concept of absolute absence, or absolute nullity. It is directly and inextricably linked to the notion of being.

Commodity Trading Part 1 of 3 (Election Day)

M. Woods

Ahem *clears throat* FUCK TRUMP AND FUCK WHITE PEOPLE

Bedford Cheese

M. Woods

Made from rephotographed cellphone footage, a GoPro, casette recorders, and shards of sweet tunes. In hell one fantasizes about becoming one of the matriculating cancers in the aristocracy's faux counter-culture (and the recycled variants.) He soon learns his soul is meant for disintegration, and he wasn't born with the particular nonchalant disinterest needed to survive in the wild. He decides to purchase his identity.

Dailies From Dumpland Part 3

M. Woods

Columbus Circle spiraling down stacks of hell, a fucking urine-soaked bastard and his corporate media frenemies across the street. A deviation, following, touching "here" and craving an empty sex and catacylsmic disorder. Revolutions revolutions revolutions. Just saying, Columbus Circle ain't far from Williamsburg, hipster youth.

Diz Knee Wurld

M. Woods

A reflection on media, the hyperreal, the human form, and hipster banality.

Body Prop - Movement 1 [destroyed be forever all the bonds of nature]

M. Woods

The vengeance of Hell boils in my heart / In your cold room / The silence that makes you mine / Fall, stars / She sat around and counted them all a million times / My name no one will know / And if my love were in vain / Oh God, I would want to die! / She was the roughest, toughest frail / In your cold room look at the trembling stars / I am pining, I am tormented! / but my mystery is closed in me / Have pity / I’ll win at dawn and we must alas die / Have pity / Death and despair flame about me

Dailies from Dumpland Part 5

M. Woods

After the body politic falls to shit, might as well get all your buddies and dance dance dance. Hedonism is the only real cure for tyranny if you're white. The "counter-culture" isn't countering anything, except squares. The "counter-culture" now dresses up in ethnic stereotypes and calls itself "woke" like that Acai Bowl got me woke this morning. Hot yoga then shrooms and molly at the fest, K? The matriculating cancer loves nothingness. The matriculating cancer cannot see beyond the movie in their head. A Zac Efron romantic comedy about bourgeoisie youth finding their passion for nothing, and forming friendships that will last a lifetime and a second. But on the shit-end of the stick, I can't get this fucking Trump mask off my face. I can't get this fucking Trump mask off my face. I can't get this fucking Trump mask off my face. I can't get this fucking Trump mask off my face. I can't get this fucking Trump mask off my face. I can't get this fucking Trump mask off my face.

Dailies from Dumpland

M. Woods

Welcome to Dumpland, the junkyard land, unbelievable mess, where dreams and nightmares are right next to each other, just like wealth and poverty. Here, superficiality overcomes necessities, and life-inspirations only exist on screen or glossy paper. The souls are essentially turned towards the Dollar God, provoking envious vertigo, jealousy and frustrations. In a stream of images accumulated on a daily basis, M. Woods transcribes the symptoms of a frail society. If the “numb spiral” is a disease, “Dailies from Dumpland” and its endless visual flow might just be the remedy.

Closing Bell

M. Woods

As I fever dream, the closing bell clangs, and its tendrils burrow inwards to impregnate infections; to pull the ingrown digital sickness and burst the LCD cyst; a tumult of nothingness that beckons with a toxic glimmer; a toppling structure of superfluous and dying signs, littering everything, suffocating everything; even in organic tissue the digital implants, supplants, rots, and crystallizes, flickers and spins, spurts, metastasizes, vomits, ejaculates, imprinting permanently the afterimage of today where there is no trading on futures. 16mm Analog Print of made of four rolls of in-camera multiple-exposure film shot in a Bolex.

Dailies From Dumpland Part 1 & 2

M. Woods

A digital sickness creeps into all organic processes and hopelessly sheds its meat. You take your marching orders from a fascist dump.

Body Prop

M. Woods