on Metallurgy +++ Within bronze, motion and many potential bodies dwell. Antennas is a series of bronze sculptures, casted so thin that you can bend them yourself. It is a way to work with bronze whereby you don’t need to predict everything. The sculptures rest underneath a patina or completely without this. Via patination, one can add and hold on to a certain state, a created pause. Without, it will still be static. You were told that in 2005, a two-tonne Henry Moore bronze sculpture was stolen, Reclining Figure (1969–70), in order to be melted down and subsequently sold to China. A result of the demand for electrical components. Reclining Figure is now your computer’s microchip, or the copper cable that carries music into your ear, and also lives on as fossils in other bronzes. By melting your earlier sculptures, you can sustain this ecology while simultaneously presenting the sculptures with the opportunity for movement, and granting them the possibility to look however they feel like. Antennas are curious beings. They can lead and collect activities and elemental forces living in the air around them, due to their nature as an alloy of copper and tin. A support structure that sympathises with what is almost invisible. They actually belong on roofs, outside, under the sky. So it seems logical to let them live as close by as possible: in the ceiling. If they are able to sense that the sun goes and comes, the opportunity is given, because the light in the exhibition room is switched off. Beneath the surface of more common antennas there is a coded language, an “assembly language” that is a second-level programming language—that is to say, a low-level language that does not directly support abstract syntax constructions: loops and variables, such as the Ada programming language of the computer. The origin story of coding is almost so perfect a narrative that one could suspect it of being programmed itself. Its main characters are Ada Lovelace, the firstborn daughter of Lord Byron, and the inventor Charles Babbage. In 1843, Babbage persuaded Lovelace to translate Luigi Menabrea’s dissertation on Babbage’s analytical engine from French into English, to which Lovelace added her own notes—which would eventually prove to be far more crucial than the actual dissertation. The notes include, among other things, the world’s first computer program, as well as the first theoretical reflections on artificial intelligence, which she believed possible. Lovelace also articulated the poetic meanings of the machine. She believed that this science constituted the only language through which we can adequately express the great facts of the physical world. As well, she also explained the incessant changing of mutual relationships, whether visible or invisible, whether conscious or unconscious, within our immediate physical perceptions, which happen interminably in the creative agendas within which we live. In her own words: A new, a vast, and a powerful language is developed for the future use of analysis, in which to wield its truths so that these may become of more speedy and accurate practical application for the purposes of mankind than the means hitherto in our possession have rendered possible. Thus not only the mental and the material, but the theoretical and the practical in the mathematical world, are brought into more intimate and effective connection with each other.