The shots, long and still, cut between the scene of her birth, her extensive and strenuous workout routine, and her erotic fascination with a human in the colony who she loves but cannot touch, with little respect for chronological hierarchy. The video is repetitive and slow, continually asserting the girl’s strength training as “an active force producing difference.” The book reads from both sides inward, left-to-right containing maps and ephemera from the planet, and right-to-left containing maps and ephemera from the human’s constructed world. As the book approaches its centerfold, the two sections collapse into themselves, blurring the lines between the two worlds and THE GIRL’s placement within them.
In the repetition of takes, of exercises, and of pages, the narrative temporally ruptures, destroying and rebuilding itself—like a torn muscle. GAIA AND A GIRL is inspired by the works of Mary Maggic, Kathy Acker, and Ursula Mayer, as well as the lives and deaths of my cousins, Rachel and Ruth Dunlap, who were murdered in Utah.