An object is not just that: an object. Singular, finite, self-contained within its own outline, without genesis or development, transparent in its own obviousness and impotence—no, it is not just that. The mediation of materiality, the potentialities of various phenomenologies of perception and attention, the encounters between embodied sensation and the agencies inherent in the object transform every object—from the most mundane to the most fetishized—into a multiplicity. An object is an archive of embedded narratives, a pile of events, a conglomeration of indices of occurrences, waiting to be seen, remembered, metamorphosed. The object, always already plural in its singularity, opens itself before us, patiently awaiting the renewing labor of expression. It calls to us, requiring us to engage in practices of sensory attention through which we can find difference in repetition, difference in identity.
