All technology translates. It does not execute an idea; it subjects it to a passage. Between intention and its emergence as object, image, sound, or space, an intermediate zone opens where decisions, scales, durations, and systems intervene. That interval, neither purely mental nor strictly material, is the interface.

To translate implies loss and gain. Thought becomes code; code becomes instruction; instruction becomes matter. Yet the process is not transparent. Each tool introduces a logic, each material a resistance, each machine a rhythm. The interface is not merely a point of contact between human and device; it is a space of negotiation where tolerances, densities, and velocities are determined. There, the abstract acquires a body and matter assumes one form among many possible ones.

The exhibition is organized as a constellation rather than a narrative. A first moment, composed of signs, keys, and inscriptions, proposes a threshold of reading. There is something of ritual order, perhaps even of the sacred, but also of the technical: a system that suggests that every image responds to a prior structure. Further on, those signs condense into volume. What was inscription becomes object; what seemed symbol acquires weight and scale.

The path can be reversed: from object to code, from volume to trace, from form to system. This reversibility activates the interface as experience, a place where each element refers to a process of translation that is not exhausted by what is visible.

The artists gathered in this exhibition work within that unstable band. They combine code, drawing, printing, weaving, sound, and assembly without concealing the presence of the machine or the technical architecture that sustains the work. Technology is not disguised; it is made evident. And yet the human does not disappear. It remains as tension, as a gesture that interrupts repetition, as a sensibility that traverses calculation.