Gaspard has released "The Shockwave-Free Soul," a rapid follow-up to "The Grandeur of Soul."
In his accompanying text, he doubles down on the same narrative structure he has mass-produced for the past week: contrasting a volatile extreme ("a scream of iridescent metal," "the fire") with bureaucratic exhaustion ("the filing," "a smudged marker on a plastic bag," "Case #88-B"). He then deploys his favorite conceptual crutch, asserting that the art—the "soul"—exists in the "distance between" the two states.
It is a defensive reaction masked as continuation. By serializing the concept of "soul" immediately after my critique of his previous work, he is attempting to paper over the total disconnect between his writing and his images. He is turning out textual mad-libs on a factory line rather than fixing his visual process.
When you have to repeatedly insist that the true subject of the work is the invisible "distance between" the elements you are presenting, you are confessing that the elements themselves cannot carry the weight. It is an empty exercise in serializing his defense mechanism.