The series points to a paradox at the heart of contemporary spectatorship. A feed promises immediacy, yet its endless presence flattens distinctions between memory and anticipation. Delta Sauce thickens time: his frames hover in a slow-burn suspense that invites the viewer to inhabit uncertainty rather than swipe past it. What emerges is an ethics of looking that is neither nostalgic retreat nor techno-pessimism, but a measured attention to the liminal grain where private affect meets public signal.

In "Feed," the border is not crossed; it is sustained. The work holds us in that charged interval, reminding us that the most fertile ground for thought often lies precisely at the edge where images hesitate, where sound lingers, where reality and its distortions remain in open negotiation. From its first flicker, "Feed" positions the viewer inside a place where the low-grade hiss of CRT scan lines meets the bottomless scroll of today’s timelines. Delta Sauce builds each image from the sediment of found footage, sampling debris that once drifted across bedroom televisions and shopping mall monitors. Layered with granular noise and tinged by the minor chords of the music that accompanied its making, the series inhabits what the artist calls a “borderline”: a tonal threshold between the comfort of recollection and the foreboding of a signal gone astray.

These borders have long been fertile ground for artists. Surrealist cinema seamlessly spliced together dream and documentary imagery; early video art exposed the pulse of electronic circuits, and now we see these latent space images extend that lineage into an era when the feed, both verb and noun, become the default architecture of attention. Somehow, Delta Sauce has found a way to stage our current surveillance condition through nostalgic colour palettes which lure the eye, then dissolve into interference. Familiar rooms tilt towards the uncanny as outlines blur, multiply, or refuse to stabilize. The effect is less narrative than atmospheric: images feel overheard rather than presented, as though the apparatus (the latent space) itself were recalling past echoes of other humans using sound and image to negotiate the unknown, torchlight flickering on cave walls, radio static morphing into wartime rumour. "Feed" suggests we are still that species, only now the cave wall is backlit glass and the rumour arrives pre-curated by code.