The green screen is pure visual potential. A stem cell yet to be differentiated as it becomes something else entirely. Skin, muscles, neurons; hair. Its surface upholds no opposition to the possibilities of its potential objects. There’s no tension in the production of its visual arrangements. As opposed to the limits found in the optical capture, of the self-organizing events, of the real. It contains a space so big that anything could fit inside its nothingness. But then, simultaneously, it...