In September 1977, the US launched Voyager I into space to explore the outer solar system. We watched it for a little while—we like to watch things on TV—but the general populous of our planet soon lost interest as the spacecraft passed Jupiter, Saturn, and transitioned into interstellar space. Yet its mission continues. The Voyager carries a golden phonograph record, detailing life on Earth as it was understood some forty-four years ago.
Though the committee responsible for its creation spent nearly a year determining the record’s contents, its message is a simple one: We were here. We existed. Please acknowledge this.
The Golden Record is a love letter to no one in particular, pining for companionship in the belly of a hollow moon.
Hollow Moon is an exploration of the transience of existence and individual expectation when the perspective is stretched to lightyears and megaannum. It is a golden record of the ecstatic truths we tell ourselves to persevere when everything we know and love barely registers as a blip on the cosmic timeline. It is a chorus belted into the void: We were here. We existed. Please acknowledge this.