Is it true that the extent of our world is defined by our gestures? That the intimacy of our world is all there is? Certainly it would seem that the familiarity of our gestures is a comfort and a limitation at the same time. Discomfort with our indexical apparatus, all those semiotic shortcuts the body frames for us, the positing of the formation of signs, the way that the body’s loquaciousness linguifies with the tongue. But, like a small town, it can give the impression that all that can be gestured to/at/with/against, is all there is, no other codings are possible. The formation of a gestural ‘ball’ or hull traffiked though the body on top of body layered strata, the circumscribed flux of energies all meet the demands of the gravity field of the body, social, private, esoteric call, arc back to the fleshy core.
But what if gestures are masks, camouflage covering over a void, a null set. The original hollow sphere would not be the first intelligent machine but the first human. No wonder then, the arduous attempts to peer beyond the veil of fleshy ardor (think that medieval drawing of the head stuck through the firmament of the earth to see the stars in their infinite wonder) and the disbelief that often results. The figurations and interactions of these hulls or husks carries their own narcotic hooks and intoxicating fervor, as well as limiting valves or governors. To go beyond leads to angels and dragons. Best to say–and stay– in the village itself, says the local soothsayer, propheteer as he gestures hello (same gesture for goodbye).