At Carriageworks, the performers themselves were dwarfed by the magnitude of the installation, as they used tuning forks to create sine waves, which were projected onto giant screens above them. In other instances, the performers randomly rolled tiny ball bearings across horizontal screens, which were also subsequently projected to immense size. During this time, one suspects Ikeda had been lurking somewhere off-stage with his laptop, like some other-worldly deity, pressing keys and initiating the largely monochromatic interstellar feast that flooded the many screens at incomprehensible speeds.

Superposition is, as Ikeda says on his website, “about the way we understand the reality of nature on an atomic scale and is inspired by the mathematical notions of quantum mechanics.” Few among the audience would have had any clue about quantum mechanics—this writer included. A brief dip into the internet suggests it concerns “the concepts of quantization of energy, (and) wave–particle duality.” With that in mind, perhaps the best way to enjoy Ikeda’s performance is not by trying to grasp such opaque mechanisms, but by indulging in the moment provided by the installation in a purely visceral way. After all, superposition explores not so much a narrative journey of discovery, but the inevitable collision between science, nature, art and the interstices in between, which seem to be Ikeda’s prime concerns.

In superposition, interspersed within the rapidly changing sound-scape, are trite statements that flash on the screens, only to vanish before the audience can devour them. From what this writer could grasp, Ikeda’s statements flirt with axiomatic universals truths, such as “Facts do not speak,” “Information is not knowledge,” “What is Love? Never ask” and “What is matter? Never mind.” In a world beset with rapid change, only universal truths remain constant, anchoring humanity to what is humane. And perhaps this is Ikeda’s point.

Superposition is an astonishing work by an artist whose ability to reinvent himself and grow into ever greater electronic depths is staggering. Yet ultimately the work delivers no alternative to the inherently hermetic universe it creates. For Ikeda, experience seems to be what matters most in his works. In many ways this parallels the trajectory of much of what we seek from the media- and technology-driven life today, where experiential overload takes precedence over meaning.

The sound-art genre has come a long way since the early 1980s, when American experimental performance artist Laurie Anderson stood on stage with her electric violin and used magnetic tape for a bow to blitz the audience with what were then high-tech sound effects, in a performance meant to address issues of technology and communication. The same questions that were posed by Anderson then are ones that still intrigue Ikeda today—namely, about the infinite vastness of the cosmos and humankind’s futile quest to understand it. The inevitable difference is that Ikeda can use the lingua franca of modern technology to seek elusive answers. However, to attempt to define and analyze exactly what Ikeda achieves in all this is a redundant exercise. It is far better to allow Ikeda  “to engage warp speed”—as Captain Kirk would say in Star Trek—and hope the audience hangs on tight.

Superposition was on view at Carriageworks, Sydney, on September 23–26, 2015.