The procedure is clear: We get a generator, lay a long power cable into the middle of the hall, and from there musical instruments, amplifiers, projectors, laptops, synthesizers spread out in all directions. A drum set is set up here; over there, the projector brings the fully spray-painted wall to life. Acoustic and visual waves ripple through the space. The saxophone’s tone winds around the hall’s pillars, melting into the reverberation and pairing with the rhythmic squeaking of styrofoam that was already here before us. Laser beams cut through the room, making the ceiling disappear. At the end of the hall, there are giant, almost superhuman shadows dancing in the light beams. When you watch the source of these shadows, the dancers, you’re fascinated by how focused yet carefree their performance melds with the rest.

It steadily builds up. The performers take turns at the microphone. It’s clearly improvisation, but it’s hard to understand this event as a typical jam session. Rather, it’s a process limited by temporal and spatial capacities. A few hours later, you won’t see any trace that we were even here. Welcome to Synchronization. Because if you translate this word from Greek, you realize: ‘syn’ means together and ‘chronos’ means time.