But, what prompts the artist to produce these inscriptions in their multiple formats? This is where the  Sylvia Molina teacher, the Sylvia biographer (for the moment not imitating any artifical intelligence), takes on the role, the spider weaving together all these severed threads in danger of hanging loose. Sylvia, Ariadne, stitches and weaves like Ada Lovelace on the imaginary loom of her analytical machine.
However, this script is not only transdiciplinary. It is also  transmedia storytelling. Writing on a page is not the same as writing on a screen or on a MIDI (musical instrument digital interface). The word “page” derives from the Latin pagina which, in its turn, is linked to the pagus, a Roman geographic or territorial unit and the verb pangere meaning to plant, or insert a milestone in the earth. A page is written on and it is a terrain susceptible to inscription. Paint and die-stamp. It is about structuring the space, this space that is not merely the page but also the space of script and thought and of art. What is the topology of this space? Beyond the lines or the verses Sylvia’s spaces end up composing a network, a rhizome or a fabric. Donna Haraway and Sadie Plant defend the importance of the fabric as a genuinely femine element. And Sylvia follows in the footsteps of these renowned weavers. The itineraries through Stockholm are transformed in 40 ark, a tapestry on paper which is then transformed into music (background sounds and the musicians who worked with the artist). Footseps through a city that become musical notes. A stroll that transforms into a melody. Like all good metaphors, a hidden truth is revealed.
Any translation needs a translator, and an interface, an interface that connects the analogic (paint, thread) and translates them into digital.zeros and ones. Black and white. We speak of Bitmap but also of Kintsugi. Binarism is used here not as a computational tool but as an artistic expression, as essential symbology that refers to the opposites of Heraclitus or the Taoist yin/yang.
We have already mentioned that Sylvia’s work follows the topological model of a fabric, of a tapestry. Thus space is more important than time. In Diálogos inesperados, there is an intertwining of times, a glimpse of the disciplines. Sylvia has created an Aleph, a circle of Paradise, a dolls’ house inhabited by the men and women she admires (Warburg, Bohm, Benjamin, Heisenberg, Deleuze, Gould, Asins) and who converse, a genealogy declared by the artist, all keys that help us to understand her particular vision of science, culture and thought. Simultaneously, time becomes a mere anecdote as we can see in one of the texts in the artist’s book.

Qué hora es/

qué pregunta más absurda/

perdón

[What time is it/

What an absurd question/

Excuse me]
The text is a tapestry as is memory. A fabric on which we weave our weft while we resemble it,  just as the mollusc simultaneously both generates and carries its shell. It is a memory linked to the narrative while returning to its condition of object/space in Papel líquido or in Cartas de amor. The objects (ash and paper), bestowed with a sense of pregnancy, refer us to a tale that distances them from the utilitarism of their manufacture. The artist’s  alchemy  (certainly a true Benjaminian) that consists of taking a residue and endowing it with an aura.
Sylvia Molina does not present monolithic proposals that seek success by repeating the same, more or less adequate, formula. Sylvia explores, she searches for new avenues. She discovers fragments to be remade and she stitches them into the fabric where we discover the essence of her work. When all is said and done, as one of her personages in Diálogos inesperados says “The fragment unites us all, Warburg, perhaps this might be a good moment for us all to define our Space”.
My final recommendation is simply to come and see (or hear and read).