They call him an artist because they don’t know what else to call him.

He works alone in a white room with a mechanical metronome and an analogue video recorder on a tripod. He sits the metronome on a white cube and moves back to view it through the camera.

He films the metronome for 3 hours 58 minutes. Until he runs out of tape. Later, he will inspect the video for any signs of movement, but find the metronome is still.

Satisfied, he carefully (very carefully) turns the metronome so that he can switch it on. His fingers gently brush the dial and he sets it back in place. Now the metronome is swinging. Click-clack, click-clack, click-clack.

He works with the sound (click-clack) at his back as he takes out the first full-sized VHS tape (click-clack) out of the video camera and places in another. The tape compartment shunts back into the body of the device with a satisfying clunk.

Click-clack, click-clack, click-clack.

The artist looks through the viewfinder and makes sure that the metronome is in focus (click-clack). He takes his eye away from the camera and watches the metronome with his naked eye. Then he looks at it through the viewfinder again. He continues doing this for some time, switching back and forth between views like a man stepping between dreams.

Click-clack, click-clack, click-clack.

He presses record and he can hear the tape start rolling through the camera. It is a plasticky, wet sound that he can only hear when he’s right up close. He carefully steps back from the camera (click-clack). A red LED is lit up next to word REC.

The artist films the metronome for 4 hours and 2 minutes. Until he runs out of tape. Later, he will inspect the video for artifacts, seeking any deviation in the substance of time itself.

He will not find any.