Part solitary scientist/astronaut, part alien, The Mind Spiders are at it again, deep in space, further into your brain. Part of the equation is “scientist trapped in an airless, antiseptic capsule.” A reflection bounces off of concentrating eyes behind glasses: oscilloscopes, charts, and endless danger equations. Loneliness. Exile in the search for meaning. The ultimate, dark “outside”-slash-outsider staring into the distorting, reflective maw of another freeze-dried dinner; completely, totally serrated from meaningful human contact. Under his microscope and displayed by a light projector on the interior wall of his space station are multi-legged critters, small as individual music notes. Spiders of sound. They thrive in voids, they eat the inedible. They make noise. They are legion, nearly invisible, ubiquitous, existing where nothing has a right to live. Harvested in Mark Ryan’s net of science and art, examined, he manipulates them into both beautiful and haunting orchestrations. Unearthly. Inhumanistic. Hail the void.