‘9-5, 5-9’ Takes on the Internet Troll

Tucked away within the vast entrance hall of Thoravej 29 – a new cultural hub in Copenhagen’s gentrified Nordvest district – the recently launched Room Room exhibition space boldly claims in its online mission statement that it intends to ‘make room’ for emerging local artists in a small corner of the vast, former-industrial building.

Organized by curatorial platform inter.pblc, the space’s inaugural exhibition, ‘9-5, 5-9’, reflects on the psychological ramifications of an online life, adapting a post-internet sensibility to depict a new form of realism. Opening with commissioned writing by Danish author Ulrikke Bak, the exhibition literature draws our attention to the kind of ‘impromptu speeches’ given by internet trolls. In Bak’s short text, the attacks made by such trolls are disguised as self-expression: ‘I do not only troll. There are things I cannot share with people face-to-face, so writing in longform has been comforting and helpful.’ Correspondingly, ‘9-5, 5-9’ is saturated with monologues, often delivered through a physically absent speaker, couched within hyper-individualization and isolation. Despite trolling’s far-right connotations, the curators here seem to prioritize the commercial usefulness of individual expression over proposing a structural critique of trolling’s relationship to race, gender and class.

‘Well, sorry, I didn’t know anyone was here …’ A soft but confident voice from Jules Fischer’s sound piece I wish I could quit you (2025) fills the gallery, launching into a monologue on the commercialization of synthetic materials in hormones, facial surgeries and clothing, explicating the desire and difficulty to be in an intimate relationship whilst highlighting the middle-class consumer as the main subject of the scientific evolution of the mid-to-late 20th century. Gesturing towards the commodification of sexual liberation, the voice concludes, ‘We lost ourselves, and each other.’ During the opening, Fisher’s sound installation was accompanied by their choreographic work LESIONS (2025), performed by Lydia Östberg Diakité. Miming the monologue, Östberg Diakité took over the room, initially appearing to speak to the audience. After a while, however, it became clear that the spectators functioned as a mirror for this character, who was seeking contact with the surrounding spotlights more than with people’s eyes. While mourning the loss of intimacy, Östberg Diakité quickly left the suddenly silent room.

A more comedic version of the solitary individual is the protagonist of Sara Sjölin’s film News From New York (2025), which features the artist, operating from behind a hand-held camera, provoking awkward encounters during a film shoot by approaching the crew while they’re on their breaks and initiating a cinematic monologue of her own. Recorded in her slow, gravelly voice, undergirded by a strong Swedish accent that conveys emotions ranging from laughter to abject misery, the footage apes the aesthetics of 1960s socially critical reportage which seem at odds with today’s self-centred and over-mediatized world. While Sjölin shows an artistic interest to involve people in her solitary shooting, the camera forms an effective shield that protects her from any harm that real encounters might entail. On a nearby wall hangs Javier Alvarez Sagredo’s large triptych Untitled (Isolation) (2025).  Around a cloud of red, screaming paint, the artist has daubed words and phrases in bold black capital letters – such as ‘ISOLATION’, ‘LACK OF COMMUNICATION’ and ‘NO COMMUNITY’ – that read as statements of fact rather than actual attempts for interpersonal connection.

By delving into the construct of the monologue without distinguishing the difference between the genuine human need for self-expression and far right trolls such as Elon Musk and Donald Trump, ‘9-5, 5-9’ depoliticizes the urgent question of how we relate to each other, and to ourselves, beyond the control of corporate platforms – whether they pertain to the art world, to social media or to the broader industrial-political complex.

‘9-5, 5-9’ is on view at Room Room, Copenhagen, until 11 April

_{Main image: Justin F Kennedy, hollow gram, 2025, floor, holographic folio cut-out, 15 × 15 cm. Courtesy: Room Room, Copenhagen; photograph: Brian Kure}