In Ocotepec, every year, the community stages the Passion of Christ across nearly four square kilometres of streets, hills, and open ground. Everyone knows it is staged. Everyone plays their role anyway — neighbors becoming soldiers, a local man becoming Jesus, the whole town performing its own myth with complete conviction. A collective agreement to inhabit a fiction that everyone believes in and nobody mistakes for reality.

Three recording technicians entered the celebration with a single instruction: move freely. No predetermined paths, no fixed positions. If you encounter each other, no problem — but don't stay together long. Jesus moved through the space as he always does — not a fixed center but a gravitational presence, sometimes surrounded by all three microphones, sometimes approached by none.

The three resulting stereo tracks were synchronized and mixed into a single stage tape. In the edit, I altered the acoustic linearity — the natural physical relationship between a listener and a sound source in space. By shifting the relative volumes of three simultaneous recordings, I constructed trajectories no body could have traveled. The listener moves through Ocotepec in ways that were geometrically impossible at the event. An impossible witness, placed inside the celebration by an edit rather than by presence.

At the premiere, percussion, clarinet, and brass band played on stage while the tape surrounded the audience from behind. The concert hall became, temporarily, Ocotepec.

This is Field Logic as sacred geography: three free-moving nodes, a gravitational attractor at the center, no conductor, a global form emerging from purely local decisions.

La Pasión según la Gente is the mother piece of much of what followed — Mextoys, The Mexican National Anthem, Teleprompter, Hearing in Bed, Fatalismo Mágico, and others. The question it asked first — what does collective behavior look like when everyone is simultaneously sincere and performing — has not stopped producing answers.