There are two rooms to
the installation in The Art School. One has music, and is full of people
chatting and drinking beer. It has the atmosphere of an opening of an
exhibition. I am sitting in the other room, wishing I could get an Internet
signal, dreaming of the love of my life, and surrounded by dry ice.
A description in the
style of visual art critics of a few years back, when the nervousness about
understanding the concept led critics to merely relate what they saw, not its
emotional impact: the room is rectangular, the walls painted white; dry ice
hangs in the air, while two mobiles hang from the ceiling; a project from the
corner onto the flat wall, passing through one of the mobiles, which is a
glitter pyramid in a Perspex box.
The impact is calming.
The music and conversation bleeds from the next room, muted and relaxed. The
projection is abstract patterns, kites in an artificially blue sky or shadows
against a window frame. The dry ice wreathes mobiles and air, making the focus loose
and the hard edges of the mobile, even the shadows they cast, are softened.
It’s not a pyramid in
the Perspex box, but an eight sided solid. But it still glitters.
In the other room, the
chat is getting louder and there is a row of lights hanging from the ceiling –
bare bulbs that flash on and off, some red some clear. That is more sinister. I
prefer the safety of my room. The projection has a green hue.
This is a pleasant chill
out zone after the rigours of the music.
Now, in the main bar of The Art School, a video of hot dogs with subtitles. I think it's subliminal advertising because I am getting hungry.
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