NUMBER of OTHER PEOPLE: 0
STEPS WALKED INSIDE THE BUILDING: 899
TOTAL TIME SPENT INSIDE INSTALLATION: 2.5 hours
This space resists narration. I want so badly to tell a love story about it, with it. To say how it revealed something to me but, no. This is the least sexy affair of my life.
The wind blows intensely today I ran into one of the curatorial assistants earlier, inside here and accidentally scared the shit out of him. I was coming around the corner of the dark side. He was walking with headphones in. “You got me good,” he said. And then he showed me how they clean the windowsills.
“I like the light side better,” he told me. “I’m a morning person and the dark side makes me sleepy. In the dark side all you have is inside your head. But this—“ he gestures to the light side, “ is reality.” We parted ways shaking hands and I listen to the silence in his wake.
The scrim walls do not move. They are delicate, light, fragile and at the same time completely inflexible. As I look at them I realize they are the opposite of human skin which is multilayered, self-healing, containing liquids and massive organs. The scrims are dry, light translucent and if they rip, they are ruined.