Screening Room
I was going to write an artist statement. I am writing it now.
As I write, an idea might take place between my writing and your reading (or it might not), who knows. By the second paragraph you are meant to know what my work looks like. We are on the first paragraph. Imagine a perfect black square. How would you describe it to someone who has never seen it before? Have I told you that in my language poison and medicine are the same word?
We are on the second paragraph.
Now, close your eyes.
By the time I count to five you will be able to picture the black square from the first paragraph.
One
two
three
four
five.
Imagine a museum, a vast, empty space with objects awkwardly placed on plinths and in glass vitrines. They are simple everyday objects: a child’s shoe, a teacup, a cardboard box, blue paint, a small black-and-white photograph of a stranger, a block of concrete.
Six
seven
eight
nine
ten.
You can open your eyes now. The objects from the museum appear before you as you realise that we have been travelling in time for the last paragraph.