If one looks up, behind the reflected windows that constitute the cities sphere of accomplishment. There is a house, highly reflective, deeply planted behind the window. This house is not a place, but one of the colours of a dream of somewhere else. Reflected, never articulated.
In the creeks of the table, between a photograph and a diary, lies a small temporary moment of it. You see it don’t you, see the story? In the creeks constructed by the ageing wood that constitutes the table.
In glimpses or prolonged longings, as a natural part of being present. But how can this inarticulate imagery transport itself into the world. Equally ambiguous relations to their representational value, but within the negotiated space, lies a space that out of necessity will have to be constructed by the spectator. Forced through negotiation, dependent upon individual experiences, lies a chance of exploring both individual and collective constructions of the places that are never fixed, but constantly produced.