Nights
This is a show about the edge of a night city. How things get built, how things get sold. All things have their time, peaks of activity and then the long wait for their own sad slump. The landscape turns to real estate, speculative development turns viral and things need to be put places. A mass of objects will come back to us. Stargazing is interrupted by a security torch, moonlight can’t compete. The guard dog’s on the loose and it can smell your stinking fear.
This room contains a family trip, someone dreaming of a petrol station, thinking architecture, blank newspapers, empty containers, obsolete carousels forever looping, exponential growth, dying daisies, security-guard torches, pyrotechnics on the edge of an island, moonlight blue, everywhere and everything, nowhere and nothing.
The container is an architectural site of things and thoughts, real and imagined objects. Most of these things are asleep; stuck in a still-life. Stuck on an island. Aside from the river of concrete, rolled over by people on their way to different places, this place is surrounded by an ocean of mud. From whichever direction look, it’s all you can see.
North – ocean of mud
North by east – ocean of mud
North east by north – ocean of mud
North east by east – ocean of mud
East by north – ocean of mud
East – ocean of mud
East by south – ocean of mud
South east by east – ocean of mud
South east by south – ocean of mud
South by east – ocean of mud
South – ocean of mud
South by west – ocean of mud
South west by south – ocean of mud
South west by west – ocean of mud
West by south – ocean of mud
West – ocean of mud
West by north – ocean of mud
North west by west – ocean of mud
Northwest by north – ocean of mud
North by west – ocean of mud