It was the way in which all of the objects had been displaced all over the floor, sort of hiding on the charcoal surface, in amongst the scratches from old furniture, circles and their relative position, like some dance moves or the lines on a football field, but messy, random, indecipherable, without structure.
The installation was based on Clare’s dream in which everything was dark, and light bulbs and smartphones didn’t emit light, where people couldn’t see each other, just touched and moved, like moles underground, without eyes or eyes at least black. The dream had turned promiscuous, like some S&M basement scene where she was both the observer and the observed, both executing the acts and watching them at the same time. None of this was revealed in the installation though. The objects were almost indecipherable, fragmented in the retina, broken and soft like shells, hard like velvet, lightweight but not in the traditional sense.
It was only when adjusting to the darkness that a concrete container appeared, with ash coloured from the Black Sea and stones in different materials, all found floating on the Pacific Ocean, sort of left over shark’s bites and this promise of eternity. There was a golden time machine which had oxidized and turned black, a button compass swallowed by soldiers, fruits which had decayed into different shades; an apple grey with fungus, an orange brown with mould and a banana which had turned black. The objects further in the distance were difficult to decipher, either because of their shape or the distance to the shape, or because eyes can’t see so far in the dark. The room appeared infinite like the night sky, round like the earth.
There was a tiny radio in the room, the size of a small mouse, but the sounds were coming from somewhere else, the other side of the room, almost like sound bites and fragmented whispers.