“A carved out cavity”

 

Framed by the sturdy-ish foundations of whatever existed before is a menagerie of objects which are markers of their time. The ones used in the habitual, daily usage of the space: a now rusting sink, a glistening tap, a mirror which still contains the image of the faces which stared into its soul once seeking approval. And there are those which add to the rubble: used tissues, empty bottles, remnants of hunger’s cravings (modern art in a traditional still-life scene). 

The glassless window into this space is part of the line up for shop-front browsing. The daily hubbub of the central street continue their task to seek out new commodities to add to their collections. Arriving here, though, they quickly pass by to the next attraction, seeing nothing but dark hollowness in the carved out cavity of this building. 

They don’t engage, though, in what the cavity might have once looked like filled. An image which could easily be created again or reimagined if they were to take the time to tend to the frazzled wires, to patch up the cuts, tears and wounds in the paintwork and to let light in once more. 

A lone ashtray left on the mantle competes for our imagination. What to imagine: a venue for more reunions; the type which characterise every street in this city. The sort where wrinkled faces prove their comfort in routine. Where everyday becomes the same. Where passers-by pass by again with different faces each time, ones who have managed to escape the cycle which those inside are imprisoned by. 

They are anchored by the ashtray, they struggle to see past the smoky lens over their eyes. Those outside struggle too, to see in. Even now, when the cycle has ended, the memory the ashtray promotes isn’t enough to captivate the eye of the audience outside. Instead, they neglect the memory, they invade its stage, pelting the unwanted items of their day, making the already irreparable even more permanent.