Upon entering S is fundamentally aware of the nature of the space. You will agree this is uncommon. Most domestic interiors are to be perceived (if perceived at all), as nothing more than rat runs, thoroughfares between work and rest, passageways into the world with all the edges filed off for smoother access. Nondescript. S is is aware of every connection between every nuance she chooses to put into place to surround her self. What is placed where, exactly where and precisely why. How? Well certainly via her own design. She identifies various issues, directionless mundanities within domestic and public space (both, in their own way, the same), converts these issues directly into patterns – her own elaborate framework, and creates a connective web of solutions to resolve them. This is a patterning only she can see, only she can read. Allusions to spiders and their lairs, spiders that sense even a gossamer touch on the strands of their woven web. S is such a spider. S is such a web and the prey she hunts so keenly is the space itself.On entering, S mentally senses and, in a sense tunes those chords within the space that she first encounters. She reads the terrain, scans the patterns, searches for signs of passing; pausing for the scent. She feels the soft dark wood that frames the screens as she pushes them apart. She is aware of the scent of the lacquered paper. Now, again, this night as on so many others, as she slips her feet upon entrance into the felt slippers awaiting her, she is composed, undistracted, even by the proximity of a mosquito. The soft shunting sound of the screens needs to be attended to, adhered to. It takes a degree of concentration to get the timbre just right when one pulls each screen apart simultaneously because the sound, when it properly occurs, occurs in tandem, and that it splits like this, so rapidly in both directions, like the swish of two scimitars, gives her a feeling of the profoundest satisfaction. When it is done right (thus) it is as though one experiences it in perfect stereo, out of both ears, or rather the separation of both ears when set against the lateral direction of both halves of the screen enables the sound to come from one source overall rather than two sources, experienced ahead rather than from side to side.Then comes the delightful sensation of one particular floorboard which maintains creaks so ancient and deep that to tread on them just so (her practised foot, thus) elicits an inner response remarkably similar to what one would experience on the couch of a decent chiropractor: a set of rhythmic clicks along the spine, each one ramifying into its neighbour.Then the room appears as S walks to the top of the stairs.
S’s mornings in bed represent unique events, a state completely her own, a time of great mental activity. She uses the first solid hour upon waking as a period of careful study, gauging the levels of interference, intercorrelations between herself, the objects around her, the volumes of space inhabited. Again, the patterns. Whether all the constellations within the cosmic sphere of this interior align correctly.
To S, no term is further from reality than ‘still life’. When is it ever still? She understands that every block of stone reverberates with a hundred different kinds of active life. The job of the sculptor, the artist, is to harness these multitudinous impulses, not to fix them but to free them, the animate power the stone holds in the grip of its stasis.