On entering there was only a stark black wall directly ahead, but the eyes caught a glimmer of light and turned toward it. And there was a small park with clouds and pathways and a tableau of figures. Not real, they are white and their faces glow with an inner light. But they have eyes. And they are reflected, as in a dream of warped and glowing space. And the viewer became a part of the reflection and the space and perhaps, the time.

There was a walk that circles through ……. around the room (for despite all artifice to turn it into something else, it is a room). Lined by edging stones the path turned liquid by reflected lights. The viewers walk on water. The stones contain the bright green tarps, which masquerade as grass, and hide supports that raise the life sized figures onto rolling knolls.

At the farthest wall, the projected sky turns imperceptibly from blue, with white clouds, to darker, increasingly stormy, and back to blue and white again. So slow was the change that the viewer must pause and watch to be really sure. The walls barely record the difference, as they reflect the light illuminating each figure and coming from the silent faces.

Click on Figures to Read Their Stories