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Effects of a Room

Tamara Henderson
and Elif Saydam
 
with
 
Tiziana La Melia
and Carrie Smith

 
exhibition design by
Shane Krepakevich


March 15 - April 27, 2013
Opening:
Friday, March 15, 7-
10pm
 
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Room Motion 1

INT. Apartment 501-1856 Frances Street.
Light in a glass of purpureal Kool-Aid sus-
pends a blooming baby’s breath in the liv-
ing room. A cloud of grease enters
through the sliding door. Description prints
on the glass’ clear volume. From the IMB wheeler writer 1000, I am the unpopular
soap opera writer Jack Gable.

Slats shut show the nylon dust on its plas-
tic eyelids. It articles nicotine, fingerprints, exhaust. Light’s glutinous body licks the rosemary bush: getting stuck on its wood-
en effluescent structure. Jack reads the
needle. The brittle fade of shade from the
deep balcony is a measure of the last few months. A recumbent housefly is filled with cigarette butts sporting this season’s fash-
ionable ombré: lax last vowel, wet/dry,
head to toe. The plant’s body posed in light
stop
s as shape…Once upon a time, a mus-
cular thought push up.

This is a documentary of residuum all over
the greasy glass. It is momentary and
legible in the faint light, which the raindrops brought particle by part-
icle into the gloom and released
, mim-
ing Vancouver’s February sky. Jack stares
at a tiny point of a light that he takes
to be a star but is the glowing tip of a cigarette
, the only visible part is the object in question. Tears of light corus-
cate to article the fingerprints around the
flush handle. When light’s glutinous body
finally hit a plant, it is the third paragraph,
and a chiaroscuro pose is a letter dependent
on light for its continued arrival and main-tenance of form…A knock knock joke, enter
a Faulkner quote, walls are description, description are walls. Positioned at the wheeler writer while I write, it is strange
not to zone into the screen, but into white
on white of the wall. A soundtrack of clunky
words leaving tracks across the paper in
chunky platforms…I remember you wrote something about the speed of light in con-
trast to the speed of plants, which brings me back to the rosemary shrub eaten up by light.

Since Friday the baby’s breath is matching
the frequency of the rosemary shrub. Sneeze. You murmur Ssslabs. Light is two rectan-
gular tables, its propulsion is its geo-metry.
The plant slackens the boundaries between figure and ground. Possessed by its own surroundings, it becomes ground ground.

Tiziana La Melia

1 The change in font weight within this palimpsestic text indicates outside sources: Shane Krepakevich, William Faulkner and Lisa Robertson through Krepakevich, Salvador Dali through Rosalind Krauss.