Someone wiped its feet on the new carpet and stepped into the exhibition room.

"Hell" her man cried out.

A tremor runs through the body — and with it, the paintings begin to shake. A blossom falls from one. From another, a winged turtle drifts across the room. Someone traces a shape on the glass. Beside it, another appears. They merge into perspective. In the corner, a shadow grows. There, where the light doesn't reach, stretchy entities begin to move.

The man stops in front of his reflection but doesn't recognize his face. On the table sits a shoe full of water. The floor becomes a carpet. The carpet — a canvas. The canvas — a masking tape, tracing a path. No one knows where it leads.

The relationship between subject and surroundings mutates into a play of abstraction and symbol, while the reality beneath quietly dissolves.

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