This piece is associated with the Red Space series.
You find yourself standing in a completely red room. Bright. Red. Inescapable. Everywhere. Not small as to be claustrophobic, but encroaching nonetheless. It extends in every direction, as far as the eye can see, and stretches on ahead of you no matter how far you go. It hangs in the distance, just out of reach, but always imposing. Even time and memory bend to its will, and every second blurs into one, eternal, red, moment. How do you feel? Small, frightened, uncomfortable, desperate? All normal responses, but there’s another word for this place: Hell. As the reality of eternal redness sets in, it becomes clear that red is all you will ever see, no matter where you look, where you go, what you do, or how long you wait. You might scream, cry out for help, run, or search for a weapon, but it’s futile, for all that exists is this red space. This brings us to Part 1: Panic.
If the experience is truly eternal though, then time is limitless and eventually even torture becomes background noise. All that remains is boredom, endless time, and possibility. Imagination is the only coping mechanism that could soothe such an existence, and you begin to create, frantically, producing piece after piece until your mind contains an entire gallery. In a more peaceful domain, your work might be sensible, but not here. Everything you produce is skewed in ways that would offend Euclid and bore Escher, and the more you try to correct the perspective, the worse it gets. Eternity slowly rolls on, and your art bleeds through the frame, until your mind fills with distorted fiction. The distinction between the gallery and the artist collapses until you are indistinguishable from your art. When this happens you begin to wonder if it was always that way, but there is no telling. This brings us to Part 2: A Multitude of Wrong Perspectives on an Art Gallery.
Where we go next in this endless space is yet to be determined.