Stretched inside-out, a grid of new-born diapers lines time-worn walls in a historic barn in rural Vermont, while outside a nation grapples with shifting boundaries and the heightening of control. Like breathing, the soft units repeat in a rhythm and pattern which pulses with the passing of time. Encompassing a door and turning the corner, The Wall (US) is both personal and universal; it articulates structure and membrane. As permanent and permeable border, this skewed wall wavers between pure states and subliminal control affecting environments, bodies and minds.  It offers the sweet pull of protection and safety, a sanitised cotton-filled bed, but one underpinned by excess and naked vulnerability en masse and the chemical whiff of the white-washed wall. Fresh and new, the padded field is seductive and sublime, its creamy folds pulling hands in to stroke. Each unit holds unique skin-like folds and creases, revealing private spaces and bodily functions, the deeply personal and human core woven and absorbed into the collective: US. The white enclosure is fixed under the gaze of a free-standing companion, the self-supporting and many-faced object, Alpha Male. The block-figure is a podium for One, staged at bar-height, speaking to the backs of the people leaning into the wall. Holding mass, it penetrates space, absorbs sound and moisture, and takes the air from the room.