Stretched inside-out, an absorbing grid of woven new-born diapers lines time-worn walls. Encompassing the door and turning a corner, The Wall (US) articulates both structure and membrane, and vacillates across ethical lines.  Comprising hundreds of individual units, the padded field undulates in a mesh of criss-crossed white cotton, each unit encased in a sleeve framed by plastic and elastic. From afar, The Wall (US) describes the distant aerial planes of an uniform yet divided landscape. Up-close, it is unruly in its details.

This expanded and absorbent canvas is primed for participation. Blurring the sacred and the profane, The Wall (US) is both sublime and seductive. It pulses with the visceral draw of skin and flesh, stimulating memories and deep emotions. Each unit reveals unique skin-like folds and creases, redolent of interior private spaces. The encased fibres respond–contracting and releasing–as curious fingers inspect soft creamy places. Units repeat in a rhythm and pattern which mirrors human breathing. The sanitised cotton-filled bed holds the sweet pull of innocence underpinned by a naked vulnerability, en masse. Behind the veil of protection and safety is a faint chemical whiff from a white-washed wall.

Inside a historic barn in rural Vermont, The Wall (US) addresses an interior world as a nation outside grapples with increasing divisions, border controls and heightened security. As a permeable border, the woven wall reserves space for new life and bodily functions at the human core, the fabric woven and absorbed into the collective and universal: US. The white enclosure is fixed under the gaze of a free-standing companion, a self-supporting and many-faced object, Alpha Male. The diapered block-figure is a podium for One, staged at bar-height, addressing the backs of people facing the wall. Holding mass, the object penetrates space, absorbing sound and taking moisture from the room.