There is nothing to my installation save tall mirrors, my arrangement of them. Stand on the welcome mat, look into the first, blue, mirror. You will see yourself, but in some context that your brain supplies. Not standing in a gallery, but kissing someone or killing someone, or making tea or sniffing coke or hoovering. Perhaps you will be sleeping with somebody unknown to you.
A visitor, J Fogg by name, stood on the welcome mat and gazed into the mirror as advised, then slowly, from an inside pocket of his smart Italian suit, he took a glove and, slowly still, pulled it over his right hand then smacked his fist against the glass. A spider's web of cracks spread out across the mirror, and
/ \ / \ The mirror had gone black The glass was bringing on a bout of his depression. full of smakes In the total blackness he had seen a black dog snarling -- seemingly at him Most frightening were shadows thrown by people known to him The image in the mirror with bright light cores briefly changed, became or dew-bright eyes that an X-Ray photograph of him shone and followed him. and showed dark shadows on his lungs and heart, that grew and switched from time to time to dark red, glowing shapes, then back to black Going dark, the glass had left him with the fear that he might sleep -- the terror of The little Death