White Walls

I want to take a room and turn it into a sculpture. Make a sculpture of a room. I want to walk through a wall, make an opening in a wall. I took a wall and made a sculpture out of that, cut a hole through it, I cut a hole in the wall, I made a sculpture of a wall and walked through it. I'm not sure what that is, exactly, but it's not architecture. An opening in a wall is a space you can walk through, a passage, for a moment you're actually in a wall, passing through it, part of it. An opening is a way to walk through a wall. I made a sculpture of that opening and I walked through it. A small space for one person; a room for a couple; a larger room, space for a small group of people. Above all, an empty space, waiting for something to happen. White Walls is a maze of spaces opening onto one another, a mirrored corridor of doors, a space formed by the movement of bodies passing through it. A door in the corner, a corner door. A door frame, a drawing the floor. Not a real door, more like a sculpture of a door. A sculpture that walks through a wall. To me the most exciting sculpture problem is to try and make something that remains unfinished, something without a precise physical form, a formless thing, incomplete, infinite, restless. In its original installation at the Boijmans Museum, the work was a series of five rooms, connected by nine passages, a particular configuration determined by a particular space. But doors open onto other spaces, other rooms, and there are dozens of possible configurations of the work. I think of White Walls that way: not as a specific arrangement of rooms but as a series of passages, doors opening onto other doors, never closed.