Parker Lev Dupain

There’s space, maybe much. I am careful here, and at a loss. Every room holds a structure of generalisation. We are inside yet positioned otherwise; bound by shapes we can’t escape. There is a persistence toward that which denies arrival. Theory never quite holds, though it’s unclear what could—bags, hooks, chairs, teeth. Forms overlap and accumulate, producing a density of relation rather than a singular image.
Everything hovers at the seam of abstraction and representation. I am confidently uncertain that what remains is not resolution but a completely ordinary triumph against every capitalist instinct, managing to leave some space empty.