Looking back across the gallery, bubbling with the laughter of having defied social convention, my eyes meet the table of knives. Perfect! The kitchen is the heart of every party. At first glance the table looks like a casual somewhat precarious junk pile. The knives must have been dumped drunkenly to dry in the aftermath of some enormous dinner party. But coming closer, I realize each element has been meticulously glued , stuck in its form, frozen in place. The beautifully sculpted, polished and luminescent table knives, are formed and reformed, into architectured chaos. I wonder how this installation piece fits with the images in motion behind me, but as I look up, I see the wall of shimmering lights and shadows reflected by the maze of knives. It seems that even the ordinary rutted patterns of our lives, when illuminated, can throw invisible stochastic rays that cast a shadow on time. After feasting my eyes, I feel it's time to move out to the living room, the entry to my dream home.

Here the clean lines of modernism meet the complexity of humanism. In the portal of the gallery space, float two life-sized, vertical projection screens, suspended by tension wires. The piece is a balanced mix of minimalist lines, defined angles and moving clips of reality. The clean lines and architectural detailing form a sculptural centrepiece. The two screens are transformed with each new image fleeting across the surface. The muted changing colours fill the screen canvas like an abstract painting.

A 16 mm film loop
projects on to both faces of the screen, so the alchemy of the projection can be viewed from almost any angle without interruption. Like the surging wave, the two screens are timed to ebb and wane in changing density and rhythms of colour. One screen is structured to alter around the colours of the spectrum , the other is a collage of close-cropped segments of a woman's domestic life. The visions of an egg cracking in a bowl, or water splashing across a child's face suddenly appear and linger just long enough to become recognizable.

Although I have become a voyeur to these intimate moments, I feel the welcome and warmth of the hearth. The reflections of old home movies are the fragments of common human experience - I do not tire of the repetitive loops of fleeting memory and life perspective. In fact, I feel at home here.

Suzanne Farkas 10/00