Does a place have a story? No. We bring story to a place. Here is a gallery. Here was a prison. Here once was a swampy marsh. Now everything, before nothing, once everything and nothing. And in the future what will it be? Always this, we hope, but what do we know.
It was unscripted but heady the change of use, from prison to gallery. Nothing is special about once being a swamp. Everything comes from the swamp, the primordial gloop. We all start here but do we go to jail or the gallery, to see or to be unseen?
Once at the graveside no one made a sound.
With critical eye each stepped up to behold
The fitter slowly sink into the ground
As if still hoping to catch him in error
Now that he had to plug his final hole.
He rests with God. The earth covers him over
(Verse 14 of Gerrit Achterberg Ballade van de gasfitter. Achterberg – poet and prisoner)
We are from mud and go to mud. We are alive but some things are dead pretending to be alive and some things are alive pretending to be dead.
Paul Noble 2013