Three images are attached to the wall by a single point. They fall skewed, diagonally pulled down to the floor, in the way you would expect gravity to ensure. What is this a symbol for other than a law of the universe? You can stipulate the logic. But why bother? In synchroneity with the exactitude of Groombridge’s decision making, cloaked by the material physicality, there exists boundless inventions – nebulae of explanations. They exist liberated of quantifiable reason. The only substantiated truth is that you can place them in the palm of your hand and feel their weight.
Trace the line. Taste the colour. Teeter on the edge. Listen to the material murmur. The space is speaking to you. This language is different – a brand-new alphabet.