I re-enter the warehouse themed building through a side door, feeling refreshed from the cold winter night’s air. It’s almost as if reality came to a hold for a second. Slowly soothing, then invasively aggressive, the flashing strobes penetrate my restored senses. Climax building up. The pounding kick drum is drenched in cathedral emulated reverb, which makes it sound like I’m listening from a bishop's bathroom stall through thick concrete walls. You know, like those YouTube videos titled something in the lines of “listening to Protection by Massive Attack but you’re in a bathroom at a party”.
The stage is set. The walls are seamlessly covered with mirrors all the way to the top, making it seem like the room is stretching out to infinity. Think Jeff Walls “Picture for Women”, except they’re not regular mirrors, but ones you would usually find in an amusement park. Kinda curved and distorted through a convex, they contort your figure beyond the horrors of perception. Exposing the medium and its spectator.
Apparently, the House of mirrors attraction got its name from Versailles Hall of mirrors.
There are security cameras placed on the ceiling pointing downwards in all directions. The footage is simultaneously being projected onto the mirrors. So, you’re not only looking at your own twisted reflection in the mirror but also at the whole room's projection through dusty particles from an aerial, and at yourself from a 3rd person POV. Skewed bodies translated through 10 FPS and input delay. Like a wormhole, it connects the physical space of the dramaturgy to the imaginary of its echo. You could enter through each one and end up at the other one. This Dan Graham-Esque installation stems from the fact that the building used to be a detective’s office and they had a bunch of old spy cameras lying around the storage. Or at least that’s what I’ve been told. Makes for a catchy concept, I guess.
Here come the two main actors of the play. My double and me.
“Hey, you seem familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?” my Doppelganger says.
“What did you say? I can’t hear you, it’s too loud.” I shout over the clipping hi-hats, which cause a ringing sensation in my ears.
With matching movements, we continue our choreography in a more reserved spot of the room.
“I think I know you from somewhere.” they exclaim.
“I don’t know... I don’t know you, but I had two shows at ----- recently.One solo and one duo. Maybe you’ve seen them?”
“No. That’s not what I’m talking about.” “Are you sure you’re not famous or something?” they add.
“No. You must be confusing me with someone. I’m sorry.”
Totally frazzled, I rush outside again. The sound of saliva running down my throat, creating a clicking noise, merges with rapidly accelerating rhythmic heart-beats mimicking the BPM inside the mirrored chateau.
I feel like passing out.
Someone, which I only recognize as my friend at a second glance, yells my name and I join them standing out front.
“Who was that person you were just talking to?”
“I don’t know. They said they recognized me from somewhere, but I’ve never seen them.”
“Really? That’s so weird. You guys looked like a parody of each other. Hedi Slimane heroin chic mixed with three tablespoons of pastiche and 12mg of hysteria. Two lean figures wearing black pointy Wyatt boots with slim-cut tailored suit pants tucked into them. Plus, they also had the same Ziggy Stardust tribute type mullet that you got last week.” my friend laughs.
“That’s not funny. I feel sick.” I exhaust.
“Get over it. It was probably just some weirdo. Any clue through which door we can get back in?” my friend asks.