has a kinship with the Hancock tower (this came to her when she learned they share a birth date). She is always aware of it nearby somewhere during her day-to-day life: on the way to work, jogging in the afternoon, while she has a coffee with a friend. So much so it has become her reflection and her shadow.
Brad Johns designs interiors and furniture. He’s pretty sure User Centered Design is the new Green and deserves all the humiliation of the old Green. He’s not interested in a tepid interdisciplinary blend of art and utility, so he toils at the poles of the spectrum. His “fixes” will be in the cracks. His “handiwork” will be in the bathroom. His “improvements” will be in the closet. And rather than disappearing in the spectacle of the new, or like new, his craft will stand out like a regal sore thumb (or extended middle finger).
Then Megan comes back again. She has another commonality to reveal. This time it is an interest in the control asserted through ownership, where control is a kind of perversion. But this time she shares it with Brad. Sharing is not the right word; it’s more of a clean fight. There they are in the realm that connects identity to the stuff we jones for. Both are direct about desire, but seem hesitant to just acquire and be done with it. What they do share is a shame for wanting.
Brad’s work will be a permanent installation at slow and Megan’s will exist only for the night (although, there might be a bit of blood to clean up later).