SYNOPSIS BY JENIFER EVANS: The first room was quite dark, and empty apart from the glamorous film projected onto the wall and the people who stood watching it and talking, and who looked round when I came in the door. Some of the people were wearing grey t-shirts with home-made graphics in thick golden glitter—Patrick Shier was wearing a P. and Olivier, the Frenchman, was wearing a blue glitter Eiffel Tower. The glitter caught the light from the film and the neon lights of Brick Lane which fill the windows. The other room was also quite bare, apart from a perfectly precise looking sculpture in the middle: pristine light brown cardboard packing boxes stacked to person height to form a tower, a shape similar to the New Museum. Brown packing tape held each one closed apart from the top box, facing away from the doorway, whose flaps were wide open. On two opposite sides, there were colour photocopies of photographs—and inside the top box a postcard was propped—of ballet dancers dancing, and dancers posing, and dancers used in advertising with models. The photographs were carefully, seamlessly attached to the boxes. The look of the dancers was nostalgic and romantic, they had long hair and tights, and embraced and leapt ecstatically.
In the first room again, I eyed the five people in their glitter uniforms, dispersed, watching the film, looking at each other, talking to other people, and realised that when they came together they could spell PARIS. The Eiffel Tower doubled as the A.
In the morning there was gold and blue glitter on the wooden floorboards in the flat, especially around the toilet, and Katie told me the sculpture had been squashed into the big black bins that we could see from the windows, that were meant for the Indian restaurants' waste, when Prêt-a Porter had finished the night before.
In the first room again, I eyed the five people in their glitter uniforms, dispersed, watching the film, looking at each other, talking to other people, and realised that when they came together they could spell PARIS. The Eiffel Tower doubled as the A.
In the morning there was gold and blue glitter on the wooden floorboards in the flat, especially around the toilet, and Katie told me the sculpture had been squashed into the big black bins that we could see from the windows, that were meant for the Indian restaurants' waste, when Prêt-a Porter had finished the night before.
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