You know how when you’re stumbling out of the subway towards the office and the non-intentional assemblage of door/gate/chain/lock/mirror in the stairway stops you in your tracks to go hmm? No? Just me? Well, this corner at the 42nd Street A train stop reminds a bit of a Louise Bourgeois room installation. A cage. A wobbly reflection. A heavy sense of emotional stagnation catalyzed by traumatic childhood memories of adultery. Yeah.
Domestic Incidents by Louise Bourgeois, Tate Modern, Turbine Hall 2006