I was late today. I am unforgiving with lack of punctuality, even, or maybe especially if I am the culprit.
Ilona was not.
At 8, she had already scoped the place. Taken measurements and even realized that "string would be better than fishing line" because you'll be able to see it. She walked over to Simon Quan to get string and other things.
"And safer" I laughed, I am ruthless with everyone about tardiness, so my banter is just shame disguised.
Ilona Smiling came back with bright pink string, tiny clothespins bright green, pink, orange, blue.
She started right away. There would be no time to waste because she wanted to construct a web for lies inside the gallery space.
Her work was diligent, tedious and required great care, the string is delicate and pops if pulled too tight.
Ilona carefully wove the web inside the space, occasionally asking for "scissors" "tape" "string"
One-worded requests like a surgeon in the operating theater.
The web completed, she invited everyone present to write down, on strips of paper, either a lie you've told, have been told, or heard, and then to crouch through the lines without disrupting the fragile structure and pin it unto the web.
I see many things in the piece, imagine airing out your lies on a clothesline, 'Mek everybady cud si yuh panty'
Admitting, publicly, that you do in fact lie.
It is beautiful. The LAB continues.