Rooms, Kangaroos New York, 1976

-out of a broken rib
sprouts an afternoon/"L'heure bleue" (a Proustian inftuation)

These walls enclosing the room so lovingly, isolating it from the world, standing so clsoe in front of you, intermingling with you, standing like guards watching over you, averting their gaze from the corners and the little fur-paws which they do not wish to see at all. Walls opening simultaneously into the furthest depths of the room, for not far from there is a small door- leading to three small chambers- chambers in which you can find everything-every service, device, solutions for all problems and anxieties, whatever. . . And yet they are so tiny, these chambers, that you retain the feeling, continually, that you have never really left the other (main) room- the one from which you most want to separate yourself- and from which you will never completely escape. Nor do you get the feeling of ever having entered a truly new space-no door, no stairs; nothing leading anywhere-as you get the feeling that this is the furthest, most remote point of this already secluded small world place-a place containing even the secrets of certain special movements and motions as hopping and jumping, but always hidden, always concealed.

Once the door leading out of the main room has closed behind you- the door which closes itself, leading you to three small chambers-waiting discreetly, nevertheless, for the moment when you might wish to come out once again- then do you enter the third and final chamber.

this small (final) chamber is in itself like a cage: one in which you could perform the most extreme forms of actions-inspiring you to the highest expressivity of power and isolation, a feeling paramount to and beyond any existing, preconceived limits or barriers.

Rebecca Horn, Gugenheim museum, 1993