Our relationships to images are far more mutable; we exalt them for their adaptability, readily dislocating them for infinite possibilities of a reencounter. Are bodies and objects equally meant to be on display? In this gallery there are three walls and one window; the window — the frontal view — reveals four photographs, and at least one body. Two photographs are framed under glass; two additional photographs fill the wall to be framed by the floor and the ceiling. How do bodies enter into an image —, to a piece of paper saturated with chemicals? We expose ourselves to images incessantly, but they almost never contain enough space for us to share in. These photographs are coming closer to us, removing certain veils we’ve felt before, extending backwards and forwards, side – to – side. We start to feel a kinship, a déjà vu, a particularity with the objects within. The collapsing of space is something we often discuss in our image – privileged age. To flatten is to simplify, and surfaces are seductive. We can easily grasp flatness, because we’ve been well –trained to rely on other cues to fill the space. On set — whether theater or (pre - CGI) film — scenic flats are three–dimensional objects which utilize two–dimensional pictorial techniques to allow actors and audiences to locate themselves in equally ordinary or fantastic worlds. Actors disappear behind flats, without ever entering into the world that the flat depicts on its face. Actors and audience members alike are acutely aware that nothing exists behind the flat, only a sandbag and a shadow. In this case, to have greater perspective — that is, to be “behind the scenes” — is to lose sight of the transporting image, leaving only the generic object.