I stand under the sun, it glares its all seeing eye down on my bare skin. I shout and scream, Im not heard. The lights of control take a hold, I’m retained in the autonomous glow of subduction, you have this, take that but all is control, this is their plan, their model of control.
Crows attempts to break out of this apparatus. Never leaving, contained in my box of independence. The box is inside a box its contained by the gallery walls. a box within a box much like the panopticon the apparatus stands tall in the middle of the gallery space. The audience surrounds the box much like the inmates. Patiently they sit and wait watching, seeing.
