Bodily existence, no matter how attenuated and disembodied, means being condemned to a purgatorial state while caught inside an unstable and threatening reality.
The strings larded the lean earth as they plodded sclerotically along; even the big, brass-capped scream which breaks up valedictory hymns and purgatorial wanderings somehow pulled its punches.
In fact, through a series of narrative progressions the visitor is innocently plunged into a purgatorial route through the gallery's dimly lit spaces while watching and, unwittingly, being watched.
