Heat visibly radiates from the sandstone blocks compiling the greatest of the old temples. It is so hot that colour has stopped functioning as expected, and your eyes register acid greens and electric oranges that your rational brain understands cannot really be there. Breathing in the temperatures surrounding you has become an act of endurance, but there’s still a long trek down the fractious path before you reach any sort of shade or shelter. And yet you marvel at the lush growths visible in the cracks between those ancient blocks - blossoms trailing down the temple’s mighty walls - and steel yourself for the journey ahead.
Before long, she is tearing the curious room apart at its very seams, her creative ambitions for sound driving her to pull ancient lampshades from the ceiling, peel plasterboard from the walls. Above all, a mathematician, a scientist - her cassette recorder is her implement, and she drags out both the ethereal and cerebral from the shuffle of furniture against the carpeted floor, or from the plastic snap of the lightswitch. She breathes into the microphone, plays the recording backwards, splices it with the hollow taps of the radiator tepidly issuing warmth into the little basement room. The artist will be remembered as a comet: she has learned to recreate the scorching heat of the Sahara desert just as well as the subaquatic depths of some fantastical watery abyss.
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