‘Where are you, can you hear me?’
The work of Ann-Maree Reaney and Mona Ryder at Horus and Deloris was indicative of what happens when forms undergo expansion, or a collapse.
Reaney’s self-confident geometric forms were posed in three positions around the room, with a sense of presence, as if they had just appeared. In the way that polyurethane foam leaps out of a spray can and suddenly becomes form, they just seemed to have materialised out of nothingness. The first, in line of sight of the entrance, was a giant, matt black, flat-sided torus propped on its side like a cartoon tyre about to roll away out of the scene. Beyond that, a flat circular disc, slickly painted in a dichromic orange/purple, occupied a wall like a harvest moon beaming down. A dipped area in the centre of this shiny solid form echoed the empty centre of the torus, while quietly mocking the latter’s incompleteness, the nothingness of its hole-in-the-middle. Opposite and therefore out of first sight was an orange wedge, a floor work pressed into a corner. It shared its colour with one colour of the dichromic disc, and shared its particulate rubberised texture with the tyre, so that its between-two-worlds, between-two-walls stance resulted in a split alliance with both of the rounded things in the room.
The dialogue between these three forms was offset by a text-based work in the window, a domestic Venetian blind, perforated to spell the phrase ‘I want to communicate with you’. The reference here was to semaphores, as well as the way Venetian blinds can be quickly flipped open and shut to simulate Morse code. As a window acts as a visually permeable membrane between a building and the