Cradled by white walls on two sides, and us on the others, the Superstar is lit by two neon lights stashed in nooks, blurred by the haze of a fog machine. A flatscreen TV, whose screensaver scrolls through stock photo landscapes, shows a fittingly incorrect time (3:30am). A CD player, a mess of black A/V cables, a microphone, two large black speakers. The Superstar, face, ears, and neck painted entirely white, wears a white 3M hazmat suit and black sneakers. The Mirror is stuffed with Styrofoam, lacks hands and feet, and wears an identical suit. Its head is a dull silver balloon. The Superstar poses the Mirror in the corner, and snuggles into its lap. A microphone amplifies the crinkles and crunches of the suits and Styrofoam, the tiny collisions of the two bodies. They fiddle with the CD player, inserting different disks and skipping through tracks until landing on a familiar classical piece.
The Superstar and the Mirror
The Superstar and the Mirror
The Superstar and the Mirror
Cradled by white walls on two sides, and us on the others, the Superstar is lit by two neon lights stashed in nooks, blurred by the haze of a fog machine. A flatscreen TV, whose screensaver scrolls through stock photo landscapes, shows a fittingly incorrect time (3:30am). A CD player, a mess of black A/V cables, a microphone, two large black speakers. The Superstar, face, ears, and neck painted entirely white, wears a white 3M hazmat suit and black sneakers. The Mirror is stuffed with Styrofoam, lacks hands and feet, and wears an identical suit. Its head is a dull silver balloon. The Superstar poses the Mirror in the corner, and snuggles into its lap. A microphone amplifies the crinkles and crunches of the suits and Styrofoam, the tiny collisions of the two bodies. They fiddle with the CD player, inserting different disks and skipping through tracks until landing on a familiar classical piece.