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   < title >_NOW YOU ENTER A BOX</title >

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        < body >_the artists interweave a compilation of the death of men in asphalt _through a drill as History, provocation as a middle-aged trail, they unwind scenarios of mortality and immortality _tiny paradoxal scars overwhelm a twisted confusion, a faded dream looking straight at you _as a plugged sidewalk, it documents the obscured objects, weaved endlessly yet short-lived _notting hair of anachronisms, wrinkles of nostalgia, flowers of evidence and bushes of internal politics, disentangling the critical continuum together with uncoiled cultures of brown, yellow and white sunshines, their occult path prolifically stretches _the macabre woman and the Iron boys therefore become vehicles of a bald romance, pulling upon the institutional memory of the hidden, its uniforms and glass-foreheads _depicting a surreal left cheek, fenced by a sense of purple-green and black, Unfamiliar eyeballs as lifeless and twisted railings, all linked eternally to the piercing cult of a webbed monochrome  ​

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Text from Nelle Gevers © 2017