Drawings of cyclists and passer-byers hang around the gallery walls. Just passing time, maybe off the get some groceries. Oblivious, these drawings are mildly happy in their own space of white wall.
Waiting in the floor's centre is a small pile of paper tombstone drawings. Empty. "We're all empty tombstones in the end" -D. Schneider
There's a weird awareness of our own mortality in the background. Not something we think of consciously. A first morning's thought is not usually: "oh, I'm still alive". But the Grimm Reapers pokes a sharp reminder of our looming demise when realise we're getting older. Slowing dying a little bit each day. Like a film noir suspense soundtrack or stretching an elastic band, this tension makes life just a little bit more interesting.
