Eric Orr

Anders Tornberg Gallery

Turning my back to the imposing 12th-century cathedral at Lund, the first thing I caught sight of as I entered this exhibition was a “black hole,” a small rectangular aperture in a white wall that opened onto a space- and time-devouring void. Its blackness, surfaceless though velvety, at once oceanic and absolute, effaced the strong sense of historical continuity that I had had only a minute earlier. Disoriented, I caught sight of a flat rectangular screen floating in the void. Seemingly projected upon it was the animated image of a flaming fountain: along a golden upright I-beam, washed over by water, a vertical strip of fire burned. Infinitely enticing and at the same time lethal, it was an image fraught with the painful pathos of the Sublime.

At this point the atmosphere was abruptly dispelled by one of the visitors, whom I had seen enter the show just before me, suddenly walking straight

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