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Artists digging holes, Urs Fischer and You, Chris Burden unearthing foundations, Zobernig out in a field a hole as deep as could go, Hans Schabus pulling up his floor to expand the studio into sewers, into the untapped expanse beneath our feet that is the province of the undead, dying, necrophiliacs and mole-people; the living have no business under the earth, making for a projectable and mysterious alter-space conjuring as much speculative-fiction as any, and in art this fantasy projective meeting its pipe dream dead-end is its pathos, of dreams meeting material ends that Revoir attempts avoiding by not digging the hole at all, leaving it to a text to conjure and imbue its potential baroque glory. Yet Revoir's interest in the gratuitously pedantic of say Gass's text entombed here is still the projectable fantasy meeting its end in the material conditions of words, destroying the text hole that eventually ends, exhausted.
