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A series of decisions. Decision which prove intention, intention which becomes a perfume dispersing to all corners of the space. Our noses grow tired of perfume, of rooms, but this has a refresh rate: further and further compositionalizing the room into smaller and smaller sections, fractals, shrinking like that incredible man who finally tiny dissolves into the fabric of the space, everything becomes part of it, the space is "activated," and we are greeted to a total feng shui, everything has been touched. Everyone comments on Gomes's monochromism, painting stuff white, but really they're just seeing mirrors reflecting the walls.
See too: Oscar Tuazon at Le Consortium & Paradise Garage
