Here were images at once mundane and utterly strange. House interiors seen from unexpected angles, anything but a human view. Here was an armchair set against an unevenly plastered wall that was simultaneously a white winter sky dotted with tiny shapes, birds—or insects. Here in the highly polished depths of a kitchen floor dark figures stood, staring raptly up at a dog-like mass of shadow gnawing a bone. Attic rafters curved like a saurian rib cage seen from the inside. A group of figures, winged or cloaked with shadow, huddled around a blaze of light that appeared to be an upturned tasseled center lamp-shade sprouting from the “floor,” as above them, hanging from the “ceiling,” a family gathered around the bright glow of a television. On a vast gray expanse beneath floorboards, prone figures blanketed with dust stared upward. The wood grain of a tabletop outlined a man-shape—concentrically enclosed by his winding tail. There was a wardrobe, doors open; pressed amongst shroud-like garments inside, almost camouflaged by them, something not unlike a moth hung.

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