two in one

Two chairs, one room….sitting in their corners, looking at each other.

One spotless, shiny, mint, the other a burnt torso, with toothless backboard.

One encircled with a ring of hundreds of smashed eggshells, the other being a ring itself with a hole as a gaping memory of what once used to be a platform bravely absorbing all a well-fed bottom can offer.

One can smell a diagonal line, unspoken, unseen, connecting the chairs without asking first.

The shiny one poses like a fresh Spanish Riding School graduate, one of its legs flamingo bended, about to flatten the last intact egg, while the wreck opposite guards a volcano of ashes with a dry egg blinking out of its gullet.

One untouched but busy destroying all its hooves can reach, the other destruction itself.
Pride and fall.

Armanda Spice

Chair I

(installation)