poetics of space
"Are you really looking at that? Do you like it?" Passerby sounds puzzled, almost disgusted.
"I was walking in there and I could smell cloves and spices - all around me - it was coming from the sculpture," I say.
Passerby starts into the gallery, turns and stops, suddenly pleased. "I smell it, too!"
He walks on.
(Detail view, Okitimanaia Ogu (2000), clove, turmeric, annatto, nylon, Ernesto Neto)