This project is composed of three futon-bed frames, each draped with a white covering. The covering is a huge crumpled sheet of paper, which lies directly on the structures of the beds. The sheets move about delicately as if each one wished to flee its protective role. Indeed, despite their flimsiness, they serve as protective screens for all kinds of mechanical paraphernalia attached to the very structure of the beds. Under the rib cage of the first futon-bed are some 200 discarded personal keys. This prairie of keys will sometimes stir and metamorphose into a set of chimes. In the innards of the second one are fourteen encyclopedia volumes. These books are moved around by a simple mechanism and create the illusion that two bodies are tossing and turning under the weight of the paper. With the third futon-bed, a large motor drives a cam that makes the whole structure alternate its appearance—from bed to sofa and back again. Underneath this to and fro is a network of ligament-like strings, some taut and some loose, moving in tandem with the moving wings of the bed. The rising and falling give the paper bedcovers an eerie look of weightlessness. The three futon-beds seem to go momentarily from restfulness to wakefulness, from object to event, and from life to death. As Gaby Wood suggests in Edison's Eve, in creating motion, we also evoke the concept of eternity and the consequential precariousness of humans. “Every time an inventor tries to simulate life mechanically, he is in fact accentuating his own mortality. He holds his creation in his hands, and finds, where he expected life, only the lifeless; the closer he comes to attaining his goal, the more impossible it reveals itself to be.
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