each man kills the thing he loves
This project was conceived by Markus Hansen and put together in 2011 in Paris. Each Man Kills The Thing He loves (Chambre Miroir) is an expression of our dependency on seeing limited versions of ourselves reflected in someone else’s eyes – and of course our own. The “chamber” (room) is housed in its own modest white labyrinth. Constructed of plywood, a single, doorless entrance leads you and then leaves you with the choice of turning left or right, although neither direction seems to portend any advantage or disadvantage. It is an architectural palindrome with rippling internal palindromes: Eve damned Eden, mad Eve. Playing softly but consistently is the vaguely annoying song sung by Ingrid Caven from The Ballad of Reading Gaol (after Oscar Wilde). One follows a short corridor cushioned throughout with a common, office-style grey carpet, and we are suddenly in a room with a view: A hi-fi with a pair of speakers, and a spinning turntable; several wires flare out of the back of the turn table and a mirror behind the unit reflects the back of the turntable and high-fi with its inputs and wires. Or does it? You stand in front and examine the machine and then, of course, your reflection (my reflection). The mirror is the sort you see in dressing rooms: Long and inexpensive, edged with metal and often fastened to a wall with clear plastic clamps. The reflection has a greyish tint to it, but when I stand in front it, I’m nowhere to be found.