This alluring photograph—which seems tinctured with ideas about containment and release—offers the inhabitable joy of a golden tent (with a square door-window giving into a shadowy, ruminative interior) that is perhaps also one’s body, one’s mind, one’s cradle, one’s casket.
Lee Ka-sing’s title implies that the “Inner rooms” it represents are generative of “Spirit.” Chief among the emblems of spirit born from the tent’s glowing inwardness is a pink, flanged, circular entity (that seems to be curving back on itself, mobius-like)—which is faintly echoed in the tent’s interior (the residue of the pondering that produced it). Backboarding the pink gearlike wheel are big slabs of some mottled, mineral-blue hardness stacked around, the tough products of tender thinking.
