Things are well in the computer section of the studio. In the main section of the studio, where all three still lives reside, synchronized shutters of three cameras click away at equal intervals sending images to respective computers. Cables running across the floor between the main and computer rooms act as the lifeline of the project. Images are stored on numerous drives and backed up.
A rhythmic hum of the window fan in the still lives room adds to the sound of the shutters and the hollow sound of clean air is being sucked in and sealed by the computer section as we open and close the doors (another specific studio design element required of us for the project).
Changes continue to occur but in an odd way. I finally figured out the difference in the rotting process. The organic structures are not really decaying. They are scorched by the sweltering studio heat.
The studio we were asked to move to is not climate controlled and while windows are partially open, fresh air is not designed to enter as foul air (if any) is continuously sucked out by the fans. Our studio design resembles a cocoon.
Efforts to water and spray the organic matter of the still lives seem to be in vain. Lemon skins turned to hard protective armors before mold had a chance to form on some. Others rotted partially.
After daily routine of applying moisture the roll now resembles a rock sculpture rather than molded bread.
All seems to be still in the project. Yet nothing is.
However unnoticeable, a quiet state of disarray seems to have set in.
Just two days ago, the salt, sugar and spice plate was filled with almonds.
Today, a few are only left. The cheese is still untouched.
