‘Open window’ alluded to the window as a threshold: marking the division of private and public space yet also allowing a connection to flow between the two. The most overt physical thresholds in the exhibition were the walls in the gallery which had either been constructed by the artists as vertical metal beams with about a metre between each. Meanwhile, pre-existing walls had parts of them removed creating a view through them which lead to slight disorien- tation when navigating the space.

Walking through the show felt like being in an early, low-tech video game. Within each constructed ‘room’ sat one to three sculptures, either sourced or fabricated on the artists’ instruction.

In total there were 13 sculptures comprised of hollowed-out forms that bore traces of 90s cartoon aesthetics (for example, a tortoise shell reminded me of Ninja Turtles) – these were collectively called Bird Feeders, followed by their literal descriptions, such as Casket, Chest and Butter Churner. Encountering these works was like stumbling on an object in said game (a treasure chest recalling Nintendo’s Super Mario Bros. was one of these objects) and not knowing what to do with them except, of course, consider them as artworks. As objects of contemplation they leered back with garishness and opaque meaning. In an interview the artists explain the notion of ‘bird feeders’ as a space that requires a reciprocal exchange, much like the virtual world where content is proffered, and data is extracted. The stand-out sculpture (and, somewhat ironically, most Instagrammed) was a promotional figure for Ritalin from the 70s. Made of polystyrene and sitting below hip height, one side showed a beaming face in green, the other an anxious face in blue.

This figure created a connection between the decreasing attention spans that our phones allegedly induce and the focus that this pharmaceutical drug provides.