While in Ottawa on Easter weekend, Rachelle and I visited the National Arts Gallery and saw Work No. 202: Half the air in a given space. This Martin Creed installation gives form to air, I think. Creed measured the volume of oxygen in a large space, and then captured half of it, filling the room with almost 20,000 black balloons. In short, he created a contained environment jammed full of oppressively present balloons and invited people to wander through. It sounded like a fun thing to experience– like going to a Bouncy Castle– and we waited in line with about 15 excited teens as if it was a ride at the Ex.<\/p>\n

As we were waiting, two people inside the exhibit started to pound desperately on the wall. The security guards manning the installation jumped into action and opened the door, and amidst a spill of balloons a guy and girl emerged, each one in a panic, shaking and pawing at themselves as if covered in worms.<\/p>\n

Rachelle looked over at me, \u201cYou\u2019re going to freak-out, aren\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n

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\u201cNo,\u201d I said quietly.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt says right there on the wall that people with claustrophobia shouldn’t go in. You can\u2019t see at all in there. It\u2019s nothing but black balloons, and if you\u2019re prone to anxiety, it might not be the best experience for you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not prone to anxiety,\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n

\u201cPickle,\u201d Rachelle answered, \u201cyou have sweat on your upper lip and your left eye is twitching, just like when you have a good hand in cards. Are you sure you want to go in?\u201d<\/p>\n

I went in, dissolving into the balloons.<\/p>\n

<\/a><\/p>\n

The acoustics were muffled and you really couldn\u2019t see anything but the latex exterior of the black balloons. Dislocating rather than threatening, it was still an uncomfortable feeling. I moved slowly about fanning the balloons away as best I could, but they immediately reconstituted around me as if trying to attach and feed–an assembly of \u00a0 jellyfish clustering. It was disorienting and as I inched along the perimeter the room became denser and hotter, the air feeling remote and less accessible. I had no idea how to get out or how large the room was and I was starting to feel a little anxious, and then \u00a0I heard somebody softly crying. I thought it might be part of the exhibit, but I wasn\u2019t sure.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs somebody crying?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m fine, \u201c a woman said, \u00a0“sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n

I shuffled along the wall toward the voice, eventually coming into contact with somebody slumped to the floor.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you need any help?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d she answered, \u201cI\u2019m okay, thanks. I’m not panicked or anything, just a little emotional. My mother died recently and whenever I was feeling lost, she was always there to help guide me, you know? \u00a0It’s a silly thing, but this just brought her right back to me. I’m really fine and sorry for the little scene.”<\/p>\n

And then I heard her get up and move off into the balloons.<\/p>\n

<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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