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The burial of the machine. A proxy for our bodies we can continually imagine with earth pressed against metal. The rate of erosion is slow, it will never quite go away, for a continuous mental image of a corroding body. It's there right now, bacteria bumping against skin cold and metal, moisture leaking and permeating micro-fissures in the impervious coating. Objects buried, skeletons in closets. Hiorns concern for metal and meat, the infiltration of each other now an act of myth-making, storytelling, creating an oral history for our moral tales of art, the wall text.
See too: Roger Hiorns at Annet Gelink
