Simon made an installation that co-opted the floor in to the surface of a planet, or co-opted a factory floor in to a generational tribute, or co-opted dirt in to memory. The work intermingles the language of the model with materials that are emotionally charged. Simon wrote about the mold growing in the hospital he attended. Here too are arcs of meaning between infrastructure, the body and the surrounding room we stand in. The floor is covered in a black grey dust that emphasises the tracks and trails of installation and previous use and allows the perimeters of the work to spread to all corners. There is a tension between made and organic, but the borders where they rub up against each other are sticky and blurred. It is profoundly horizontal in its nature.

The detached architect or town planner is seldom the inheritor of the building, and so mistakes and shortcuts are made, budgetary restrictions win out. But how about the blueprint contains your father’s burlap, on which, given another reality, his impressions and feelings are expressed? Or the carton packaging is coated in soil from

home, same which grew your vegetables and so grew you? This work fills in these areas usually (intentionally) left blank so that we can bear them. The same is true of the city as of the body. The surgeon can’t

channel the emotions of the waiting family and function. But the reality is that these things do exist simultaneously. In this mature and heartfelt work, Šimon brings us to a level of understanding –

feeling our way among the structures of late / future capitalism as if we really cared, and we find that we do. I look at the familiar forms of discarded packaging and think of a fragile object tenderly carried.

What we inherit, what we do, what we leave. These are the questions posed in this work. Metabolic heat radiates from the body. Circuits and cities present fins to cool themselves: a shared tactic on the macro and micro. Here we see a dawn over city, sitting softly in plain sight with no idea of its future fate – as a model on an architect’s desk, or from orbit on another planet, I think of how to design empathy in. I think also of Mondriaan, in who’s paintings something feels always about to occur, as if we are witness of the harmony of

the just before the rupture. In Mondriaan’s last journal he wrote: ‘Conscience results from culture. Culture takes time. Youth is unconscious. It still belongs to the past. It is old. The aged man can be cultured, can be aware of his time.He can be young.’

— Lucy Skaer