The rooms we occupy quickly become extensions of our field of existence. This is especially true for the rooms that we entrust to witness our most intimate moments, the nakedness of bathing and the unconsciousness of sleep. What we choose to do in these spaces and how we construct or destruct them through private rituals of adornment and accumulation has long been a source of fascination.

A room is a place to keep one safe from the outside world and as such is a source of great comfort, but safety can be isolating, and like a prison cell, a room can just as easily be the repository of great loneliness and sadness. Perhaps we are drawn to rooms because this duality reflects the duality within us all. This may explain why we build personal altars on the surfaces of our desks and bookshelves, neatly arranged mementoes of the past, photographs and fetish objects displayed with the careful reverence of sacred artifacts pointing to hidden worlds of myth and power.

The rooms I deal with now are all hotel rooms. They are completely bereft of such objects and so I make my own alters using the furniture and architecture found in each room. Each arrangement is an affirmation that the most mundane surroundings hold a potential world of wonderment and meaning. I work alone, often at night and after I am done I carefully put the rooms back in their original condition hiding my trespass with the fastidiousness of a criminal. I work while I travel, each room becomes a memory of the past, each photograph a memory object. It’s been 4 years and there are many more hotels to visit.

Text by Alex Yudzon