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Every morning on my walk to work I pass Becket House Immigration Office. Every morning a sluggish queue wraps around the building, often accompanied by sounds of aggravation at the bureaucratic inefficiency and stupidity that inevitably afflicts the staff inside. St Thomas Street divides this miserable group from another miserable group – of suited figures trudging to the office – while at the same time identifying clear disparities in both wealth and race among the two. In an era of unprecedented human displacement and consequent artistic responses (Richard Mosse’s 2017 Barbican exhibition and Ai Weiwei’s documentary, Human Flow, are recent and notable examples), works that clearly delineate boundaries or borders within a gallery context seem not only relevant but also prevalent, recalling airports and crowd control, frittered time, and false impressions – of exclusivity, or even of protection. Yet they are also self-referential, acknowledging the ongoing farce of divisions and hierarchies within the art world and hereby simultaneously relaying the juxtaposition of interior/exterior to both interior and exterior.

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