The empty, exhausted, dying presence of personal sound in public places. The tinny and determined strength of music from earphones. The way that any position of ‘sleep’ makes clothing into drenched sacks, or winter cocoons, and the head and hair are pressed and plastered down in a curled-up austerity, like the actress in ‘Winter Light’. The chair or public ‘couch’ rested on is the dark ground at night while the overturned body glows its mound shape, the center of view from a distance or in bad light. The public lights are not really helpful or soothing but instead behave like ignored smoldering burns. The shape of the body can imitate the inward curve of an ear, its center alive with too-sensitivity, the edges weathered and exposed. The couch creates a bed-vehicle shunted and jutted forward, continuing the body in an uncomplaining, impersonal angle. The public lights try to get into the eyes, they are felt immediately on the eyelids, the eyelashes, the eyebrows, the tip of the nose. The inward clench of inner arms is under an endurance test upon all pressure points. Trying to get away from the service of the ‘pose’ and create a posture of private space.