Inside a historic barn in rural Vermont, a field of newborn diapers lines the time-worn walls. Encompassing the doorway and turning a corner, The Wall (US) articulates both structure and façade. Comprising hundreds of individual units turned inside-out, the padded ground forms a mesh of crisscrossed white cotton, bound by strips of elastic and translucent plastic. From afar, The Wall (US) suggests the aerial view of a universal landscape—neatly aligned plots in quiet order—but up close, it dissolves into unruly detail, each unit revealing unique skin-like folds and creases, redolent of intimate, interior spaces. The sanitised, cotton-filled depths evoke purity and innocence, undercut by exposed vulnerability, en masse. With the visceral lure of flesh and skin, the expanded canvas beckons touch. Blurring the sacred and the profane, The Wall (US) is sublime and seductive – a protective veil with the faint, sterile scent of a whitewashed wall.