Lining time-worn walls, The Wall (US) offers an absorbing grid of woven new-born diapers, questioning borders and binaries, turning the inside-out. Articulating both structure and skin, the weaving probes personal and collective boundaries while redrawing ecological and ethical lines. The materials pit purity with toxicity, tiny parcels of chemicals scientists claim disrupt male fertility. Visions of post-industrial mass consumption, built on invisible female labour, emerge as its product denies entrophy – these diapers line garbage pits worldwide, taking over 500 years to break-down in landfills. Hundreds of individual units in The Wall (US) pad a field of criss-crossed white cotton redolent with the legacies of human trade. From afar, this distant aerial plain appears uniform, and ruptures into a divided landscape, uneven and unruly, close-up.

The expanded and absorbent canvas is primed for participation. Blurring the sacred and the profane, The Wall (US) pulses with the visceral draw of flesh, each unit with unique skin-like folds and creases hiding interior private spaces. As curious fingers inspect, the encased fibres contract and expand in a rhythm attuned to the human pulse. This sanitised bed holds the sweet pull of innocence underscored by naked vulnerability, en masse. Behind its veil of protection and safety, there is the faint chemical whiff of a white-washed wall.