Tχ – ‘The Scientists’
Installation 3
The Scientists
Shifting/Shuffling my feet just a few inches at a time, arms still outstretched as though ready to throttle the first thing that may decide it wise to startle me in the impenetrable darkness, I edged my way further into the hole and farther from the ever fading half-light of day. 
So far I had discerned the following: the corridor (I presumed, at this point) was enclosed on all sides – bar straight ahead and behind – by cold and smooth stone-like walls, impermeable by sound, light, air and water. The atmosphere suffocated with a dry, cold and almost chalky stillness; my lungs received oxygen as though it 
were a supplement in an otherwise desolate vacuum. If it weren’t for the soft echo of my hesitant footsteps, sending dulled pats down the expanding void – that reciprocated with a muffled repetition – I’d have thought I’d walked into a black hole. The fact that an echo existed, no matter how mute, at least offered the weak solace that an endpoint also existed. There is something nauseating about being unable to grasp anything of a concrete waypoint – I’d no idea how far I’d walked, never mind how far I had to go. This was on account of being now unable to make out the dim light of the grassy courtyard. I imagined the concrete doorway had resumed its entombing position. Survival 101 had conveniently taken almost complete leave of my brain – only one lesson remained: swim with the current, never against.
In my eternal cynicism, I contemplated this advice in relation to those concentration camp guards who’d claimed they were only doing their jobs: I concluded, rather unkemptly, that this lesson did not dispel universal wisdom, and then quelled my self-induced anxiety by confirming that, in this case, the only variable was somewhat elemental. And it would take considerably longer to be lost-to-death, than drown.
Startling, bright and utterly invisible lights flooded my retinas, or more accurately the corridor (for I could see now it 
was a corridor): off balance, I crumpled against whichever wall came first, and slid to the floor shielding my eyes against the offensively immediate contrast. I had attempted to shield my eyes as though from the sun, my arm clasped horizontally over my brow, however this proved to be a futile act: the light had no discernible origin and simply enveloped me. Acclimatisation was the only course of action.
Some minutes – or even years – passed before I was able to barely squint. The corridor rose above, and extended outwards to my left and right to an infinite length. Beyond a point in the foreground I could only see light – or whight as I now like to call it – which, of course, had no ‘point’ of reference at all. My immediate arms-length surroundings were perceptible and touchable; brilliantly white and somewhere between marble (without the sheen) and chalk (without the mess). The rest was an incandescent cloud: ‘Heaven’, I mused, with absolutely no clarity whatsoever.
Rising to my feet, I resumed my previous course, proceeding with just as much caution as when there had been no light whatsoever: with the sheer indistinctness of this entire corridor, except the hardness under foot and barely perceptible echo, I was weary of an approaching wall that might crudely interrupt my path, and bend my nose in the process.
Straining my ears to gauge some sort of sonic navigation, I reached a wall; arms outstretched like a bumper, flattening against the pristine flatness of the wall, with no shadow to disturb its perfection. I threw a glance backwards, before chastising this futile attempt to see the other end. Once again, when I had returned my glance yonder, the wall – now a door… – had completely evaporated giving way to a gigantic dome shaped chamber, 
white from foot to ‘ceiling’ and eerily deserted.
I’m unsure as to why the lack of life in this ‘place’ had only just become eerie, but hey-ho, I’m only capable of one thought at a time and the torrent of unanswer(able)ed questions pelting through my mind had left me somewhat dazed. The chamber was warmer and slightly duller in complexion that the corridor. Its walls were discernible and their whiteness didn’t warrant the ‘-ight’ the migraine assaulting my eyes had become accustomed to. All in all, the chamber, though huge, was somewhat closer to claustrophobic – and I must say I was relieved.
I strolled, somehow confidently, into the middle of the chamber, spinning my body and pivoting my neck all the while, to catch any more surprises before they may manifest as such.
“Do you ever look beyond your own nose and ask the question: what story down there awaits its end?” boomed a deep, slightly melancholic voice. Before I had time to even frown:
“Perhaps you ask the question: what end down there awaits its story?” – a different voice, clipped and inquisitive, over-pronouncing every consonant and vowel in existence.
“Well…” I began, but apparently it wasn’t yet my turn to speak, despite the misleading questions followed by inviting pauses. I’ll have to relearn my cues all over again.
“Welcome to the Big Bang, mark II” a third voice, Michael Gambon.
“And welcome to Creation: and this time it’s personal,” – Judy Dench, or a slightly older Helena Bonham Carter. A silence ensued, pregnant with my apprehension at interrupting the bodiless-voices that boomed from ‘a heaven’, or perhaps cleverly disguised speakers. I sensed I’d left an appropriate gap:
“Well, thank you. I truly feel welcome…your…Voicessnesses. How may I be of service? Oh, and before I forget… what the hell is going on?” Another pause. I shuddered at the impertinence of my own voice. I’m for a flogging here…
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